Not forgotten

by Mystic Star

Maeve looked into the scrying bowl that lay glowing on the makeshift rock table in the middle of a dark cave. The cave was actually quite pretty, not drank or dismal, just dark. Beautiful tapestries of nature scenes lines the walls, some of forests, some of the sea, others of the night sky. Candles burned brightly, illuminating not only the artwork, but also the area where Maeve sat. Through the opening, the full moon gazed down lovingly at the earth from a star filled sky. The whole setting was breathtaking.

In the scrying bowl there was a view of the Nomad sailing swiftly through the deep blue sea, guided by the moon’s light. Ever since she had fallen overboard, Maeve had been keeping an eye on them all, she wasn’t sure why. Maybe because it had been her home, the only one left after the Isle of Dawn had been destroyed. Maybe because she was curious and wanted to see how they were doing. Maybe because they were her friends and she cared about them. She didn’t really know, she just felt like she had to.

She had noticed the ways that Sinbad had changed, and sometimes thought it was for the better. It may have been his way of dealing with losing her. The way he changed may have somehow been his way of getting over her. Maybe the change helped him deal with fighting against the growing powers of darkness. Maybe the new, tougher Sinbad would have a better chance of winning the battles he had to face.

Other times, as she watched the Nomad sail to new adventures and her crew meeting new people, she was overcome with anguish. She would torture herself with questions, why didn’t they ever talk about her willingly? Didn’t they care? Did she mean nothing to them? Had they forgotten her? The answers she came up with to those questions only depressed her. If they didn’t talk about her, she mustn’t have mattered that much to them, if anything at all.

After the sadness came the anger, at herself. She shouldn’t expect them to mourn for her, they made no promises to each other. She shouldn’t expect them to be devastated by her loss, they had lives to live, they had to move on. Who was she to expect them to stop living for her? Maybe they had never cared about her as deeply as she had them.

She despised herself for the self-pity she put herself through, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had too much time on her hands, and her mind always was working, trying to explain why she had been forgotten, how everything had changed. But she always wanted them to be happy, and if forgetting her let that happen, maybe it was for the best. And so her thoughts circled continuously, from acceptance, to anguish, to anger, to depression, and back to acceptance. It made her feel unstable.

Laughing to herself about her never ceasing thoughts, she said out loud to the empty cave, “I spend way too much time alone.” Of course she didn’t have much of a choice. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she turned her attention back to the Nomad’s picture, focusing on a movement she saw near the bow.

Sinbad was standing there, alone and just staring out to sea. He was leaning against the railing, with almost a forlorn expression on his face. He whispered something so softly, Maeve could barely hear it. “Oh Maeve.”

The end