Artwork by 3D artist Nihilora
Songs of birds weaved together with the soft hum of the wind as it rocked the sea of leaves. It was a gentle, cold breeze and it was there to stay; the round disc of heat slowly having trickled away into the vast horizon, leaving behind but a fickle memory of its warmth. The night – was taking over the bustling city.
Windows began to thud; doors began to groan and click. Houses started to light up, shops slowly started to pull over the drapes and doze off. The life of the city – ended. And so has her time at the flower shop; an elven woman, fair skinned as most of her kin, but visibly matured by the long years. Her nostrils flared as she took in the fragrance of the wares which she was leaving behind – replaced with that of freshly baked pastry which twirled like various smoke trails from the local district bakery’s chimney. “Just another day.” she thought as she merely paced towards her apartment to retrieve her book. With each step she took, the bustle and hustle of the trading district of the city slowly drifted away; taken away by the magical whirls resounding from various wizards and sorcerers which were busy honing their craft. She was home… if she could call it that.
Her gaze shifted to melancholy, as she halted in her pacing – glancing around with mild curiosity… and remorse. Almost five years have passed since the incident, with no change looming from around the corner. “I’ve come to terms with my new life.”, were the uttered words, and her existential mantra. No one knew what happened, no one had answers to solve the mystery of her plight; not even the few who recognized her. At best, in all this time, she managed to learn of the existence of a brother, a husband and most recently; a son. Where were they? Just another mystery for her; and a struggle. Her heart yearned to learn more, to understand and to escape the suffocating box of blocked memories – alas, five years have passed with no resolve. Days blended into weeks, weeks into months, months into years years – daily life normalizing. In the end, she has realized that learning more can be both harmful and joyful, for she learned from another – which claimed to be a close friend – that she was once a citizen in the same city she finds herself in present times. Alone, however; hid away from another… or in shameful exile. No matter the case, the awareness of a past life in the same city she currently resides in has sparked a curiosity and a motivation to learn more. Such as the most recent interaction with a dragon, rather. Through the dragon’s magic, the image of what might be her family flashed before her eyes. She had the faces, yet the truth remained concealed; the ache caused by these fleeting visions being quite impactful. “Did I learn of a blessing I once had? Or a curse?”, she wondered as she was stepping through the door leading to her room. “They said… he’ll come looking for me. But; do I truly want to meet him?” – and with a glance sent upon the book… her thoughts spiraled:
“I am content… and I am not. I have coin, but it feels like I have awakened from a nightmare that continues even while I have my eyes open… A nightmare I am comfortable with, I wonder. No… no, no. I am not. My heart races each time the thrill of learning more of who I am, who I were, strikes me. I do not need sleep, coin or food – I need… answers.”
And the world around her – melded together. One moment, she was in her room, grasping the medium-sized book, weathered around the corners and its spine visibly frayed – the next moment; she found herself gazing upon the vibrant fountain in the middle of the park; book in hand, box with quill in the other. The moon scattering its drapes of dimness, casting a veil of dusk and forcing the oil on torches and lanterns to light up – with a soft sigh, she glances to the side before walking on, once again. “Best to lose myself in this story and then sleep.”, she thought decisively to herself while nearing a place of strange comfort – a corner, near a tree and a bench, overlooking a memorial monument. Was it the tree? Was it the monument? She couldn’t tell; to her, the place merely implied a sense of comfort in a strange, young world in which she found herself bereft of the luxury of inner peace… to an extent.
The yellow flowers – dandelions, the books – written or unwritten, and the corner of concrete blocks and a tree with a stone park bench; a trifecta of amenity to the soul which eased the tension in her limbs. The skittish gaze in her eyes always made her ponder. Tonight, was no different as she gazed upon the area she enjoyed to sit in most of the time. And yet – it turned out to be different. “I wish you were here…” she muttered, despite the lack of another’s presence nearby. She couldn’t help but reminiscence on the possibility of finally connecting with an important figment of her long forgotten past: the son. The dragon promised to send him her way very soon; days having passed since. The silence, the absence – having echoed a constant allusion: a farce. And with each day passing – the dragon’s lie became more and more true. “But you are not… I am, instead… Alone. Perhaps… abandoned?” she pondered, vocally in a whisper, as she neared the edge and held the book closer to her, having left the box with the quill somewhere nearby. And – she froze in time; her gaze undisturbed, but her mind being lost to a trail of thought.
For what seemed an eternity, she began to recollect a fond, long lost period of life; losing herself in the blinding vapors of reminiscence. It was filled with laughter, and sorrow, but also – reconciliation. The blurred imagery before her eyes felt lifelike, even though the passing judgemental side glances were palpably burning at the back of her head as she merely stayed and gazed upon nothing in particular in the far beyond. Despite her trance, she was well aware of it, or perhaps – simply aware of her own person. “They think I am contemplating upon the memorial…” she mused, finally snapping out of the trance. “Maybe I am, in truth… maybe I’m not…”; her thoughts carried on to echo with words, “…Am I even alive? I wonder sometimes….”
If for part of the time she has spent awake, attempting to cope and remain strong when facing her fragmented spirit, the rest of the day she would’ve spent cowering in the shadow of presumed of the other’s judgemental gaze. To her, it was both a downfall and an ascent, through it only bolstering her resistance to her own unruly perception of her own self. The idea that she is a confusing oddity to others was quite deeply entrenched in the depths of her mind – a self indoctrinated notion at best seeing as once she has returned from her daydreaming state, her physical movements most of the time begin to mimic the ordinariness of the others.
“It is you… you are…”, an unknown male voice expressed through a shaky tone.
And she has frozen in space and time, halting completely in breath and thought. Refusing to glance over her shoulder, he simply found himself prompted to insist, “It is you, isn’t it?”, and then approach. Closing the eyes, the elven woman hesitantly guided her head to glance over the shoulder – a movement which caused the man to exhale rapidly.
Before her – an elven man, battle worn, but still youthful. A well-trimmed circle beard and short, messy hair. His lips, contorted in various movements as he gazed upon her.
“It is you…” he uttered in a visibly broken voice, panting softly as he attempted to suppress tears. To which – she didn’t reply, verbally, but through an audible gulp and a nervous fiddle of the quill in between the index and middle finger. “It is me… It is… me…” he continued to add, attempting to reach out to her. Alas, her reaction have remained firmly that of fright; recoiling backwards. The quill – dropped. The woman’s legs, the hands, the lips – having began to tremble. “I…” she whispers softly, “I…”, attempting again; to no avail. Words were vaulting off the tip of her tongue, only to fall silently on the cold, crooked cobblestones. And yet – locking eyes with a visibly startled expression, akin to the other elf’s, leaping to embrace him fully… after what seemed like an eternal, agonizing moment.
“I remember…” she whispers softly; their arms enveloping each other in a tight embrace.
