It is in the pain of waiting that we find a new purpose, a new drive. A brave smile or a helping hand still won't make the hazy hours between sunrise and twilight any easier to contend with. The tears still fall, the ache at the very core of your chest still pulls tight with every breath and it is in these moments that we burn. Delusions of what could have been, what should have been, lazily drift to the floor in a complete disarray of dust particles.
Sure we keep ourselves busy. Take a new job, hobby and take the time to make new friends, but that doesn't change the pain. It waits with a pleasant smile, arms spread open to hold us tight and we run. We forget that in order to know the pure pleasure of joy, we must understand pain.
Angel had been asleep for hours, peacefully snuggled against her mother. Deep steady breaths and Miranda still found herself surprised that the cherry bubble bath was lingering so prominently. Things had been taken in stride and the two of them carried on in the safety of Mage house as a temporary home. Miranda had made sure that Angel's needs were met, giving a sense of structure and it was in these hours, wrapped in darkness that Miranda became stronger.
Slipping gracefully from the sheets, her feet moved along the carpeted floor towards the living room. The cold of night had always held a bittersweet comfort since childhood. Kneeling on the stone of the fire place she slowly stacked the kindling, small pieces of wood to large. The manual act pulled her deep within herself.
"You do realize you can't keep doing this?"
A wisp of a smile graced her features as the first hints of the fire to come snapped to life. Warmth started to drift over her hands, but she remained cold.
"I can't keep doing what? The coven is safe and a growing family. Angel and I are safe.."
"You can't keep hiding."
Tears started to form on the edges of Miranda's lashes causing them to stick together. This conversation with herself was always what hurt the most. Each rib pulling tighter in her chest as she stifled a sob.
"You fought against an organization without batting an eye at what it could cost you. Held on to hope even if it was damning. Why are you hiding now?"
"I don't know."
"You do."
Rocking forward on her knees, one arm cradled her chest with her hand pressed firmly against her mouth. Miranda's cries were reduced to whimpers. Tears rolling between her fingers and bringing the taste of salt to her lips. The cold sunk deeper into her body.
"It was just me then. I was young and I didn't matter."
"You did matter. You were the last of the Branson line. A symbol of the old ways and that would have died with you."
"Then I don't know."
"Oh, but you do."
The cold consumed her like a second skin. A physical sign of the torrent of pain raking through her soul. Head bowed to the stone of the hearth, Miranda's tears dripped into a pool. It felt as if an old friend were gently pulling her body upright.
"What was this, Miranda?"
Mint green eyes met their younger match, whether this was a hallucination or dream, Miranda welcomed it.
"The coven, our dream."
"Who's dream?"
She found herself choking on his name. If she said it, would her heart leap out of her mouth. Would it shatter on the floor in front of her bringing this all to an end"
"Morgan and mine's."
"And what?s happened?"
"He's dead?"
"Then why are you hiding in a dream that's at an end" You are not at an end."
Miranda's face glistened with her spent tears in the firelight. The answer was as damning as the pain, but her own words spilled out into the empty room. Back braced against the polished stone, warmth started to return to her numb limbs.
"You have to wake up and build a new dream."
"I have to wake up and build a new dream."
Sure we keep ourselves busy. Take a new job, hobby and take the time to make new friends, but that doesn't change the pain. It waits with a pleasant smile, arms spread open to hold us tight and we run. We forget that in order to know the pure pleasure of joy, we must understand pain.
Angel had been asleep for hours, peacefully snuggled against her mother. Deep steady breaths and Miranda still found herself surprised that the cherry bubble bath was lingering so prominently. Things had been taken in stride and the two of them carried on in the safety of Mage house as a temporary home. Miranda had made sure that Angel's needs were met, giving a sense of structure and it was in these hours, wrapped in darkness that Miranda became stronger.
Slipping gracefully from the sheets, her feet moved along the carpeted floor towards the living room. The cold of night had always held a bittersweet comfort since childhood. Kneeling on the stone of the fire place she slowly stacked the kindling, small pieces of wood to large. The manual act pulled her deep within herself.
"You do realize you can't keep doing this?"
A wisp of a smile graced her features as the first hints of the fire to come snapped to life. Warmth started to drift over her hands, but she remained cold.
"I can't keep doing what? The coven is safe and a growing family. Angel and I are safe.."
"You can't keep hiding."
Tears started to form on the edges of Miranda's lashes causing them to stick together. This conversation with herself was always what hurt the most. Each rib pulling tighter in her chest as she stifled a sob.
"You fought against an organization without batting an eye at what it could cost you. Held on to hope even if it was damning. Why are you hiding now?"
"I don't know."
"You do."
Rocking forward on her knees, one arm cradled her chest with her hand pressed firmly against her mouth. Miranda's cries were reduced to whimpers. Tears rolling between her fingers and bringing the taste of salt to her lips. The cold sunk deeper into her body.
"It was just me then. I was young and I didn't matter."
"You did matter. You were the last of the Branson line. A symbol of the old ways and that would have died with you."
"Then I don't know."
"Oh, but you do."
The cold consumed her like a second skin. A physical sign of the torrent of pain raking through her soul. Head bowed to the stone of the hearth, Miranda's tears dripped into a pool. It felt as if an old friend were gently pulling her body upright.
"What was this, Miranda?"
Mint green eyes met their younger match, whether this was a hallucination or dream, Miranda welcomed it.
"The coven, our dream."
"Who's dream?"
She found herself choking on his name. If she said it, would her heart leap out of her mouth. Would it shatter on the floor in front of her bringing this all to an end"
"Morgan and mine's."
"And what?s happened?"
"He's dead?"
"Then why are you hiding in a dream that's at an end" You are not at an end."
Miranda's face glistened with her spent tears in the firelight. The answer was as damning as the pain, but her own words spilled out into the empty room. Back braced against the polished stone, warmth started to return to her numb limbs.
"You have to wake up and build a new dream."
"I have to wake up and build a new dream."