Falls

Despite the growing weight of her apathy, Sabriel found herself spellbound, silent when her companion spoke. There was beauty in the words the nameless wanderer wove, beauty and a curious brightness that rivalled the stars. But just like the stars, the words were fleeting and hollow and useless. The world had never wept for the silver black, nor could she be convinced to shed a single tear for its sake. And if there was any balance to be found in this life, it had forsaken her entirely. For everything that she’d lost— for Uriah, for Solomon and Bondurant, for Lirael and Sephiroth— she’d gained nothing at all. Not joy or purpose or the peace of acceptance. Only emptiness and solitude. Only grief.

It is not a crime to hold your hurt within. She had not asked for this woman’s forbearance, nor even realized that she needed it. But when it came, the shadowy mare felt some of the pressure ease from her chest, felt the breath leave her lungs in a soundless sigh. Bondurant would have had her share the burden of her pain, would have begged her to drape it over his shoulders like the leaden blanket it was. And Solomon— she wasn’t certain what Solomon would have wanted. But she remembered all too well the broken anger that she’d glimpsed after their son’s death, and was finally coming to understand that reaction. The more damaged she became, the more Sabriel’s primal half yearned to lash out at the source of her suffering. At the world, at the fates— and lacking the ability to harm either, at anyone who should chance to cross her path.

And perhaps it would have been more simple, if she had driven this pale creature off with teeth and hooves.

Instead, the dark woman found herself pinned by the truth of this stranger’s words. Cut open by them, her wounded heart laid bare for the world to witness. And for a moment, her expression even twisted in anger at this, her lips peeling back in a bitter snarl. But just as quickly as it had arrived, this flicker of fury was gone. Whether love or hate, there was no room in her heart for passion anymore. And as for fighting against the truth— that was a battle as fruitless as fighting her memories. Neither would ever leave her, not truly. It was better to make peace with both. To turn a stiff shoulder to their blows, and wait for the day they grew weary of tormenting her.

“An answer I reached seasons ago,” Sabriel murmured, lifting her head as well. Watching those same waters tumble endlessly, endlessly, and knowing exactly how they must feel. “But my grief never released me, and so here I stand.” There was no trace of bitterness or even sorrow in her voice now. Only weariness. And perhaps the chilly waters had finally numbed the persistent ache of her heart, because for the first time in far too long she gave name to the ghosts who stood beside her. “Their names haven’t left me either. My children, Uriah and Lirael and Sephiroth. Bondurant and Solomon, the two halves of my heart. Only one of them is truly gone, but the living haunt me no less than the dead.”

Tipping her face towards her companion, Sabriel realized that she’d never given her own name. That her own identity had come to mean far less, to her, than the ones she’d loved and lost. That she was more a ghost than they were, in truth. Because how many remembered her? How many still cared for her? Once, any one of the names she’d given might have come to her lips... but now, the only answer she could give was none.

And that— that was the worst pain of all.