Dilemma

Night.

There was solitude that the apprentice had not experienced in her residence for quite a while, for to be alone had stopped being her desire in a very long time. Times such as those, the loss of the Heart became more evident, the voice from the stone silenced, though always calling from beyond, tormenting her, making her believe that her soul, her fractured, dear soul would be shattered as body and crystal were trying to claim her. Times such as those, her fingers would more than ever twitch and reach out to her neck and she would curse for the fact that the chain was not to be found there, that nothing but that strap of red cloth was held near. It was enough to break her, but unbroken she had to remain.

It was curious as she had wandered into the woods, heading for her home at the night of parting with Thaelen, asking herself how far she was willing to go in order not to feel that void. She had tried to resist for so long, leading herself in her new bedroom and convincing herself that she had locked the door in fear of thieves, thugs that had never before broken in her abode, but would that night. And she had remained awake into the bed, with her regard turned towards the window, back turned to the wall, but she could feel it there. Behind.

The second night, she had done her best to avoid the glare of her old bedroom's door by staying away, certain that the ruins of the old city would provide the distraction she needed. There was power in the harvest and pleasure she would not admit in the withering of the weak. But upon having reached the area came the reminder of curious eyes occupying the area. Thus without the chance to hunt, she had returned to her house, but rest came with difficulty.

However, the third night was meant to be the one of breaking. Why had Keeper and the beautiful woman from the Dead Scar, all pieces of her imagination. Even with something unreal she could live, as long as she would not have to approach the dreaded mirror. But without their presence, there was no other option. The sheet covering the reflective surface had remained that night and all that followed, for she did not wish to see the other, even if her cackle echoed in her mind. Was it a memory, or that vile being within the mirror actually present, sensing her disquiet? It did not matter. Fear brought clarity. And it then took it away.

Paper.

Celysiel had placed it on the floor in front of her on the fifth night, her back touching with the cold surface behind, though the white sheet was still there. A bottle of black ink was by her side, her new quill between her fingers. But as great as her desire had been to place words on the yellowed paper, for several hours it had remained empty.

The greatest question was to whom the letter that she aimed to form would be sent. Two were the candidates, the names which could be written before the introduction. One was the flame and she was the moth, always following even if it may be her damnation. The other a hand of help, or so was claimed. It came when needed, though when was help not needed? It was the dangling toy that the strong waved above the weak. Nothing was for free, a lesson painfully learnt.

What would she tell each? From the Surveyor, she would request an audience, hoping the letter would reach him. And if it was within his power, Celysiel new that he would attend. Or was it just hope that he would? And she would tell him everything. About the Overseer's wife and then the conversations with Irtheas, the grimoire of Twilight's magic which had come to her possession and her plans... But how would that end? Pain. It was all she could taste from her encounters with Eraevin ever since his release. It had never been like this before. Things would never be like they used to. Even if the desire to see him again was great, she could not bring herself to seek him out. Not as the one behind her cackled still. Not as she had made her selection.

But the apprentice herself had not. What would she tell Lady Sunshard in that letter? Help she was offered, but what would she ask help for? And was it help she truly desired? Surely, the young elf's greatest dream was to hold her locket again, to wear it, to hear the voice within, feel complete. However, certain things were best hidden.

So, what did she want?

Placing her head back against the mirror, the girl looked at it. At the white sheet which always covered it, letting but a part of the silver frame poke out. It was just a mirror nothing more, but symbolism was everything for the mind of the young. All mirrors were bad. She had covered every single one in her house, or asked Thaelen to do it for her when they visited a new area. Still water was avoided, for it provided reflections. No one lived within, perhaps Celysiel knew that all along. That the other was just a whisper in her mind, a part of herself. A fear. But through the cold touch of shadow, certain fears could take form more than others. And that mirror served as the prestigious manor of the twisted reflection, the drowned woman, the one at the other side.

"I am not sure I know what I wish anymore." admitted the girl, wide eyes looking at the sheet. Wrinkles were revealed under the rays of the silver moon, its light destined to be the last beacon in the night, the radiance that kept away the darkness.

And from the opposite side, she was certain she could hear the laughter of the other, always mocking, always malefic. A sound that did not reach Celysiel's ears, for it was one ringing in her mind. The twisted reflection knew. And she knew.

The quill rose as her lips shook to inaudibly form three specific words. The choice made. And on its way to meet the paper, droplets of ink rained on her night gown. Black tainting the white. A stain that would never go away.