Look for the Crescent Moon
Look for the Crescent Moon
The fog seethed and pulsed, a roiling, breathing, ravenous ocean that seemed to have devoured everything but the little light it reflected. And the sound. It didn’t just reflect the sound, it amplified it. The high, plaintive keening of a young girl billowed and swelled, carried on waves of mist everywhere they went.
There was so much pain in that inarticulate wail. Hunger. Loss. Betrayal… .Hatred. All locked inside that small body like the sound was locked inside the fog. Boiling, ricocheting, eating and hollowing from the inside out …
Vashrath lumbered into a sitting position, still half asleep. He swung a clumsy arm around her waist, attempting to draw her back down.
"Another dream," he soothed, "Up until recently, I didn’t even know you could dream, my dear. Pity none of them seem to be pleasant.”
"I need to see that girl, Vashrath."
Neris, by contrast, was wide awake. Vashrath groaned.
"A half-mad Vice nearly crucified by dead pirates? I’m sure she has no derth of pearls of wisdom to offer you! Why the wench isn’t dead yet is beyond me- as is what you could want with her."
"I understand empty creatures." was the quiet response.
Vashrath’s sharp features softened, and she allowed him to finally guide her back down into the bed.
Beautiful FMV of “Fear Not This Night” in Chinese. I saw a brief glimpse of Orr in one of the scenes and almost cried.
Sensitivity and capacity to tackle deep questions about human existence, such as the meaning of life, why do we die, and how did we get here.
Neris is all about Existential Intelligence; those deep questions are her “robotic sheep”. Her desire to ponder them is one of the main qualities that gives her cause to hope that she may yet have a soul.
The clock was chiming again. Gods only knew what the hour was. Sleep, however, remained elusive. Neris continued to sit, folded on the couch in her night shift.
It was a surprisingly human posture for her, arms wrapped around the knees she’d tucked up to her chin, feet bare to the early spring chill seeping in through the cracks in the windows.
There were so many times like these, the lonely hollows of the night, when the bronze echo of the striking hour seemed to pound inside her head. It commanded she rest whilst refusing to allow her to do so. To many memories. To many unanswered questions.
Did I act accordingly, in the best manner that I could? When the Reveries broke? When I found him there, in Orr, after all those months of not knowing? When we lost Keladry to the pain in her own mind?
Did I care more about them, or did I care more about their love for me? These are two different things. To truly care for someone’s well being, it would seem one has to put aside the desire for that very person’s love and esteem in return. It only blinds us. We end up caring too much about how they see us, and not enough about their plight.
Does this mean love is distance?