Turmoil

She had been falling apart for a long time now, held together by the will and the love of a man whom some part of her had always known would go to his God. It did not make the hurt at his loss any less, but dealing with it had not come as too great a surprise to her, nor was it as difficult.

She could feel herself crumbling though, around the edges, like a sandcastle that has stood too long without repair. Trickling away, returning to the ground and the sand below it.

The music in her soul, the ever faint, ever present whisper of the haunting song that was with her day or night was becoming too much to bear. Years had passed and with his help, she had been able to function past it, learn to ignore it, protect her delicate sanity but the days of nothing - of having nothing to focus on but the loss and the pain were taking their toll.

She had tread this path before, when she had wandered the wilds, looking for some new place to belong, knowing in her soul - that still longed for and might always long for - the Vallenwood, that another place might only ever offer distraction.

She was shaking again, the tremors had slowly begun to move up from her fingers, her hands, to her body and that was unacceptable. She was not a leaf, to tremble before the wind. She had always been the fire that consumed it.

She felt her breath shake as she closed her eyes and forced herself to find that inner calm, to grasp and hold it. Her lost melody was there, as always, making it nearly impossible and anger quickly rose to smother her control.

She opened her eyes, feeling bereft, lost in a sea of confusion and found herself looking up at the statue of Raije. The hesitation, perhaps, in the thought of 'letting go' was that even in death she would not join her lost husband who had always been set on a different path. No, he was at Necrucifer's side and she...would go nowhere, so torn was she that in her heart, she believed that there would be little more then a void to welcome her when death finally came.

She looked back up at the statue of Raije, the shrine nestled comfortably against Necrucifer's temple, and begged within the chaotic confines of her mind for an answer.

It came quietly, moments later, a memory dredged up from her past, and with a strange sense of relief, she drew her elven blade, dug a soft cloth from a pouch and began the surprisingly simple process of polishing a sword that had never needed it.