Administrator
In the twilight between sleep and wakefulness, she found herself adrift in a realm of shadows and silver light. The world around her shimmered with surreal clarity, reality with softened edges, that allowed a dream more vivid than any memory to take hold. The gold-hewn hollows of her eyes had been rendered distant and blank for quite some time while she stared into nothingness. The place where her spirit should have been, her soul, was inexplicably empty. Her body stood atop a barren cliff, the obsidian rock beneath her bare feet warm and familiar. Below, a sea of dark mist churned and roiled, neither threatening nor welcoming.
It was chaos.
When a figure appeared on the horizon the wintry marionette seemed to find some thread of life to hold on to. The pale fire her form was missing suddenly seemed to ignite. Life filled the emptiness of her being and color began to spread through a land that seemed malleable with her mood. He was there. She couldn't quite make out his features…It left her heartblind.
"…I'm waiting for you…"
The soft statement was little more than a breathy whisper that felt out of place in such a suspended moment. He was the missing piece. The part of her that she could never express, never know, because the man he had been, the lover, the husband, had been consumed by the parasitic force that ensured his rule. She was cold. Broken. He had been her warmth. His wit and sarcasm, his way with words, the force that held her together. He made her what she was—Just as much as she had grown into her own. "…I will always be. Here, meldanya."
"Even if you take pleasure in being...Late.."
But, this figure in the distance couldn't hear her.
He never could.
The alabaster woman remained motionless; her silhouette framed against a sky fading from deep orange into purplish-black. There was wind, cool and insistent, pulled on silken strands of partially braided hair and turned it into glimmering thread. Her clothing was modest, and plain, a simple white shift with a few buttons at the top. A grey shawl looped through her arms as if it might ward off the chill…But it never did.
Srina searched the edges of the figure but knew better than to give chase. The closer she got—The further away he appeared. She scanned the place where the sea of mist met the sky and tried to will the scenery to change. To move the earth, the landscape, rather than moving them. Perhaps then her sleep wouldn't punish her so with his image, so distant, and rare. She could feel the absence of his presence like an ache deep within her chest—A hollow space that only he could fill. Though people oft surrounded her…
This was a loneliness she was required to hide.
This dream, reoccurring, was her refuge.
A place where she could lower her guard and some level of acceptance. She could shed the game of pretend that she carried for the Imperial Court and gentle the calculating exterior that was required to survive. She could reach for him, for Maliphant, Empyrean, her Rhysion, and do so without fear or restraint. It was only in her mind. It couldn't be manipulated, used, or turned against either of them when the time called for it.
In the waking world, Srina had to be a paragon of control and pragmatic focus. Every decision, every action, was premeditated for the benefit of either her children or the empire. But here, in this dream, she allowed herself to acknowledge the depth of her longing, the raw, unguarded desire to be near him. To have the quiet moments, simple moments, that they had been denied the day of his death onward.
To see him in a place where he wasn't in pain, knowing, she could do nothing to help him.
Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, the only outward sign of the tempest that was starting to rise. She missed him with a desperation that was borderline unbearable. Every moment spent in this half-life left a wound that festered, a reminder, of the price to be paid for taking on powers that were ancient and destructive. Endless, and cruel. For seeking to destroy it. The Worm had not won…Yet he hadn't lost. He had taken from them, as he always had.
He'd merely given Empyrean the ability to take from others in kind.
Pale eyelashes feathered across pale cheeks while her eyes lowered to the ground. He wasn't there. It was just the shape of him that she remembered. From before, his hair was the shade of blood. Before his eyes were made of metal. Before, his wolfish grin of the dead was set in a perpetual grimace that both comforted and destroyed her.
Before, he'd asked that she murder him.
She remembered…And so she waited for

He always found her.
Even if it was…Just a dream.