"Memory itself is an internal rumour; and when to this hearsay within the mind we add the falsified echoes that reach us from others, we have but a shifting and unseizable basis to build upon. The picture we frame of the past changes continually and grows every day less similar to the original experience which it purports to describe." SANTANAYA, George
By: Swans
From: Soundtracks For The Blind (1996)
...
— So... how is Fratley doing? – he asked. By he, I mean the Doctor. Doctor Tot, or just Doc, or Tot. Some say Thoth, but that doesn't make any difference. A genius, they say, and I agree. He was so kind to deliver me that book containing his and other's researches about memory, and how does they work, or so does it seem. So far, I read the first half of the book. Not that the book is heavy, but I'm not akin to literature. Not all burmecians share of a taste for words in a paper, like Tot does.
...They all ask the same as usual. Besides me, there is a Fratley, and always had been. Mostly the people from this entire continent knew or know about me because of what seemed to be an endless search for the one who taught me many things, about me and myself. Some might say I was selfish, and they are neither right or either wrong. Fratley had his own goal, to protect his people from an upcoming disaster, but all that I wished to prevent was my own disaster, the collapse of my structure, the rottening of my flesh. Worse than allowing myself to believe only on my own desire, believing my strenght alone would suffice over the strenght of Fratley and the desire of his destined for all his people, which I had denied for so long, unlike the closure of his and the unnexplainable achings felt by me, and maybe his, but like now, he never reacted, or did, by fleding from my arms, or what I used to tell myself and believe as well...
— He is fine – I answered, then I progressed to tell him more – he eats well, no more fats, no more is he skinny, doesn't drink too much, sleeps before eight and thirty, share of same bed as me, wakes up between six and thirty and seven o' clock, practices regular exercises in the morning, brushes his teeth, has found a hobby on reading certain books, also water the plants between lunch and dinner on afternoons, baths day in day out, washes the back of his ears, never fell on the toilet, combs the flaxen hair, wears the same outfit, interacts with other people, is careful to others, likes children, is no longer afraid of the dark, is patient, usually on a good mood, often stable, laughs when a joke is told to his, brushes with a smile given by or to his, still cries after watching a good theater, sometimes doesn't, either because he didn't understood, or didn't paid attention, still kisses with saliva, still hugs me with same warmth... – and everywhere I go, I am followed by his, like a child is tied in to his mother's arm...
...From the window, I could see Fratley in a glimpse, playing with some kids on the streets. He is jumping rope, and so he tumbles like an harlequin. None of his knees went hurt, or any arm, it was just a tumble. 'Just a slight tumble, don't worry about me. I am a Knight as much as you do'; I used to say it so to his during the times I was training to become a Dragoon Knight, far skilled as Fratley, or so I thought I could come out of the shell sooner than anyone else, but Fratley was already a moth flying around, sometimes obscuring of my own vision with those eyes. 'A child only educated on a school is an ill-bred child'; father was alright. Same thought had been gone within me when I crossed the boundaries to reach the Dragoon Jugend, another name chosen for a kind of 'school'. These streets, no matter where I go, are the place where the true meaning of education can be found. Instead of teachers, anyone can punch your face, and pull you into a puddle of mud, or water if you are lucky enough as Fratley, though, no matter the size of the wound, you'll still get injured, and alike the weight of a feather and an iron ball, the pain remains the same. It's just the air that decreases the iminent fall, you see...
...Besides me in the window, and those children, others also seem to give a short, yet a look, to Fratley, once said to be a proud Dragoon Knight, and a Sir of Burmecia as well. If Fratley hadn't given his trust to everyone he met, he wouldn't have lost everything in the process. Everything he had ever known, about his people, about his kingdom, about me... He was more than an affair, but now seems less than what he truly was. Still share of same face and brief words, yet the whole of his contradicts what it was once before. I get offended when they call him by empty-head, but he doesn't. He should had been the one who would revidate, like he used to do, but I wanted him back, or at least, follow of his trail until the curve came because I've believed until that now, the turn of the century, that there wouldn't be an end for my journey. The end I cursed to not happen...
...
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Irontail...465Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡC2HC7mYDhk
I don't seem to share of a tail made of iron. Even if I did, it would be already rusty, and fall apart as result. I can understand this basic, yet I can't even recall my own name, on purpose... Fratley, isn't it? Too late for that. Well, nothing seems that late for Freya, so it won't be late for me as well. Though, mostly everyone else thinks I am such Nothing, an excuse to be this person I once was. But Freya still believes I am such Irontail, such Fratley said to be dead, but I am alive, yet that doesn't prove that I am Fratley. Anyone can be either alive or dead, but that Fratley wasn't an 'anyone', instead of me. A well-regarded someone to the people of Burmecia, as regarded as Freya is, even regarded by those who never saw his face, this face? This hat? Those feathers? Those hands... her hands. That hat is alongside me all the time, as much as Freya and her support as well. She can do anything for me, though there are some things I can do on my own, but it's never too late for me to be brought in her arms and say otherwise. Or in the eyes, by now, and how often do they. How often...
— Listen, Freya – for some reason, I am about to talk to their owner. It is as if they speak 'talk to me' on such cleverness that can't be attributed to those lips. They can speak the same as well, but how unlikely they sound as this gaze, that become such familiar to me, and only, as it seems. So I continue, because they demand words, to be spoken not in vain – I admire what you had been doing lately. I mean, you do care for me, don't you? Yes, you do. It seems only you do this way. Even if it might end up hurting you...
Hurting you? Freya? Would you end up hurting yourself for me? For such as me? An ordinary such as me? I would never want to see it, anyway. I might be seeing it by now, but I just turn my head backwards, painfully. With my pain, I harm you on same way, or worse, on other ways I do not know where they go, or ever went. Owls can turn their heads, unlike me, and are sleepless into the nights as well, unlike me, and so Freya.
— Don't panic, Fratley – Freya spoke, now with her lips. The tone of that voice remained the same, for all who once heard it, including me. Was I wrong? Am I wrong this time? What is to be considered wrong? – you are already giving a support to me. If it wasn't for you, I would not even be there...
— ...Being there for me? – I asked, she didn't heard me this time, then I follow. I... just follow her. Not before that hand closes with mine, a tie alike that orange ribbon. The only thing that moves are our legs, the rest is not voluntarily responding. The body tremble as we move, to where? I don't know. I led the lady hold into my arm and guide me into these walls and the candles, thought I'm not close enough to melt of feel the coldness, besides the one of my feet, and that hand, before I holded it for too long. Slowly we walked, somewhere else other than the library. The sky is still grey, and so do we. I am failing with myself, ain't I? It must be this heat, or the loss of same out of my skin...
Frostbite. I burned myself yesterday. That fever tried to burn me as a whole, before I had been threw into that bathtub. The water was warm enough, alike that tea, still running down into my throat. A coffee burn, my body was about to melt, but Freya was there. Always had been. I was there too, wasn't I? Was it really me? I couldn't see myself, but Freya, Frail... a sort of spell came into her Dragoon hands. Frostbite. Ice taken from the castle's basement, same ice belonging a faraway land, by the name of Esto Gaza. To heal me with ice, drowning in ice, being boiled by same ice... The silkworms wrapped into this clothes were gone, and this hat too. I don't wear shoes, but the claws there wherever I step had to be polished, clear as water. The strands of this hair became algaes when immerse on that water, alike the gray belonging to me, and only me. Freya also shares of same fur, but only her hands got soaked, for a while. The water was too cold, unlike the look of her eyes, alike that touch. The touch of water, those hands, my tiny hands, the ice melting, as the water level increased, I couldn't drown yet, never I would, because Freya was there. I was there too, and now I am here.
'If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be there'... I heard Freya saying something alike that. My ears also went frozen, but now they don't seem to be that cold, they rarely do. A pair of ears... A pair of hands, claws, eyes, and tails... No, we don't share of a pair, as much as I tried to make it so. I don't feel like a whole, but a pair who had lost its half; Freya sure knows a way to find that half to complete me, it's all written in that book. If I could do it by myself, if this be my destiny... As long as I with Freya, I do not have the need of such worries, though we do feel worried, if its about ourselves, or only my self, I don't know. The blemishes around me caught the attention of many more than the ones belonging to Freya do. My hand seems tightened by her fist, though such doesn't want to harm me that much, or let me go so easily.
— Freya... – I said the first thing that ran into my mind. I do not want to forget of such name anymore, as much as I can't forget of same person... corridor, alike us, seemed so quiet. They must be sleeping inside those rooms, where they share of their own private lifes. Even that Prince Consort hasn't awoke yet, unlike Freya. Same couldn't be said of me, and those blinks. Without that hand to hold of mine, I'm sure that a wall could run into my face.
— What is it? – she asked, as we kept walking halfway throught somewhere, being eaten by this corridor, seeing how yellow its jaws remained.
— This place seems so quiet, don't you think? – I asked, and again, the first thing that ran into my mind. I'm not that much fertile of ideas, and Freya doesn't seems to be awaiting for some random conversation to come out of my throat. It has been years since she didn't heard of my own voice, I'm sure that I know it. And I'm also ashamed, less than only thing that reverberated into that mind, the only word of mine echoed inside Freya was her own name, and surname, and a 'Lady'. She ain't a Dame, as much as she calls me by 'Sir', or so I used to be referred by that way. Sir Fratley, of the Irontail family; just Fratley is fine. It doesn't matter anymore that I am a Sir, but for Freya, anything that resembles what I used to be or to do matters.
— Sure it is – she said – these folks only seem to awake at six 'o clock, not before. There are some guards outside the castle, though... – barely I heard a word of Freya, not because they were short, but not enough. It's like she stopped in the middle of the conversation, or that she didn't wanted to stretch it further. The further it takes, the less I can remember... I'm trying my best, I know I do, as much as Freya do, maybe less than her, but I am doing something to preserve of my self, instead of wrapping these strands, his strands, into my head. Mummy head...
...Any objections, Freya?... On training, I learned that motivation is always important, for every situation, no matter how hard it takes to build houses brick by brick, or to climb a mountain step by step; with motivation you can do anything seemed to be impossible. So I did. It was motivation who brought this decision of mine to find Fratley, and take him back home, where I stood, or used to. My motivations to take him back to Burmecia always seemed so vain, yet I brought the lie that he run away from me, like others did, on a desperate attempt to find him at once. Anxiety filled me in like the hopes I had to find him at once, and this once never happened, until that pitiful sequence of scoundrel days. It took years for me to age, and for Fratley to find me instead, or find the people for whom he had been protecting, instead of me, and only. All happened back on that day, that past month of February, the day dissapointment hit me like a broken knife...
...You used to be so formal with his. Like everyone else, you used to call him by Fratley, followed of a 'Sir' first than his own name, don't you? But I am not everyone else, as much as Fratley ain't everyone else. When people gather close to each, know each, it becomes meaningless to be that formal, it's meaningless to only show of the formal side. Alright, this is the end of the trail for today... I'm sure that I'll stay with you. Why don't you close your eyes... Heh. Here, I'll do it, too, just so you don't feel stupid... But I would like you to have it. It's customary for a knight to give this to his lady... This used to be ridiculous. Still is so... so old fashioned of you. I miss you. I'm a knight too, Sir Fratley Irontail. Still I am. I'm not that kind of maiden who'll sigh over a trinket and wait for you to come home and dance a sorrow-dance every day until you do. Sheesh... I suppose that's not my style either. If I would define such, it would take some time to do it so, and I don't have that whole of turns to be taken, just a few much akin to a damsel in distress... this ribbon you were willing to give me looked alike. Would you wear this same ribbon for me? I suppose you don't...
...Men don't wear ribbon, Freya. That's what you said, and I expected you to say it again, when offering of your gift to me, your lady. So, you still wouldn't take your knight's favour? Should I be affronted? Should I had ran away from the kingdom? I already did it so. Two times. Should I had stood away from this same ribbon you gave me? Why would I? This thing only seems to be the last remnant of a tie we had. You offer of your ribbon, as I offer of mine as well, don't you agree? I guess I could live in the without any ribbons to be bothered about... are you making fun of me? You had been so easy to make fun of, besides the face. I guess I was the only one who ever saw your face under the hat, but now that you have became the joke, no more that I share of good reasons to laugh, never more that I'll do it so. Everyone can see the shame upon your face, as much as I used to see someone who ashamed me, not like this. Only when this is over... This, not me, or you, whom I still call by Fratley. Is it because of the guilty I felt for you, who didn't even recognized of me anymore? You used to do it so, when I was too reckless, but we both forgive each other, or used so. I was an immature child, and you are a helpless child...
— Fratley... – I heard my name being uttered by that kind woman. Freya, right? That may be a sort of sign that me and Freya had became so close of each other, yet we so far away, like in those years. Not in sight, but memories. Same ones I forgot... – 'does a tree make a sound deep in the forest, where you can't reach or even approach?' – she asked. We are in the middle of the way of somewhere else, other than that library. I had no answers to be delivered, but just a look of curiosity, or so there's another way to define this look of my face, constantly put in there by many questions, answers, and conversations I had once, and usually they come back. So, I had no answer, but silence could be said to be a kind of answer, in this case, part of many. I listen to the silence, until that delightful voice comes, and goes like waves as well, althought I'm not drowning yet.
— I don't know... Do you?
— Nobody, so far, had given the right answer – she said. I could deduced that not even Freya knew the answer of that question, alike many questions of mine are left without answers. In words, mostly. However, when I asked to the Crescent here, always here, about her 'being there for me', she allowed that hand to be holded by my own. Still she does. Questions may come, and go, when they are answered. Yet, Freya mentioned this question, without an answer. How could that be possible? I don't know. And that's my answer, a rather weak one. Weaker than any 'because yes' from adult to child. Weaker than what I had become.
— ...Fratley? – I felt someone pulling my hand. Someone near me, but it wasn't me. Althought, when I looked at that face, she looks like me, except she's she. Freya, right? That's right. I heard her voice, and I felt that voice as well, trying to pull out some words out of my throat. Well, what should I say? I... maybe I should... no. Come on, say something. She's trying to make you say something. I can say anything, as long as I am not being feeded. I can say anything, as long as I'm not sleeping, though, I seem to be falling, the closure of my eyes... no. She's awaiting for a word of yours. Don't dissapoint her, like you did before... before... before...
— Yes, Freya? – I ask. I decided to ask. I asked, on same way she did. Speaking of her name, facing her, yet my face remained the same, like many words of mine. Anyone else would have gave up already of me, this me, yet she stands there, watching me, listening to me... feeling me? I may be weak, an empty not only in head, but Freya is strong. I know she does, because of me, this me under this hat, whom she later took and put upon my face. I didn't even felt it, maybe because I had closed my eyes on that moment. Wait... I'm wearing a hat right now. I can feel it, the feather atop me, an only feather, unlike the pair of wings belonging to her. Maybe that happened another day, like many things already happened. I didn't paid that much of attention before, and now, as it seems.
— Had you been listened to my words? – she asked. I already had an answer to that, so I was about to say it. She was worried, still is, seeing and hearing the way she asked about if I listened to her. Of course I had been listening to you, Freya. It's a pleasure to be able to listen to you, as much as it is great to be able to talk with... why can't you answer her, Fratley? Well... fine them. She's awaiting for me, so...
— ...Of course I had been listening to you, Freya – I said. Now, I need to remember what she said... She seems satisfied enough that I spoke with her, and more that I understood what she said. Others would say 'forget it' as an easy escape route for a failed attempt of conversation, but Freya never said such thing, to such as me – who told you that? – I said 'that', because I have forgotten the subject of the conversation, althought I can remember something. I wish I could remember more, but at least, I remember something. It was something about trees, wasn't it? Trees, forests, green... Look at her. Listen to her.
— A friend of mine said it so once. He was more than a friend, but less than a cousin, or a family member. We didn't shared of same blood, althought we shared of same goal, or so I thought. But I knew that we still shared of this same world, and that no matter the lenghts I had to cross, these legs of mine would be weary, but a weary body can be taken care, unlike a weary soul... a weary tree mostly would fall apart, but the trunk is still tied in by the roots underground. That's my view of a tree who doesn't make a sound, if it had fell deep into a forest. Mountains, forests, deserts, wastelands... they are all the same. Nobody can hear you from them, but still some are willing to be in there, to approach of same place, in search for something, in search of experience. I began my search for this friend, because I believed that I could follow of more than his words, but his thoughts were others, same for his age.
— ...And what happened to him? – I asked. Freya knew the truth, whom she replied by a straight look to my face. Half-straight, since she looked at me, and at the instant she did it so, on another, she tried to avoid me, but couldn't. While we stood there, in our both feet, rain slightly poured down.
Irrelevant as it seems, unlike the way we both acted, puppets of the collective distraction, ummoblie in this awkward silence, like that face, and my face. The room, more like a corridor next to many rooms, became colder, even with the candles hanging in the walls. Those blazes are waving, even without a wind, alike how that hair used to wave; a white instead of an orange tip, since the only orange is tied in the end of that tail, who waves briefly to the left, and to the right, even on that same erect position, alike its owner. Yet, beneath the strands, lies a blue face, with skin grey like ashes, same ashes of mine, or what remained of what once was me. Freya still carries on of same urn, as seem with that reaction, a lack of reaction coming from mine. Should another apology work this time? I should say something, at least, before she doesn't.
— I'm... I'm sorry – I said to Freya, trying to hid myself beneath same hat, as if the strands weren't enough. Once again, I dissapointed of her expectations, that remained as they shouldn't had become. Words cold alike that silver plate lying above her chest, whom they call it by coat of arms. Underneath such, near the circles drawn abover her breast, lies a heart, althought they all seem to notice what lies above first. No one else had been able to look at Freya on same way as I did, and no one else had been able to dissapoint of same Freya as I do.
— You don't have the need to be sorry. This ain't a disease, like they say, but a spirit's condition – she said. We are even, somehow. Many would say 'it's alright'... No, it isn't alright. This ain't right, or even wrong. Reality isn't that kind either. Well, some people who reside into such may be, unlike me. 'You caught me in a bad time, so why don't you piss off'; I would never say that, as much as I never saw Freya throwing tantruns to her own back, or to a spider that once had bitten her shoulder.
— Well, if you say so... – I had nothing 'to say so' about me. I already know who I am. At least, my name. Fratley... the rat with the iron tail, thought I may replace 'rat' by 'Burmecian' instead. There's no difference whatsoever, since I am a rodent, by nature, but I am a man as well. Rats are only animals. I do wear of same clothes, alike a man, alike Freya, thought she is a woman, yet she looks like me, in a way, and another.
Althought she ain't that... that... exactly that. She won't forget a thing, unlike me. I can still remember a few things I did, somehow, and of course I have to remember those. I woke up, of course, because Freya pulled me out of the bed, then I followed her, maybe because she holded of my hand, or because I had been holding of that hand instead, the door of the library opened, or so that's how they call that place by, and then... I... I drank that tea. Without Freya. Why would she drink that thing, had you thought about that? No, I guess I didn't. A person can only drink an only tea, right? I can eat more than one bread, so why can't I sip two cups of tea as well? But... if those tea sets were only for me, then why they were put so far away from another? Isn't it obvious already? As obvious as it is to justify why you had broke, on purpose, that cup? That cup... it was warm, but Freya...
— ...I wonder where you put those cracks I've made when I stood on the library, Freya – I said to her. That silence bothered not only me, but Freya as well, as much as the lack I had to remember something else, other than apologies made in the due time. I demonstrated, with the look and the voice, a certain curiosity to an unsolved, to my eyes, mystery. Freya only left the library, carrying on those shards on that helm, and when she came back, that helm was already there, on her head.
...Is there something else bothering you, Freya? the doctor asked back on that day, noticing more than the look of my face. As if I was claiming some help of his, I discussed with Tot about the once private matter between me and Fratley. Sometimes, during the nights spend on that room, I can feel him moving on bed like a man drowning on his own sea of blankets. What were once quiet nightmares became turmoils to bare with, but because of my heavy sleep, I don't seem to notice them as much as I could a week ago. I couldn't sleep on those nights, or even remember my own dreams, who turned into black, same for that dark room, and whatever was inside that mind belonging to his. But now I may know half of it, as much as Fratley knows half of me. Into one of these nights, instead of moving reluctantly, Fratley started to hold onto me. I could feel his hand softly close upon my left ear, the one that usually stands on top of my sleeping position. I thought it was the wind, or maybe it was just the pillow, or that thick blanket above my face...
...The brain is such a delicate thing, same for the studies related to such. In theory, as I and the Doctor may have slightly understood, Fratley is suffering from some sort of repressed memory while on his state of sleep. More than a repressed moment of his life, he said, concluding that due to my closure with Fratley, a state of perversion that would be dissaproved by anyone else if we were, for example, sitting on a dinner's table, is generated; without anyone else but me on that bed, this matter couldn't be clarified as a sort of bad behavior. Interesting, isn't it? And there was more... Freya, might if I ask you if this also happened prior that day, I mean, on the past, these years ago when you had met with his? Now... had you and Fratley, or maybe someone other than his, well, engaged on, uh... sexual activities nce? the doctor asked me, in front of me. Unlike other people, he was willing to discuss of such forbidden matter for many. Once upon a lifetime, Doc... Do you wonder what does a damsel does when it comes the happily ever after? I do, and I know for sure that such happiness doesn't last forever. Only for minutes, or less than you attain happiness, then comes the death, the cold, this if you are left alone, on your own. But Fratley, my partner and only, never left a bad aftertaste. I knew I could count with Fratley, since he had the travelogue with his, though he used to travel alone before I met with his. He would lead me astray from where I was, but knew what to do when I come back to where I once was...
— Anywhere I go, or I had been, there always seems to have a furnace nearby – she said. Freya had been doing this not only because of me, but because that's the task of a Knight as well, or so I can see on that armor she's wearing. That helm, who seems to be alike a hat, is made of metal. Cold, unlke that kind heart. And those kind hands, they used to share of same warmth. Sometimes, she is cold, frigid like the tip of an ice stuck at someone's wound, but rarely Freya gets pissed to be on that way. It's meaningless to look back in anger, or so she said, and tries her best to follow of that quote, of many left by... me. My name is spread around this world. His name, to be fair. That name will remain burnt forever on Freya's head, instead of mine. She wants me to share of same burn, same scars, those scattered on that body, as if I had been the one who made them all. Me, the goal of Freya's efforts.
Across the walls, atop the the highest mountains, into the middle of the fields... I played a hide-and-seek game before, but now I can be found anywhere, I can't run to nowhere and nobody else, besides Freya, and those arms. But that's what she wants... to share of that burnt on me as well. She only ends up harmed, because of me. I wanted to share of those cuts left on those fingers. The blood still drips from their tips, unseen atop this crimson blanket. With the door already open, I got inside this room, where I left once, to follow of her to that same library, a sleepwalker being holded by someone with more than asleep eyes. Tired, exhausted... not upset. Trembling, maybe. As soft as the blanket may be, the wounds left by that cup still hurt, and I just lay here, on this bed, feeling only a shiver into my skin, because of the cold coming from the corridor, as if that hurted me enough than those fingers who put me here. The fingers that made that cup slip from my hands, and the fingers that came to take those cracks away from me, as if those white shards belonged to the jaws of many hounds, and before they had bitten me, Freya had been offered on my place.
With this hat, that looks like a pork pie, I could have taken those shards instead of Freya, but where would I place them? Everything seems to go down in the drain... Time to go to bed; that's what mother would say, if she was alive. I know I had a mother, because who else would be so kind to let this creature born. Not my daddy; who else, other than Freya, to keep me warm inside this crimson pool? Drowning, but alive. Is that supposed to be called by support? Wasn't I supposed to be kind to her? To offer of same type of support, instead of letting her fall, alike that tiny, yet long, strand of white belonging to that hair that flew into my nose? What am I supposed to do now? Blow this strand away from me, like I had been taking away my own dignity, my own purpose, my... what Freya is exactly for me? For her, I am a knight, even without that hat, even without that... heart? I can feel it pumping inside me, less than before, though sometimes those beats come and go, with that touch, that look, those worries inside that look, and then, I cried, for no reason.
A mote came inside my eye. My own tear became such, as this vision had gotten blurred by such water. I'm not drowning yet, though these candle lights are unrecognizable, but just orange spots, alike that circle above Freya's tail. Freya... she looks like a red spot, and I a black hole. No one seems to share of enough reason to do it so. Leakages just seem to happen, mainly on bed. Freya, unlike others, had so many reasons to cry, a tidal that should had been flowing alike those strands, yet she didn't even moaned, or made a noise, screeching words as I do, in this comfort, always apologising, with a nodding of the head, or a swing of the tail, unlike herself, gray alike a statue, not falling yet, as I did for this bed. The only time I noticed my own blood dripping because of my efforts was when I slapped a fly. Maybe that wasn't my blood, but Freya's, seeing how that colour matched with that coat, that wound, that knight who had the blood.
That knight... Freya see on me that same knight she seeks. No, what do she seek is a way for my memories to came back. Memories of a mote; memories belonging to a knight who once left the land we used to live... Burmecia. There's no sun to be seem at Burmecia, only the clouds, the rain, its people, and the houses they live. The places they secluded themselves into another, or used do. Now, what used to be a Kingdom, a home for those alike me and Freya, is in ruins; same goes for the refugee, a shelter that same child, same maiden who stood here, found on his arms. But... who's the child now? I was born again, thanks to Freya; because of her, I am meant to be rebuild first. A thousand belonging to that kingdom, who remember how beautful was that place, but me, only me... if I could remember, at least, one thing. Just one, besides the rain, who falls everywhere, into everyone.
Many fell into her feet, but I felt them instead. Only me, and nobody else. I tried, but I couldn't bring these words of mine to her ears. The ears... Without that hair... without that touch... I fell powerless. Not that I have the power of my own, everyone does, and so do I. I can only hear myself inside this room. I can only touch myself, feel the lungs squeeze out some air into this room and take it back from the same air as well. I listen to the rain, but who else don't? Like my breathes, the rain outside intensifies when it falls from the sky, and hits the floor, countless times as the breath of mine, and the breath of the one who once belonged to this room. I wanted her to stay for a bit longer. Freya should had been resting, instead of me. But now I perceive why she didn't. Why would she lay on this bed, this grave, and white flowers falling from her head, calla lilies around her breast, withering away as soon as they touch me, and this skin. Only me, but I know Freya ain't me. She has her own routine, so do I. She also wanted to stay, didn't she? Would she ever? Mostly she does with her routine is... to stay with me.
...I loved you once... I can do it again – I can hear she saying that. I heard it once. It happened when I cried, after another apology. Freya doesn't even let me to blame myself, to blame that knight she sees on me, still does, like then, like now, even before she left this same room. I also left this room as well, following her, alike that knight used to do, shielding her from the rain with these arms, same ones he used to put her on sleep. Now that she had put me on this bed...
...listen, Freya... I think you might need a day off. I know... you're trying to help, I'm glad that you're doing it so, but... I don't want you to hurt yourself in the process... – I can hear myself saying such thing. I already said that before, but, no matter what I had said, I just forget – ...I love you for that... – maybe I also said that.
...My white star... Freya – that is the last thing I recall I said to her, in a voice whispered. Why I led it to be said in a whisper? Doesn't I wanted Freya to listen to it? Was it because I felt she wouldn't agree with what I said, perhaps?... Did she, at least, saw my lips moving, like in a conversation, did she had? And... did I smiled when I said, no, whispered such? Because she did. The passion is what really hurts, not Love in itself. I, and nobody else would call such thing done by Freya as something done by passion, though she ended hurt in the process. Always does. How come a beautiful turn in to such pitiful as me? What does Freya see on me that stands out from the rest?
Rats... Gray, brown, blue... all of them.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
