Late Winter, 515 "I sleep the sleep of the drowned, gasping upward for a light I never reach, a choice I cannot make." Wherever Kavala had been only moments earlier, she now found herself in the middle of a bewildering expanse of grass, which stretched, unbroken and vertiginous, as far as she could see. Slightly to her left, a strange building stood, constructed, it would appear, entirely of shifting, kaleidoscopic light. It was the only visible relief from the endless field of grass. "It's from a Marie Sendlant poem." The voice belonged to a young woman who was standing next to Kavala. Her hair was a wild, metallic pink, and she was idly plucking the strings of an instrument that resembled an alien guitar, a jagged, nine-stringed affair whose body was a rich, deep black. "I don't know if you read Sendlant, but she's my favorite. It's all so very sad, but she finds the beauty in the sadness. It must have been...been so hard to live then, right before the end of everything. I've only seen glimpses, but the only bits I've seen seem...impossible. It's hard enough to live now -- I know that as well as anyone -- but I still don't think I'd make that trade." Trelissa -- it was her, of course it was -- smiled warmly. "It's good to see you again, Kavala. I only wish that every time I saw you wasn't...erm...when I needed you for something. Or when Nysel needed you for something." There was an awkward beat, a too-long pause, before she added: "Which he does. But I'm...I'm guessing you probably already knew that." |