It's said that one's last moments can stretch into an eternity, and
that the spirit uses this time for reflection and purification before
letting go and spinning back into the karmic wheel. I suppose that this
is my time for reflection.
Has it really only been so short a time? It seems like eons now -- but no, only a few days since he bound me up in his tale as surely as if I were the Shahryar to his Scheherazade.
I was fond of him, then, when he came to me and shared his story; it was foolish of me, to be sure, but he was so confident in the telling, so kind to a stranger who should be his enemy. So willing to sacrifice everything to right past wrongs, whether the fault truly lay with him or no.
And then I watched him die.
There are times in life that etch themselves into your soul with remarkable clarity, a single flashed instance of thought that creates meaning and purpose. Seeing him struck down in my chamber was that moment, for me: the joining of the omega of my past with the alpha of my future.
Armed with his tale, I could make things right -- I could take the dagger, and I could stop the madness before it began. At the very least, I could see the travails through, because he himself had told me what must be done.
I began the journey fond of him, but I never intended to love him; I was lost when he destroyed the creature that wore his father's face. So human, so strong, so pained. So caught up in a horror that was none of his devising, so insistent to go on and finish what we had begun.
I could not watch him die again.
I wish I could have told him, but how do you tell a man who doesn't remember meeting you that you love him? I wish I could have warned him, or explained my purpose; it breaks my heart to think that perhaps I have betrayed him -- but I could not watch him die. I would not. If I could carry the dagger, then his story would be changed and his life spared.
All I wanted was another story, and now the time is too late to tell my tale. How strange that it comes down, at last, to running out of time.
I am sorry I didn't know better, that I didn't know how to speak or see.
It wasn't supposed to be like this, but you have taught me that all times are equal and never-ending. I believe in you, and I know that you will make it right.
It's time to let go.
Has it really only been so short a time? It seems like eons now -- but no, only a few days since he bound me up in his tale as surely as if I were the Shahryar to his Scheherazade.
I was fond of him, then, when he came to me and shared his story; it was foolish of me, to be sure, but he was so confident in the telling, so kind to a stranger who should be his enemy. So willing to sacrifice everything to right past wrongs, whether the fault truly lay with him or no.
And then I watched him die.
There are times in life that etch themselves into your soul with remarkable clarity, a single flashed instance of thought that creates meaning and purpose. Seeing him struck down in my chamber was that moment, for me: the joining of the omega of my past with the alpha of my future.
Armed with his tale, I could make things right -- I could take the dagger, and I could stop the madness before it began. At the very least, I could see the travails through, because he himself had told me what must be done.
I began the journey fond of him, but I never intended to love him; I was lost when he destroyed the creature that wore his father's face. So human, so strong, so pained. So caught up in a horror that was none of his devising, so insistent to go on and finish what we had begun.
I could not watch him die again.
I wish I could have told him, but how do you tell a man who doesn't remember meeting you that you love him? I wish I could have warned him, or explained my purpose; it breaks my heart to think that perhaps I have betrayed him -- but I could not watch him die. I would not. If I could carry the dagger, then his story would be changed and his life spared.
All I wanted was another story, and now the time is too late to tell my tale. How strange that it comes down, at last, to running out of time.
I am sorry I didn't know better, that I didn't know how to speak or see.
It wasn't supposed to be like this, but you have taught me that all times are equal and never-ending. I believe in you, and I know that you will make it right.
It's time to let go.