I rouse in this twilight,a shadow...I sense is near. My eyes flutter and the shadow dissipates. I wake with a sense of loss....of longing. "NO!" my mind screams. "I don't want to wake !" I linger in this twilight, knowing this feeling. It has been with me for a long while,since my first memories. As a young child I knew great fear,but, as the years have passed, I grew if not comfortable....resolute, knowing almost as a dream that is forgotten upon waking, that knowing would one day come.
I rise, letting consiousness invade slowy. I take up my brush and pull my long red hair over my left shoulder, starting at the ends, I begin the ritual, long strokes, working out the tangles from my long sleep.
I look in the mirror, each feature separately, my eyes...so blue, my lips...so full, my chin, my neck...there my vision lingers a moment, and then, returns to my eyes. Life seeps in. I look, but do not see, there has been so much...loves...losses....people...children. I see the shell of the person who lived this life, but she; is not me....At least not the me that I beacme, the me I am now.
There is pain; red tinged tears languidly run down my face....and I wonder, momentarily, that there could be more, but there are. A picture captures my vision and memories cascade. My Younglings, their births...their infancys...their lives. One long nailed finger reaches out to touch the long blonde hair, the smiles. I look away, for they too...are gone.
I turn slowly as I hear a knock on the massive door of my chambers. Marta enters and nervously looks around, but I reassure her with my eyes that all is well....and I see her shoulders relax. "Poor slip of a girl" I think. It is not easy to be companion to such as we. Quickly Marta tends to the fire. I had not even noticed how dark it had become, but now I looked as shadows licked the walls of my chamber. Watching Marta lay out my favorite dress, I rise slowly and walk over to the bed, where I run my fingers over the midnight blue velvet that I would wear this evening. Marta prepared to leave, but turned as she felt my gaze upon her. I didn't even have to ask. It had become our nightly ritual. I saw her eyes drop and felt my own flutter to hide the pain. Marta walks over to take my small hand in her own. She knew; words were not needed. I see distress flick over her face, and pat her hand. Marta turned and left quickly then.
The pain, the grief deepens another degree. My Younglings had been gone over a year and my despondency was ceasless. Each day brought new suffering as I awaited some small communication, a letter, a short note. "Anything!" my mind screams as a moan escapes my lips. I just needed to know if they were well, being fed....indeed alive.....but this, I did know.
PyrettaBlazze
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