10-16-2008, 10:15 PM
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The sickness hadn’t made her want to leave. Not within itself, at least. She could care less about what befell her in a certain place, but it was what the illness had stirred up and left behind that bothered her. Now, day and night, she was besieged by memories that she thought she had left far, far behind her. There were mixed feelings of reproach, loathing, curiosity, and, at the very core, guilt. A lot of guilt. Guilt that threatened every night to reach out and swallow her whole. She had left behind a life when she had left the city, as well as many she imagined she had cared for. Now she would see their faces dangling before her like objects on a mobile, and she didn’t know what she wanted anymore.
The rains had still not subsided around the land known as ‘Souls, but her sickness had mostly cleared. She still felt weak – both physically and mentally – at points in time, but the more apparent and dangerous side-effects had cleared indefinitely. She was getting better, and the thought of an early grave now seemed laughable and intangible. This only made her more anxious for her future, however. Was she going to stick around here? The obvious answer would be yes. Why, especially with all of these negative feeling crowding within her? The answer was, in a word, Laurel.
She couldn’t ever put a definition on the relationship that bound them together. She wouldn’t even begin. The mere thought of having to leave him for any part of time was, oddly enough, totally repulsive to her. They had only been traveling together for around a year, but still, there was something about his company that she craved more than any other’s. Which made this decision even more hard. She would surely be engulfed with the shadows of the past if she didn’t leave, but she’d tear her soul apart in leaving. Nikita swallowed heavily, frowning as she stared into the mist that silently drifted into the camp. It was early morning – very early morning, to where the sun was barely beginning to shed light into the waking world. She had been watching the camp without aim, mostly getting her thoughts in order. Her mind, no matter how muddled, was already made up, but that didn’t mean this was any easier. The mere thought of moving to speak to him tore at her like knives, but she couldn’t simply remain inactive. She knew he was probably still sleeping, or at least still in his make-shift shelter – she would have noticed if he had left, seeing as though she had been gazing at the camp most of morning. With a heaving sigh that made her ribs ache, she stood and approached.
Standing impassively a few feet from the entrance, she frowned and deliberated for a moment more before stepping forward and intoning, “Laurel?”
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The rains had still not subsided around the land known as ‘Souls, but her sickness had mostly cleared. She still felt weak – both physically and mentally – at points in time, but the more apparent and dangerous side-effects had cleared indefinitely. She was getting better, and the thought of an early grave now seemed laughable and intangible. This only made her more anxious for her future, however. Was she going to stick around here? The obvious answer would be yes. Why, especially with all of these negative feeling crowding within her? The answer was, in a word, Laurel.
She couldn’t ever put a definition on the relationship that bound them together. She wouldn’t even begin. The mere thought of having to leave him for any part of time was, oddly enough, totally repulsive to her. They had only been traveling together for around a year, but still, there was something about his company that she craved more than any other’s. Which made this decision even more hard. She would surely be engulfed with the shadows of the past if she didn’t leave, but she’d tear her soul apart in leaving. Nikita swallowed heavily, frowning as she stared into the mist that silently drifted into the camp. It was early morning – very early morning, to where the sun was barely beginning to shed light into the waking world. She had been watching the camp without aim, mostly getting her thoughts in order. Her mind, no matter how muddled, was already made up, but that didn’t mean this was any easier. The mere thought of moving to speak to him tore at her like knives, but she couldn’t simply remain inactive. She knew he was probably still sleeping, or at least still in his make-shift shelter – she would have noticed if he had left, seeing as though she had been gazing at the camp most of morning. With a heaving sigh that made her ribs ache, she stood and approached.
Standing impassively a few feet from the entrance, she frowned and deliberated for a moment more before stepping forward and intoning, “Laurel?”