She did not know what to do with the past. She had long become desensitized to certain things: a song she sang with them once, his eyes seemingly reborn, the flowers she wove into her hair one evening. Everything blurs together when you are cursed to live forever; you do not have any time to remember the little pains of the past. You do not have time for emotions. She had not cried in a thousand years. Occasionally, however, she remembered details. The arching script on the ceiling of her bedroom. A little girl’s bright giggle. A dark braid and brilliant smile. A woman seized with prophecy. A promise made at dawn, sealed with a kiss.
She did not know the language of the people now. It was a foggy mesh of sounds, occasionally sounding vaguely familiar in a manner that always led to false hope. She had forgotten what it was like to speak, what it was like to hold a conversation. She had forgotten what it was like to live with others, to have company, not to be alone.
She did not even know her own name anymore. She had faded into a shade, a shadow. It is all too easy to forget what you once were, too easy to forget the past when there has been too much of it.
And every morning, noon, and night, she sat watch over a barren patch of desert for reasons she did not quite remember, singing a song that was long since embedded in her memory, although she did not recall where she had learned it. She leaned her back against the long dead tree to tell her stories, plucking at her lyre and weaving a tale with her voice as she was sure she had once learned how to do.
As she laid her head on the sand, she began to dream of times long since past.
It was a sticky and humid night, and the night bugs were chirping around the house. The straw pallet was warm, almost too warm. But soon the days would grow long and cool, and then they would cherish every drop of heat. It was little comfort to EurÏlet as she sat up and poked the dark shoulder that lay next to her. As Laizár blinked her sleep away, EurÏlet smiled and grabbed her hand.
Now they sat in the last of the summer blooms, brilliant smiles gracing their faces as they wove the purple blossoms into each other's braids under the delicate branches, surrounded by warmth and the light of the moon. EurÏlet sang songs that had been ground into her mind by dozens upon dozens of tutors. Laizár read the poetry of men long dead to her, their words swirling around in EurÏlet’s head. She thought that they were the two people most in love in the world. When she voiced this, Laizár laughed and kissed her.
EurÏlet knew she would never forget that night, not until the day she died, may the curse be defied.
When she woke, it was all lost to some deep fold of her aging brain. Stretching in the morning chill, she began to play her song again, but not before suddenly recalling the title, ‘For Laizár’. But that name meant nothing to her now.
She did not know the language of the people now. It was a foggy mesh of sounds, occasionally sounding vaguely familiar in a manner that always led to false hope. She had forgotten what it was like to speak, what it was like to hold a conversation. She had forgotten what it was like to live with others, to have company, not to be alone.
She did not even know her own name anymore. She had faded into a shade, a shadow. It is all too easy to forget what you once were, too easy to forget the past when there has been too much of it.
And every morning, noon, and night, she sat watch over a barren patch of desert for reasons she did not quite remember, singing a song that was long since embedded in her memory, although she did not recall where she had learned it. She leaned her back against the long dead tree to tell her stories, plucking at her lyre and weaving a tale with her voice as she was sure she had once learned how to do.
As she laid her head on the sand, she began to dream of times long since past.
It was a sticky and humid night, and the night bugs were chirping around the house. The straw pallet was warm, almost too warm. But soon the days would grow long and cool, and then they would cherish every drop of heat. It was little comfort to EurÏlet as she sat up and poked the dark shoulder that lay next to her. As Laizár blinked her sleep away, EurÏlet smiled and grabbed her hand.
Now they sat in the last of the summer blooms, brilliant smiles gracing their faces as they wove the purple blossoms into each other's braids under the delicate branches, surrounded by warmth and the light of the moon. EurÏlet sang songs that had been ground into her mind by dozens upon dozens of tutors. Laizár read the poetry of men long dead to her, their words swirling around in EurÏlet’s head. She thought that they were the two people most in love in the world. When she voiced this, Laizár laughed and kissed her.
EurÏlet knew she would never forget that night, not until the day she died, may the curse be defied.
When she woke, it was all lost to some deep fold of her aging brain. Stretching in the morning chill, she began to play her song again, but not before suddenly recalling the title, ‘For Laizár’. But that name meant nothing to her now.