Maea
And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die
It heals them when you die
Maea bristled, unable to hide the way her lips twitched with every cutting remark. This woman's disgust didn't move her in the slightest - no, it was the notion that she had let Ludo down that stung. That burned and ate at her, re-opening wounds that only just had begun to scab over.
"I died with that shawl about my shoulders," she retorted, and flinched at how broken her own voice sounded. Nephele approached; Maea took a step back. Electricity flickered into life on her palms, defensive and more instinct than clear thought. "I served Ludo and Mort to my last breath. I would never dishonor..." But the words ended in a painful rush of air. Broke off and faded, never to return.
Because she had, hadn't she? By leaving the realm of the dead. By answering the siren call, and crossing the threshold. Remi was right. She shouldn't be. Neither as ghost, or as she was now.
So why did it hurt? Why did her thoughts go to her brother's look of worry and anger, before ever touching on some ghostly rags, or the semblance of a God she could not recall - if she had ever truly seen it.
Confused, trapped within the turmoil of her own mind, Maea stood frozen in place. The electricity flickered and died out around her fingers. She ought to just... leave.
"I died with that shawl about my shoulders," she retorted, and flinched at how broken her own voice sounded. Nephele approached; Maea took a step back. Electricity flickered into life on her palms, defensive and more instinct than clear thought. "I served Ludo and Mort to my last breath. I would never dishonor..." But the words ended in a painful rush of air. Broke off and faded, never to return.
Because she had, hadn't she? By leaving the realm of the dead. By answering the siren call, and crossing the threshold. Remi was right. She shouldn't be. Neither as ghost, or as she was now.
So why did it hurt? Why did her thoughts go to her brother's look of worry and anger, before ever touching on some ghostly rags, or the semblance of a God she could not recall - if she had ever truly seen it.
Confused, trapped within the turmoil of her own mind, Maea stood frozen in place. The electricity flickered and died out around her fingers. She ought to just... leave.
And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh
A whisper within a sigh
