Maea
And it feels like fear
Like I'll disappear
Like I'll disappear
It kept raining. Skies that ought to be blue and smiling had drawn in on themselves and kept shedding tormented tears onto the people below. Maea sympathized, but also felt disgruntled every time she looked out the window to the persisting gloom. How do you pick yourself up from ingrained habits when the weather doesn't do anything to help? It was supposed to be different this time. She was different - new, refreshed, reborn - and so the rest of the world should be too. Unreasonable - but hadn't she always been that?
Part of being new, she had decided, must mean shaping new habits. With more determination than true conviction, the diminutive woman bundled herself into a cloak against the elements and left the relative comfort of her shelter for a walk. The door to Amun's pottery groaned as she shoved it close behind her, the timbers swollen with damp and unwieldy; fixing it would have to wait for some other time. Wrapping her arms around herself, Maea set off down the street, lost in thought.
Too many things had changed in the year since she had last roamed these streets. Houses she had known since childhood were gone, others had changed shape or colors, gained and lost stories or grown together with neighbors as families grew and evolved. It struck her that she, for all the changes wrought to her both physical and otherwise, had failed to grow with the world around her. For a long time all she had done was cling to the past, to all the wrongs done to her, to misery and guilt, despair and shame until her eyes grew blind to all else. And while all those things remained, unresolved luggage yet to be sorted through, perhaps the most profound change in her was a renewed... spark? A sense of impatience with her own grief and depression. It was time to move on, do something new.
Or so the newly awakened Ancient told herself. But as she trundled aimlessly past rain-soaked houses, the cloak gradually soaked up damp until cold water permeated her clothes. The spring faded from her steps. Aching feet and burning spine unaccustomed to walking dragged her down. It wasn't uplifting, or refreshing, or even challenging. Just miserable. When a gust of wind dumped all the gathered moisture from a tree onto her, she sought shelter in the roofed arc of a house's entryway, and slouched onto the step with a sigh.
"You have to stop doing this, Mae," she murmured to herself, and let her head fall sideways against the wall. Or intended to - the hollow thunk as a horn catching the plaster echoed unpleasantly between the houses and Maea jerked upright again with a hiss of annoyance before bone could chip or scratch. She couldn't even mope properly anymore!
"What the fuck am I supposed to do, then!?" Asking the empty air, her frustrated demand met only with the rush of wind and water.
Part of being new, she had decided, must mean shaping new habits. With more determination than true conviction, the diminutive woman bundled herself into a cloak against the elements and left the relative comfort of her shelter for a walk. The door to Amun's pottery groaned as she shoved it close behind her, the timbers swollen with damp and unwieldy; fixing it would have to wait for some other time. Wrapping her arms around herself, Maea set off down the street, lost in thought.
Too many things had changed in the year since she had last roamed these streets. Houses she had known since childhood were gone, others had changed shape or colors, gained and lost stories or grown together with neighbors as families grew and evolved. It struck her that she, for all the changes wrought to her both physical and otherwise, had failed to grow with the world around her. For a long time all she had done was cling to the past, to all the wrongs done to her, to misery and guilt, despair and shame until her eyes grew blind to all else. And while all those things remained, unresolved luggage yet to be sorted through, perhaps the most profound change in her was a renewed... spark? A sense of impatience with her own grief and depression. It was time to move on, do something new.
Or so the newly awakened Ancient told herself. But as she trundled aimlessly past rain-soaked houses, the cloak gradually soaked up damp until cold water permeated her clothes. The spring faded from her steps. Aching feet and burning spine unaccustomed to walking dragged her down. It wasn't uplifting, or refreshing, or even challenging. Just miserable. When a gust of wind dumped all the gathered moisture from a tree onto her, she sought shelter in the roofed arc of a house's entryway, and slouched onto the step with a sigh.
"You have to stop doing this, Mae," she murmured to herself, and let her head fall sideways against the wall. Or intended to - the hollow thunk as a horn catching the plaster echoed unpleasantly between the houses and Maea jerked upright again with a hiss of annoyance before bone could chip or scratch. She couldn't even mope properly anymore!
"What the fuck am I supposed to do, then!?" Asking the empty air, her frustrated demand met only with the rush of wind and water.
Gets so hard to steer
Yet I go on
Yet I go on
