1868-01-10: Shouldn't Have
Shouldn't Have
Summary: Just another stormy and snowy night in Ironhold as Emilia goes for a visit.
Date: 1868-01-10
Related: Emilia Stuffs

He had been one of the few who had seen past her odd speech, past the many odd mannerisms. Oh, not at first as he had certainly only started the lessons to placate Jaren. She had seen he did not expect them to continue far, he was simply going through the motions. That was until she not only completed the first exercises, but had also written out a list of questions about the material he'd requested she read. She had seen the surprise in his eyes. He had viewed her differently after that, treated her different. He came to understand what spark Jaren had seen within her to make the request, to give her something to focus upon. He had not gone easy on her after that. And he had been the first to back her when so many questioned Jaren's decision to leave her to watch over Roseguard, and Ironhold. But now he was gone, like so many others the plague had taken. The lesson and banter in the halls had long been gone, when he had returned to Sunsreach. But they had still had their occasional chats and debates in letters or over the rare tea. No more. He was gone now. Dead. He had not been the first by far, nor would he be the last. But his loss had still brought a new pang of sorrow, for so many reasons.

She wondered how Lon had come to deal with such loss over the years. How many had he seen come and go? Yet, she knew it would no good to ask. In some part, she knew the answer. It is dealt with because one must go on, there were duties to see to. It was why they had all continued on, through the loss and pain. Back then, and now. Even if Emilia knew Lon had not always dealt well, he had told her so once. The time lived as a Beast. Something that was not an option for her, even if there was an appeal.

As thunder rumbled over hard, Emilia looked to her finger and the symbol it was absently tracing upon the iron post. She knew she should not have come here, should have not given into the pull. Especially with the snow that was surely coming in to add to the layers that already covered the forest floor. It would make returning more difficult. She was fighting it less and less when the storms came. She had more ways to fight it now, most days that was enough. But there were days, like these, where she was not certain she was a strong as everyone said she was. Days where she was tired of fighting. Would a day come, as Sirrah worried, as she herself had worried, when she could not fight Them and win? What would happen when that day came? Yet He had said it was up to her, even if not so many words.

Her eyes looked up to the black-upon-black eyes of the being that hovered on the other side of the invisible barrier. "Out of all of them, why did you choose me?" Asking questions she knew she would never have answers to. "Was I to make a better daughter than the others? Did you even make a choice? Or was it simply because I was amongst the last you came to?" The sigh that slipped out was lost to the thunderous rumble of the storm and the wail that came from the banshee. Emilia knew there would never be answer, only questions. And wailing. Always the wailing. No, not always…There had been words over time. Rare, unexpected, scattered. And Emilia knew the banshee…The Widow…Was not some mindless creature driven by instinct. The anger and rage drove Her in many ways, but Emilia had seen more there. Some part of Elk'a'athren was still within.

She should not have come. She knew that even before she had left the castle. But it had not stopped her. It had not stopped her any of the times before either. It was not something she could fully explain, the why. Not that there was anyone who would understand if she could. It was not an answer she had any more than she had an answer to why she had survived all those years ago. Or why she had not fallen ill, had survived when so many others had been taken by the plague. He had said she would live long enough to see plenty enough. She had seen much, more than most. And what did it matter if she died fifty years from now or next month, or even today?

Fingers slightly pressed against the invisible barrier and soon did what the translucent fingers upon the other side could not do….pushed past it to those very fingers that mirror her hand position. A mild shudder running through her as the contact was made, as the unpleasant sensation moved through her. She should not have come. Another shudder moved through her, the pain was less than it had been those years ago, an echo of it. Tears slipped down her cheeks as the thunder rumbled overhead and snow finally began to fall. The wind whipped through carrying the falling flakes, and the wail the banshee let out. An echoing turn of the wail sounding as Emilia’s lips burst open, far from the wail of the Banshee, yet as closer than a mortal should be able to produce.

The echoing wail faded away as the world faded to black and Emilia slumped to the ground. The contact breaking as she fell away from the iron prison. She shouldn’t have come.

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