The half elf, Xavril, was sitting at the head of the bed, wire-rimmed reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. The book that he read from was parted open with the thumb of one hand, Pablo Neruda once more - Vera had good taste. The other hand softly pet across the trembling shoulder of the fey"ri who lay staring up at him. Her eyes were glassy and far away as the words slid from his tongue. She was sick and his friend, his fey"ri, would be leaving in the morning to be delivered to another one who thought he could heal her. They all claimed they could, but the half elf had no more faith to give. She had been given a sedative after tearing through the halls in a blind rage earlier. He knew. He could smell it on her like an exotic fragrance.
"I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul?"
He had weathered the storm of Irosque's arrival at the manor. He had been berated by the baelnorn for bringing the Ancient into their home. All of this, he had taken with understanding and grace. He had been well-spoken and well-intentioned. He had even stomached the presence of the fey"ri's supposed betrothed, for all of the good that it did. Xavril would never be his friend, not that he would mind. As he sit with his childhood friend curled across him, the half elf continued to read, continued to pass this last few moments before he went to prepare her for the move. He knew. He could feel the trembling and convulsive shiver subsiding.
"I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body."
The fey"ri was hot to the touch and her fever had caused her to slip into delusions over the past day. She had babbled and raged, hissed and fought them as she lost control and one side of her being chewed away at the other. Now her breathing had become ragged and she moaned softly, curling into a far more pugilistic pose. Her muscles were tensing and contracting. The half elf pulled Faerran closer into his lap and continued to pet her hair rhythmically. He knew. He could see it in the palor of her skin as it was graying.
"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep."
He looked over the small form and smiled sadly. She had ceased to move now and lay pale and catatonic across the blanket in his lap. Her eyes were the shade of garnets and vacant. She was gone far from this place. He bent down and dropped the book to one side. A kiss was feathered over the height of her cheek and he gathered the slim fey?ri into his arms, rocking slowly. She would live, and so would everyone in contact with her, as long as she was in this state and not allowed to rage. She was consumed now by the induced state, before the bulezau could take her completely - the Gurahl would have his turn to heal her now, with Talis' blessing. But may the gods have mercy on us all, if this didn't work.
He knew. He had designed the sedative.
((written by Faer and Xav's muns. Poetry by Pablo Neruda))
"I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul?"
He had weathered the storm of Irosque's arrival at the manor. He had been berated by the baelnorn for bringing the Ancient into their home. All of this, he had taken with understanding and grace. He had been well-spoken and well-intentioned. He had even stomached the presence of the fey"ri's supposed betrothed, for all of the good that it did. Xavril would never be his friend, not that he would mind. As he sit with his childhood friend curled across him, the half elf continued to read, continued to pass this last few moments before he went to prepare her for the move. He knew. He could feel the trembling and convulsive shiver subsiding.
"I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body."
The fey"ri was hot to the touch and her fever had caused her to slip into delusions over the past day. She had babbled and raged, hissed and fought them as she lost control and one side of her being chewed away at the other. Now her breathing had become ragged and she moaned softly, curling into a far more pugilistic pose. Her muscles were tensing and contracting. The half elf pulled Faerran closer into his lap and continued to pet her hair rhythmically. He knew. He could see it in the palor of her skin as it was graying.
"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep."
He looked over the small form and smiled sadly. She had ceased to move now and lay pale and catatonic across the blanket in his lap. Her eyes were the shade of garnets and vacant. She was gone far from this place. He bent down and dropped the book to one side. A kiss was feathered over the height of her cheek and he gathered the slim fey?ri into his arms, rocking slowly. She would live, and so would everyone in contact with her, as long as she was in this state and not allowed to rage. She was consumed now by the induced state, before the bulezau could take her completely - the Gurahl would have his turn to heal her now, with Talis' blessing. But may the gods have mercy on us all, if this didn't work.
He knew. He had designed the sedative.
((written by Faer and Xav's muns. Poetry by Pablo Neruda))