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Finn has been my first everything. My first friend. My first fight. My first kiss. My first lover. My first heartbreak.
Something must always be lost if you’re ever to gain. Don’t fear this. You will never move forward if you never leave things behind.”
“We’ll meet again, Keeper,” he mutters. “And when we do, I’m going to drive that knife into your heart and inhale your pathetic little soul.”
At least the last thing I will ever lay my eyes upon in this long life is a powerful woman of both beauty and fury. A soul delicate yet wild and so deeply moving—even if she does wish me dead.
In another life, I would’ve tried to know her. I would’ve admired her and read her poems written by my own hand. I would’ve walked with her through fields of stardrops, danced with her in the stream.
If I could speak, I’d tell her I came here to help her. To help us all. I’d tell her that I’m not evil. That I’m not entirely good, but I never meant to bring her sorrow. I’d tell her I’m terrified of what my death means, and that I’m worried about leaving her alone, because she doesn’t realize how alone she might truly be or what evil is yet to come.
Mother used to say that grief always strikes when we least expect it, and that we rarely realize how those we love inhabit even the most seemingly inconsequential parts of our lives. It’s in those moments that the pain of their absence strikes so much deeper, because the time we took for granted suddenly shines in sharp relief.
Gold for life magick, red for healing magick, silver for common magick—like the protective magick we build at the wood’s boundary. The violet must be for Sight.
She called me impulsive, impatient, and imaginative, a restless being who needs freedom to flourish and love to thrive.
