Anamnesis

[Thalia]

She grew bored, of course, and neither Adrian nor Gorinthian paid her any mind. Naturally she strayed from following in their shadow, and meandered instead along paths of her own. The world around her felt alive in a way the dream didn’t. When Nimeda looked, really looked, she could see the tiny folds and ripples like carefully hammered metal. It was architecture, a space made living from the gaps between all things. Respect naturally stayed her hands from touching everything she desperately wanted to touch. The curiosity burned, but so too did the sense behind it: that this was somehow familiar. It wasn’t a comforting sense; more like a soft, insistent press on a bruise. So she twirled the stem of a poppy between her fingers and wandered instead.

If Adrian had known what this was, would he still have let her in?

It seemed unlikely. As did a return invitation once the magnitude revealed itself to him. His soul was ever the same.

She had returned to them by the time they reached the pillar. As Nimeda looked upon it she was reminded of the basalt stone which had housed Tristan’s troll. At least before he’d reached in and shattered that link with a wrench that had presented a bloody heart in his palm. She hadn’t sealed the resultant breach with anything approaching conscious intention, just ran her finger along the seam, but she wondered now how close they had come to summoning one of the sentinels. It hadn’t been dangerous, just an organic moment of closure. But it wasn’t something Tristan should have been able to do.

Feelings stirred and conflicted in her chest, and she did not examine them too deeply. A wave of protectiveness. The binding ties of loyalty, and a sad sort of longing. Resentment; as sharp and present as the much older fear. Ancient things, like bubbles rising in water. Harmless to her now, but not quite faded either.

He chose to be alone. She never did. But it was often chosen for her.