Roses turn to ash in her dreams again, blooms amidst an inferno the ice can no longer temper. The roar of the fire drowns out the lyrics of a song, it consumes the light and as usual she falls wholly to the black. Silence devours the flames, and the ice in her throat gives way to ash, thick in her mouth, in her lungs, choking out life and sound. Eyes of charcoal and hate cradle her as she falls, and croon to her, a mother’s soft coo.
“You’ll be your own monster one day. Just like me.”
Enambris’ eyes snap open and she suppresses a yelp, hand flung to her mouth to silence it should her self control falter; she doesn’t know how thick these walls are. A glance with bleary silver eyes at the curtained window informs her that it’s still far too early to be awake. The sun is still long from the dawn horizon, the night sky as deep a black as the silence in her nightmares, dotted with an array of twinkling stars and painted light that eases some of the pounding in her heart, a pounding made all the louder by the nova-like crystal that fills its hollows. She rubs her face with her left hand, the fingers of her right instinctively seeking out the smooth, faceted surface amidst the skin of her breast beneath her cotton shirt. She finds it easily and presses her palm to its warmth, a comfort to her trembling fingers. Its once-blistering heat is now under control, else she would burn up all the clothing she owns.
“Just another Black Mary,” she whispers to the night. They’re more frequent now that the shadow in her veins clashes every moment against the fire of the aether that cleanses it, burns it away. Her mind’s way of drawing out the poisonous thoughts it would otherwise be forced to endure. A small price to pay, really, considering the circumstances.
She listens to the quiet of the night and her own steady breathing, the only sounds to reach her ears. Satisfied that she has woken no one, she rises from the bed, tugs on a thick dressing gown and slips out the front door and into the sleeping city beyond the little house. A few minutes of fresh air will do her some good, and she needs to clear her head, despite the inherent danger of such an activity. Though, she reasons, it’s not like she’s unarmed. True enough, she’s been armed every moment of every day since her room had been broken into regardless of the activity: sleeping, bathing, eating, reading, or any other facet of her existence. While her sword is carefully leaned against the wall in her room alongside the steel kite, the knife strapped to her thigh offers her a comfort she would otherwise desperately miss.
Normally on these nights of Black Mary’s and elusive sleep, she would find her way from her room into the tavern proper, where she would sit by the fire and softly serenade the late-night patrons with her foreign songs, much to their delight. Tonight is a little different. She steps out the door, closing it as softly as she can, and sits atop Ishgard on the front step of the house, smoothing her dressing gown over her lap and resting her hands on her knees. With a deep inhale she parts coral lips and sings gently to all the city and the Aurora of the quiet night sky.
“Land of bear, and Land of eagle. Land that gave us birth and blessing. Land that calls us ever homeward. We will go home across the mountains.”
Her voice carries like the chimes of soft temple bells in a starlight celebration, gentle and shimmering on winter night air, a song of candlelight against the sky. The thundering of her heart quiets.
“We will go home, we will go home. We will go home across the mountains. We will go home, we will go home. We will go home, singing our song.”
Like the strings of a harp she plucks the notes of the melody, each note held in the air amidst a soft flurry of snow, the delicate hands of winter. An old man and a woman pause to listen to her song, like the glow of a fire on the hearth awash with warmth. Another pair stops, a man and his wife, eyes filled to brimming with memories, thoughts and feelings long forgotten. She weaves for them the Song of Exile, and those memories bubble to the surface. Memories of home, love and loss, sweep through her mind too.
“Land of Freedom, Land of heroes. Land that gave us hope and memories. Hear our singing, hear our longing. We will go home across the mountains.”
Another small handful of curious onlookers pass by. Apparently, it must not be as late as she thought, the number of people she’s drawn informs her. She can’t hear the bells chime, so the time is lost to her, and as she finds herself absorbed into the chords of her song, she finds she doesn’t care.
“We will go home, we will go home. We will go home across the mountains. We will go home, we will go home. We will go home, singing our song.”
A small crowd has gathered, silent awe on elezen and hyur faces. She turns her palms to the sky and cups her hands together, a tiny little flame born there as she sings. A few soft voices join her chorus, melodic and hopeful; some sing along, others hum. Images of the ice and sea flicker through her little fire, of stone towers and spires, of a pale white tree in a hoarfrost courtyard. She smiles, and the stained glass of the cathedral, the great pillars, the temple steps and baroque bridges shimmer past like water welling up from soft earth. Thoughts of home change, give way to a new home. A tavern, friendly faces, new allies and friends, a fire clashed against ice.
“Land of sun and Land of moonlight. Land that gave us joy and sorrow. Land that gave us love and laughter. We will go home across the mountains.”
Her left hand remains rested atop her knees, cupping the little candle flame, while her right finds its way to her chest, pressing her fingers once more to a comforting warmth she can just feel through her shirt and dressing gown. Her gentle smile lights the little square. Vaguely she wonders who she might be disturbing, but finds ultimately that if she were disturbing anyone, such a spectacle would have been shooed away by now. She sings on, her heart woven into her lyrics, and she softly brings the chorus close.
“We will go home, we will go home. We will go home across the mountains. We will go home, we will go home. We will go home, singing our song.”
Roses and Ashes 