[ The memory was new to her, as the person she had been while it had taken place, was similar and yet so far removed from who she was now. It is not something she can view from a distance, or as something separate from herself, not while it immerses her. It takes... moments, but it seems longer, and for the longest time Honerva remains still as it takes hold, is dragged into the heart of it's revelations, the desperation of all of it.
The reminder of her husband's arms, a man so driven to put friend and planet at risk to save the ones he loved, only to lose them all and conquer all that remained. But here was the last time he'd held her, with such care, with such concern, and it would be his last. How could I have forgotten, she'd thought, when she'd first came close to this brush of truth, all of this love. The child she'd been so desperate for she'd given her all so he might but live.
A whisper stirs, the dark undercurrent to memory. There all along, even as hope seemed so bright. Quintessence was life and it had flooded them, leaving them vulnerable even as it nurtured, the whispering dark, give in, give in give in --
and then nothing, it's won, it's cold and dark, all snatched away...
And yet there's a voice, outside of it all, a melody that pushes at the edges of darkness. She's... not lost? ... No, someone is... holding her hand, sitting so close that there is warmth. Her head, too? Her trembling is not quite limited to her fingers, a dampness around her eyes. The present... was here? But it was so difficult to emerge. ]
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The reminder of her husband's arms, a man so driven to put friend and planet at risk to save the ones he loved, only to lose them all and conquer all that remained. But here was the last time he'd held her, with such care, with such concern, and it would be his last. How could I have forgotten, she'd thought, when she'd first came close to this brush of truth, all of this love. The child she'd been so desperate for she'd given her all so he might but live.
A whisper stirs, the dark undercurrent to memory. There all along, even as hope seemed so bright. Quintessence was life and it had flooded them, leaving them vulnerable even as it nurtured, the whispering dark, give in, give in give in --
and then nothing, it's won, it's cold and dark, all snatched away...
And yet there's a voice, outside of it all, a melody that pushes at the edges of darkness. She's... not lost? ... No, someone is... holding her hand, sitting so close that there is warmth. Her head, too? Her trembling is not quite limited to her fingers, a dampness around her eyes. The present... was here? But it was so difficult to emerge. ]