Post by Oriana on Mar 10, 2013 17:13:50 GMT -5
Why couldn’t everything be simple? Was it ungrateful of her to be mad at life for having a sick sense of humor? She had made a rare connection with this man to then think it gone and him dead. He was then returned to her as someone else, someone who harbored no memories of her and who woke conflicted feelings. Few minutes ago she wanted to hurt him, to claw and stab, hit and wound. Oriana wanted to transfer the pain she felt. Mentioning of Trisha, coming back for the woman that was supposed to be dead wounded her deeply, more than she thought it would. It stirred anger but she knew there was no helping it… even if she meant nothing now, if she held no worth in his eyes that woman was needed to make him better.
Oriana watched him, holding her gaze and taking in the face she knew. Every detail was just as she remembered while her face showed change. In human terms she was youthful still but there were signs of passing years that immortal would certainly notice. Time flowed different for them. She wondered how passing of age looked to them. Was she just a husk or shadow of former self to him? For a moment more, until he gave a sign of understanding, she held his hand and felt it squeeze underneath her fingers.
A sigh escaped her… a slow release of air as she closed her eyes for a moment and looked down. What was she doing? Being here was a strain, a torture… The more time she spent with Strike- less she understood. It was confusing to walk on a thread of sanity. Too many sounds and smells and sights and thoughts have past her. How do immortals do it? Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise this happened. Perhaps it was a way for Kragarian mind to cope with immortality and being lost. Perhaps she was but a fond pause between rebirths or a distraction of the burden of solitude. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps... so many thoughts and so little rest.
Her eyes opened and she wanted to speak her mind, to tell him how much she missed him and in anger yell out all her frustration and call him a traitor. She wanted to hold him and to punch him, to make him feel all she felt.
Yet…
She didn’t.
Oriana just looked at him in silence and then let go, slowly moving from him and turning her back. Words would be wasted. It would serve no purpose to complain or yell. She was exhausted and he wouldn’t understand. As her hand touched the door she glanced back and then left.
One day at the time, she thought, one day at a time