She bows to no one.
The echoed cries filtered under the door, a wailing symphony of unbridled pain and heartbreak. Thal simply sat as witness to every agonizing moment. A vessel for Maea's emotions while amplifying her own. The guilt and isolation were compounded with each passing heartbeat, a gong to ring in the next level of hellish misery. The torture seemed endless. But isn't this what she deserved?
Time passed slowly and when the rain could once more be heard, only silence occupied her mind. Thal had grown numb long ago, the chill of the floor seeping into her bones. Her pulse had slowed to an occasional beat to remind her of its presence. That she still lived as much as the Ancient within.
With sluggish movements, she forced herself to quietly rise from the floor. Her hand brushed the door and she hesitantly prepared to enter. But she stilled, uncertain whether her presence would be welcomed or not. Thal changed course and approached the fireplace of the sitting area to retrieve a kettle. She filled it with water and placed it over the fire to boil. Rather than lean into the fire's warmth, she shied away from the bright light, preferring to stare into the dark recesses of the room, letting her mind remain empty. It wasn't a content sort of comfortable emptiness, but an exhausted aching void that she no longer had the energy to explore.
By the time the water was ready, she had gathered the scraps of her lingering motivation to prepare the tea and grab a blanket from a nearby lounge chair. The herbal mixture wafted into her face as she approached the door once more. Its dark looming structure was as enticing as the door to hell, but she was not one to ignore her own culpability. So she turned the handle and pushed against the wood, letting it drift open.
Maea's blank stare felt like a mirror of her own. Her body had wilted in on itself, attempting to hide from the cruel unfairness of the world. Guilt returned with a vengeance and Thal's feet itched to turn back. Yet she crept forward slowly as if approaching a skittish child. Taking a place next to her, Thal slid back down to the familiar floor, feeling the sore ache of her muscles return. Not expecting Maea to accept anything from her, Thal placed the blanket over her thin shoulders atop the grey shawl then put the tea on the stone ground between them as an offering. She couldn't take away the pain, but she was willing to be present for Maea and her suffering.
Time passed slowly and when the rain could once more be heard, only silence occupied her mind. Thal had grown numb long ago, the chill of the floor seeping into her bones. Her pulse had slowed to an occasional beat to remind her of its presence. That she still lived as much as the Ancient within.
With sluggish movements, she forced herself to quietly rise from the floor. Her hand brushed the door and she hesitantly prepared to enter. But she stilled, uncertain whether her presence would be welcomed or not. Thal changed course and approached the fireplace of the sitting area to retrieve a kettle. She filled it with water and placed it over the fire to boil. Rather than lean into the fire's warmth, she shied away from the bright light, preferring to stare into the dark recesses of the room, letting her mind remain empty. It wasn't a content sort of comfortable emptiness, but an exhausted aching void that she no longer had the energy to explore.
By the time the water was ready, she had gathered the scraps of her lingering motivation to prepare the tea and grab a blanket from a nearby lounge chair. The herbal mixture wafted into her face as she approached the door once more. Its dark looming structure was as enticing as the door to hell, but she was not one to ignore her own culpability. So she turned the handle and pushed against the wood, letting it drift open.
Maea's blank stare felt like a mirror of her own. Her body had wilted in on itself, attempting to hide from the cruel unfairness of the world. Guilt returned with a vengeance and Thal's feet itched to turn back. Yet she crept forward slowly as if approaching a skittish child. Taking a place next to her, Thal slid back down to the familiar floor, feeling the sore ache of her muscles return. Not expecting Maea to accept anything from her, Thal placed the blanket over her thin shoulders atop the grey shawl then put the tea on the stone ground between them as an offering. She couldn't take away the pain, but she was willing to be present for Maea and her suffering.
Thalassa
