Nepenthe

[Thalia]

“For although nepenthe has calmed me,

I know always that I am an outsider; 

a stranger in this century 

and among those who are still men.”

H.P Lovecraft, The Outsider

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Nimeda regretted the loss of control immediately, and by then it was already too late. She knew enough of Noctua now to understand that her flight would wound him, and that he might not even forgive her for it, but realisation only unravelled her further from corporeality. She did not understand the reason for the reaction, and she felt shame for it that only pushed her further away from the source of the pain.

The irascibility of his nature had never phased her, and she did not take such slights deeply even when she thought they were probably meant to cut. His kindnesses, though; those were hoarded carefully, treasured, and perhaps that was why the very congenial manner in which he pushed her away instead stung her to surprised hurt, for he had looked so ashamed as he did it.

Noctua had told her with certainty that they dreamed for illumination, and she did not think he was wrong; but, Nimeda also believed they dreamed of the things they Needed.

☸

Melancholy lingered when next she woke. The dismay tinged her solitary wanderings, until she found herself amidst the landscape she had last discovered Noctua escaping. Her feet dangled from the bridge he had jumped, her gaze wide upon the looming city while her thoughts churned as sluggishly as the turgid river below. Her chest ached to behold it, perhaps because for now it felt like loss more than invitation. She felt grieved more than anything; for the way he closed himself away, and for the way she had made things infinitely worse.

She cast out several times for evidence of his presence, but either he was not here or he did not wish her to find him. If he were asleep at all, she hoped that this time it was at least peaceful.

For a long time she stayed in silence, emotions passing like tides into stillness. Noctua had told her to remember something about the city, but this night she couldn’t bear to step foot inside it, afraid she would find it unfathomable. She had told him how such places only exemplified her isolation, and thus she usually chose to haunt the wild places instead. The burbling of a stream might be conversation; ocean tides a game of chase; submergence to the deepest watery depths an embrace. But sometimes she wondered what such vast concrete places might be like with souls to fill them.

It was why she had asked him to show her (and why, when he refused, she had shared something of herself instead) -- a wonder revealed in the light of another, and a tangible connection forged in the weightlessness of her world. In guideless exploration Nimeda might wander the entire dream and understand nothing of what she saw, and tonight such a prospect was too much of a chasm to do more than contemplate from a distance. In fearless pursuit she would yet follow. But first she must reconcile that he may never really let her in.

Loneliness could be a most terrible poverty.

She closed her eyes, and willed for solace; until, finally, she shifted away.

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Nepenthe /nɪˈpɛnθiː/ (Ancient Greek: νηπενθές, nēpenthés) is a fictional medicine for sorrow – a "drug of forgetfulness" mentioned in ancient Greek literature and Greek mythology.