10-12-2020, 04:08 PM
“Help you,” she repeated. It didn’t quite have the intonation of a question; the words beat in her more like a heartbeat. Nimeda rarely picked sides. Noctua called her good, but oh, she had once done very bad things; wrong things, though the reasons had always felt right, for love was worth that kind of price, even to the soul. Yet sometimes the help someone asked for was not the thing they truly needed. Grim kept her at a distance the same way Noctua did, though without the same kindness, and without the same regret.
Despite it she knew him better than he imagined; the raggedy bones of the man beneath his masks and conceit. Dreams touched the truest shades of a person’s soul, and such demons chased the grimnir’s nightmares as left a hollow in the place most men kept hearts. It did not mean he lacked one, whatever he chose to allow others to perceive -- or even believed himself. But he told himself he valued other things. Cold things. Material things. It made her sad.
A breath escaped her lungs, control fraying under tides of pain. Was this what it was to feel mortal? A mere blink and she might dissolve into the winds which now began to lick volatile at the shore. The stones were still humming beneath her toes, but she couldn’t keep herself contained any more than a thimble might contain the roar of a waterfall. Instead Nimeda watched the lake ruffle into froth, dizzy with the throb of her head. Aches pierced her body, her actual body, but the concern rattled like debris in a storm. It all felt so far away.
The landscape melted away into a smear, and she knew she was doing it this time, but no true awareness surfaced to temper the raging instinct of the river. Shadows streaked what was left of the sky high above, robbing even the dream’s perpetual twilight. Around them grey waters churned like they stood in the heart of a whirlpool. Damp curls slapped against her shoulders. Her shirt rippled against her skin.
The child at her side began to sob, but for a moment Nimeda only lifted her own hand to study how it flickered almost translucent, like she couldn’t even hold on to that much of herself. She ought to wake herself up. She ought to at least wake the child up, for such sounds of fear burrowed right to her heart, and yet she did not. After a moment she pressed her palm to the girl’s cheek, urging her to hide away.
Grim, his face carved from bloodless marble, twisted to watch the cage swirling around them, one hand balled into a tight fist. Images clouded the water, moving fast with the current. Everything blurred to Nimeda’s swimming eyes, but the grimnir stared at it in horror. A glow came from the water, catching the planes of his face, reflecting the images bright and sharp in his mismatched eyes.
“The creature has a child,” she said. “She protects her child.”
She was not sure he heard. She wasn’t even sure if she spoke it aloud.
“Stop it, Nimeda.” He said it quietly. His fist still clenched, the knuckles white, but she thought he sounded desperate more than angry. He was breathing hard, the rise and fall of his chest pronounced, but the severity of his expression was unchanged as he finally wrenched his attention away. Grim never looked down at the child. Never looked at her at all, after that first time.
It ended with the same sudden ferocity with which it began.
Nimeda’s legs buckled, and the ground rushed up a rude greeting. The grimnir had gone by the time she opened her eyes, which blinked wet with emotion she did not try to understand. Her hands were trembling, her body prickling like the blood inside ran with ice, but the girl’s sobbing drew her attention. She was balled up, face hidden. Nimeda traced the lines of her long dark hair.
“I don’t like it here.”
“Next time, I will show you all the best places of this world,” she promised, and bent her head to kiss those raven locks. A gentle nudge sent the child tumbling back into her body, and with any blessing, to kinder dreams.
Then the world was flat and quiet again. After a moment’s repose, Nimeda stumbled her way to the water. Darkness curled up the edges of her vision as she stared down. Not a beckon to wake, but one dragging her down into the arms of true sleep. She touched the bloody wound at her head, and watched her reflection do the same. The last thing she realised; the face was not quite her own.
Despite it she knew him better than he imagined; the raggedy bones of the man beneath his masks and conceit. Dreams touched the truest shades of a person’s soul, and such demons chased the grimnir’s nightmares as left a hollow in the place most men kept hearts. It did not mean he lacked one, whatever he chose to allow others to perceive -- or even believed himself. But he told himself he valued other things. Cold things. Material things. It made her sad.
A breath escaped her lungs, control fraying under tides of pain. Was this what it was to feel mortal? A mere blink and she might dissolve into the winds which now began to lick volatile at the shore. The stones were still humming beneath her toes, but she couldn’t keep herself contained any more than a thimble might contain the roar of a waterfall. Instead Nimeda watched the lake ruffle into froth, dizzy with the throb of her head. Aches pierced her body, her actual body, but the concern rattled like debris in a storm. It all felt so far away.
The landscape melted away into a smear, and she knew she was doing it this time, but no true awareness surfaced to temper the raging instinct of the river. Shadows streaked what was left of the sky high above, robbing even the dream’s perpetual twilight. Around them grey waters churned like they stood in the heart of a whirlpool. Damp curls slapped against her shoulders. Her shirt rippled against her skin.
The child at her side began to sob, but for a moment Nimeda only lifted her own hand to study how it flickered almost translucent, like she couldn’t even hold on to that much of herself. She ought to wake herself up. She ought to at least wake the child up, for such sounds of fear burrowed right to her heart, and yet she did not. After a moment she pressed her palm to the girl’s cheek, urging her to hide away.
Grim, his face carved from bloodless marble, twisted to watch the cage swirling around them, one hand balled into a tight fist. Images clouded the water, moving fast with the current. Everything blurred to Nimeda’s swimming eyes, but the grimnir stared at it in horror. A glow came from the water, catching the planes of his face, reflecting the images bright and sharp in his mismatched eyes.
“The creature has a child,” she said. “She protects her child.”
She was not sure he heard. She wasn’t even sure if she spoke it aloud.
“Stop it, Nimeda.” He said it quietly. His fist still clenched, the knuckles white, but she thought he sounded desperate more than angry. He was breathing hard, the rise and fall of his chest pronounced, but the severity of his expression was unchanged as he finally wrenched his attention away. Grim never looked down at the child. Never looked at her at all, after that first time.
It ended with the same sudden ferocity with which it began.
Nimeda’s legs buckled, and the ground rushed up a rude greeting. The grimnir had gone by the time she opened her eyes, which blinked wet with emotion she did not try to understand. Her hands were trembling, her body prickling like the blood inside ran with ice, but the girl’s sobbing drew her attention. She was balled up, face hidden. Nimeda traced the lines of her long dark hair.
“I don’t like it here.”
“Next time, I will show you all the best places of this world,” she promised, and bent her head to kiss those raven locks. A gentle nudge sent the child tumbling back into her body, and with any blessing, to kinder dreams.
Then the world was flat and quiet again. After a moment’s repose, Nimeda stumbled her way to the water. Darkness curled up the edges of her vision as she stared down. Not a beckon to wake, but one dragging her down into the arms of true sleep. She touched the bloody wound at her head, and watched her reflection do the same. The last thing she realised; the face was not quite her own.
![[Image: thal-banner-scaled.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/thal-banner-scaled.jpg)