Phoebe
I've been very hopeful so far
Now for the first time I think we're going wrong
Hurry up and tell me this is all a dream
Or could we start again, please?
Now for the first time I think we're going wrong
Hurry up and tell me this is all a dream
Or could we start again, please?
The sudden change in atmosphere was enough to shock even Phoebe from her grief ridden stupor; the hollowness she felt suddenly filled with kaleidoscopic vibrancy, the world awash in warm tones and wrapping around her protectively, lovingly. A shuddering gasp parted her lips as she looked around wide-eyed at the impossibility of the place. How? Why? Yet as quickly as the questions came to mind she instinctively answered them. The feeling was not quite the same, yet the familiarity undeniable and distinct. "Frey." she whispered, her voice hoarse from the hours previous, having lost its gentle, soothing lilt for the time being.
It happens.
Her eyes squeezed closed, tears she thought long since dried rising and rolling down her cheeks. Thin arms wrapped around her torso, as if to hug herself but instead hugging the presence she felt flowing through and around her. Phoebe had never dared touch the deity, though many times they had done so to her, but now she clung to their comfort as if to life itself, wishing to hide in their ethereal embrace. To forget. But one never forgets such pain. It shaped you, it made you, but hurt all the same. "I know." she whispered quietly, bloodshot eyes opening again, captivated by the beauty that surrounded her, in stark contrast to the well of painful emotion that Frey's presence kept at bay. "But for once, knowing offers no comfort." she said, hardly above a whisper. Some truths took time to bear with grace. The mind and the heart only occassionally aligned, and the war they waged with each other could be ruthless.
The way the world seemed to shift slightly in a shrug, so terribly Frey of it, elicited a quiet mirthless laugh. Frey, a deity so interested in passion was equally the master of detatchment, duplicitous. She should have been thanking them for this comfort, falling over herself in gratefulness to be deemed worthy of such attention, but instead, while grief pushed her to selfishness, she wallowed in the warmth of their presence instead. "Have you ever felt such pain Frey? Such sadness?" she asked quietly. Some may have used such a question to bite, to attack, to hurt. But Phoebe held no such animosity, no desire to hurt or harm...she merely wondered, briefly, if Frey had ever felt as she did, or if this sort of grief was reserved to a more human condition. Frey seemed so beyond simple emotion, endless and constant, unshakeable in their resolve to be as they were always. Did they come because they knew or worried or...cared?
The offer to stay in this place as long as she wished felt a blessing of profound value. "What is this place?" she whispered, turning her face towards the rising sun, letting its blinding warmth consume her. The midwife's arms wrapped tighter around her middle, holding onto the presence as if it might slip away at any moment.
