11th brightening of the month Imperos, in the Season of Autumn
Era II of the Celestine Mandate, Era XIV Post Fractum.
Mid-brightening found the young elven woman sprawled upon a clumsy array of pillows on the floor of the Quicksilver Hall - her eyes closed in apparent slumber. She seemed so tiny beneath the great arching ceiling, her usually delicate features made even more fragile in comparison to the grand stone pillars and groping greenery. She was the very picture of the current season - a cool breath of autumn with her loose auburn locks shimmering with gold, brown, and red tones fanned out about her angular face and a gown of brown linen with gold embroidery and a panel of golden brocade down the front clinging to her form. Her feet, peeking out from beneath the skirts as they perched atop a rather over-stuffed pillow, were bare, her toes curling against the cool breeze playing within the hall. Her silver boots had been abandoned some time before, left lying by the edge of the gurgling pool.
In truth, Larien was far from sleep. Unconsciousness was a luxury that had escaped her for quite a few cycles, causing a matching pair of faint dark circles to bloom underneath her eyes like creeping shadows - the only blemish marring her translucent skin. When she slept, those dreams that were too painful to bear visited her once more... not nightmares, no, but dreams of happy things. Dreams of Motito, dreams of cherry blossoms, dreams of a pair of midnight eyes gazing at her with an indescribable passion and affection... she had long cried herself dry - months before in fact - but still, even as she found herself lying there, her mind soothed by the sounds of the Laughingwater flowing into the crystalline pool, Larien felt the telltale lump form in her throat.
No, she reprimanded herself silently.
No more. She would no longer mourn the past, that which she could not change. All she had left was the present and the future.
I must move on.
Were there not things that still brought her joy? Rides through the Tawnleaf? The feel of a rustling book beneath her hands? The sound of beautiful music lilting through the air? Yes, all those things brought her pleasure in varying degrees... yet still, it was not enough. Her soul hungered for something more, something more filling, more real. She longed for companionship. True, she had her horses, but what kind of friends were beasts? They could not talk to her and tell her of their troubles. They could not listen to hers and comprehend them. They would never be able to share a laugh as they romped through the trees.
Her eyes remaining closed, a smile twitched Larien's lips upwards as another memory passed across her conscious mind - a memory of playing with Katerynn and Tyav'ondo in the Tawnleaf... but such times had long passed. She no longer had any friends. When was the last time she had talked to another on any sort of intimate level? In desperation, she had sought the friendship of the Cheb stablehand... but poor shy thing that he was, he was hardly better than the horses themselves. A soft sigh, almost inaudible, escaped from the young woman's parted lips as she curled her hands around the pillows, her fingertips stroking the soft cloth slowly.
One was truly the loneliest number.