Subject: Comfortable Discomfort
Date: Sun, 5 Oct 1997
Nightshade stood in the empty hall after Seth vanished into the shadows. When the light returned, she had to blink a few times for her eyes to adjust. She pulled her hood up to cover her head and most of her face. Immediately she began wringing her hands together and walked across the great hall in the direction of the corridor on her way to bed. She stopped abruptly though and turned instead to head out of the Keep. She had no wish nor expectation of catching up to him. She simply felt an overwhelming need for the cover of darkness, the comfort of night.
Walking out into the darkness, her mind flashed over his presence, his words, and that girl, the one he spoke of... Sarah. Nightshade shook her head within her hood. She muttered to herself "No. No, she does not live." She walked unsteadily down the pathway to the boathouse without really thinking about where she was headed. As she neared the boathouse and dock, her steps slowed for she was lost in memories of Lord Wolf with his son, the love between Wenndolyne and her Wolf, even that between Jaede and the young Kavin fellow.
Nightshade's arms wrap around herself for she was now chilled, though not certain if the night was warm or cool. Her footsteps echoed as she walked across the dock, til she stopped in her tracks catching her vague, dark reflection in one of the boathouse windows. Slowly her thin hands pushed back the hood. In the window, Nightshade saw her pale face lit by the moon and faint glimmers of light on her black hair. She reached out to the image in the glass and spread her fingers over it. She reassured herself "She is not here. Only I am here. A healing thing. A killing thing... There is no girl here... most certainly no woman."
On her walk back up the path to the Keep, Nightshade muttered bits of long-used wisdom to herself, calling up all the reasons she preferred to stay cocooned within her cloak, within herself. By the time she re-entered the Keep, got to her room and into the bed, she was certain it was all just fantasy. The ghost of a boy she had killed with her touch came back to taunt her. That's all it was. He sought to drag her from her comfortable dark place, to make her pay for the life she took from him. She could not let the phantom have his way. She could not exhume her heart so long buried. She dared not even contemplate close company, much less love. Her touch is death and she saw to it that Sarah was laid to rest so many years ago.
Even so, as Nightshade lay between the cool sheets waiting for sleep to take her, her thoughts drifted. His hand to her hand, her cheek, her neck. Her skin burned even now from his cold touch. She felt him so close behind her. She heard his whispers over her shoulder, close to her ear. Her heart, Sarah's heart, wept for wanting but Nightshade’s mind kept chanting "No" as sleep gradually found her and drew her into its own darkness.
(..)
