As I let loose the flow of time, retreating from the moment between moments, my head swims with new information. There’s also a fuzzy, itchy noise about an inch to the rear of my temples, stretching from one side of my head to the other. It’s not exactly like tinnitus, more like a mild pressure, only slightly uncomfortable, almost pleasant compared to many of the pains running through my body and brain. However, bringing up my ever-present tinnitus brings it to the forefront of my senses, and I roll my eyes at its incessant ring when I can’t help focusing on it. I drop a weighty sigh by the wayside of many wasted breaths, and shake my head at myself, and this vessel that is my body.
Dame Altross and I sit, avidly watching the flames consume the fuel of the pyre, worriedly tracing the path of each droplet of water that’s thawed from Teuila’s prison. Our gazes follow each droplet that streaks downward, to land with a sizzle, and evaporate with a hiss. The bowl did seem to be slightly porous, like a sieve, near the bottom center. Does that allow for sweeping the ash down into some dust-chute? It might also help keep the melted water from putting out the fire, since Teuila’s frosty coffin is perched directly in the center.
Hours pass, hours that I don’t know if I have, or if I can spare, on hope. My heart races faster, and faster. I worry the anxiety of fighting for, and clinging onto hope is going to kill me sooner than the mana sickness. As my head is swimming from the flood of neurochemicals constantly fighting for dominance within my cranium, Tiktik mentions a new pain, so I swiftly bring her to Tiago, worried for her health and safety. Despite my being jittery, and having incongruent, jerky, halting movements, I manage to rush out of the manor. Apparently there’s been some discussion with more refugees that are arriving, and they aren’t being allowed onto the grounds by the grounds-keeper. I’m not sure I like that, but I’m worried that every moment might be the last one I’ll ever see Teuila again if this goes wrong.
I mutter, “I love you Kitten. Feel better.” I kiss her on the forehead to punctuate my statement, before delivering her to Tiago.
Tiktik nods weakly at me, her head drooping sleepily as the pain dazes her. Her mumbled response is, “Mhm, you too Tiger.”
While Tiago is occupied with Tiktik, I quickly take my leave. Glancing back over my shoulder as he tends to her with medical ministrations, I feel a pang of guilt for her state. I feel guilty that I’m going to leave her with the mess of guiding and protecting the refugees, one way or another, whether it’s by my death, or my success navigating in the direction of my plan. My heart surges with the ache of this guilt, and I have to tear my gaze away. To stop my jaw from quivering, I steel myself, locking my jaw, gritting my teeth, and I blink away the tears before they can turn into full-on waterworks.
After returning to the foyer of the manor, I settle in once again, with Dame Altross, our unspoken agreement to sit vigil hanging in the air. Minutes tick by as the thawing increases speed, but the flames begin to dim, and my breath catches in my throat. Teuila is no longer imprisoned in a massive block of ice, but there’s still a thick frosty sheen encasing her. Oddly enough, the first thing to emerge fully thawed is her gorgeous shock of red hair, it flutters in the updraft of the heat like the wings of a phoenix reborn. Her hair simultaneously glistens with droplets of water that flick to and fro as it dances about wildly. The droplets catch the remaining vestiges of firelight as they’re strewn about the room, each a tiny crystal missile that loses all cohesive form on impact, like an explosion.
My heart yearns for Teuila, it longs for this process to be complete, to know that she is alright within, or at least whole, living. I gulp back sticky saliva, swallowing roughly, again and again, the viscosity of the spit probably has something to do with the proximity to a blistering fire. Wait, it’s just fire, even if it’s dragon’s fire. Thinking about it, I can’t wait another moment. I have to embrace Teuila, and I have to be there for her the very instant she comes to. Or, gulp—. Or, if she has perished, and begins derezzing, I—. Glp. I have to touch her, one last time, comfort her, despite her not having been ready, be—. Before she—. I can’t, I can’t keep following this line of thought. I leap into the dwindling fire, and wrap my arms tightly around Teuila, praying that my body heat provides even an iota more thawing, just in case it’s necessary.
Dame Altross, though surprised, instantly regains, or perhaps even maintains her poise. I stare into the emerald orbs of Teuila’s irises, lost in her enchanting eyes, and gaze in wonder deeply into her pupils, willing the caverns of her eyes to lead me to her soul, to blink, and shut me within, proving she is alive. Her features are pale, frosty, once preserved in icy stillness, but now are beginning to come alive with color and warmth. Her slight freckling, like stars sprinkled across her cheeks and nose, seems almost irreconcilable in comparison with the paleness that she’s recovering from. Her lips, now begin to thaw, the twisted agony that her expression was captured in held a thousand emotions, but I hope to fill her with singular, positive emotions upon her return to life.
When Teuila finally thaws, I want her arms wrapped around me in an embrace that will speak volumes without the need for words, while I provide the same for her. The warmth of her body, the tenderness of her touch, and the depth of her emotions can be conveyed with that simplest of contact. With the remnants of melting ice, I grasp her more firmly, as if afraid to let go, afraid that this might all be for naught, afraid that I may see polygons floating away from her form any instant now. I sense thermal fluctuations beneath Teuila’s pale skin, beneath her blued lips that begin to fill with a modicum of blush, and within the beating of her heart! My tears stream forth in a worried cascade.
The first sound to escape Teuila’s lips is, “--void.” Was she in the middle of saying can’t avoid?
The next sounds out of Teuila’s mouth, in order, are as follows, “Brr, so co—-ld col-- that’s hot hot hot ow!”
If I weren’t crying tears of relief, and sobbing, I might have laughed at the instant juxtaposition. Teuila tackles me away from the fire, crashing us into and destroying the chair I’d been using, but all I can think about is her, all I want in the entire world is every moment I have left to be with her. I love her. I love her endlessly, painfully, deeply. I love My Wings beyond anything and everything. As we roll and come to a stop, nearly shattering the bay window, Teuila stares down into my eyes, a bewildered expression stretches across her face only momentarily. It’s replaced by fleeting joy, pain, guilt, and so many emotions, with expressions that are so subtle, that no other being is graced with knowing exactly how Teuila feels as she displays them.
In this moment, the world seems to fade away, leaving us as the only two souls that matter. Teuila says two words, “I’m ready.”
I feel our minds connect, I find myself in her mindscape, in her stormy sea of moving emotions. Frantically casting my senses about, I find Teuila trapped beneath a massive wave of guilt, sinking, wanting to cry out for help, but being unable. With everything I can muster, I dive into her guilt, literally and metaphorically, to drag Teuila from beneath its crushing depths, to her small island of joy. In meat space, our hearts are beating as one. Te struggles to grip onto me, the undertow of her guilt, shame, fear, and rage, all struggle to drag her away from me, from her joy, but we fight together, in unison, much like escaping the Night of High Water.
I burn electricity through my cored out nerve pathways, and begin flipping electron bits in nearly-paused time. I agonize, being alone, away from her, despite our bodies being connected, and our minds being locked together in a communion deeper than any other bond in existence. It’s necessary though, I have to do this for her. I do a trillion, trillion calculations, what feels like weeks upon weeks, months upon months, ages upon ages, perhaps even eons I spend, locked between moments, the growing headache ever increasing as I hold back the flow of time, always with a singular focus. It’s honestly probably only several days or weeks, but the *feel* of the lonely stretch of endless amounts of time passing is there. I stop grasping between moments, and restart again almost instantly, countless times. But it’s okay. It’s all for her. They’re only simulations, but because I know us both so intimately well, they’re almost guaranteed to be accurate, in how I would support her. As I slowly release my grip on this moment between moments, I begin to let the calculations trickle forth, using electrokinesis, sending gentle, tingling shocks through our contact, towards Teuila’s mind.
I present her with thirty minutes of extrapolation of everything we would say, could say to each other, in an instant. I present her with another thirty minutes, where we took a different tack on the conversation. I present her with another thirty minutes where we avoid the topic entirely. I stagger them over moments, trying not to overload her, trying to show her how much she means to me, what I’m willing to do for her.
I can’t bring back our accelerated thinkspace yet, but I can condense down and feed you the types of support that I’m best at giving. Te, you’re my everything, My Wings, I couldn’t do this without you, and you’re a hero, you’re a good person, probably the best. We’ll find and defeat Olashax and Astridus someday, and get justice for the murders *they* caused.
Teuila, now free from her icy prison in more ways than one, stares into my eyes with a profound sense of gratitude and love. The beauty of the moment is overwhelming, as if we’re standing in a world of our own creation, where time has no boundaries and love is all that matters. The radiance of her smile, the brightness of her eyes, and the warmth of her touch are startling to see so soon after her imprisonment. They’re a testament to the power of our love, a reminder that even the coldest of trials could not extinguish the fire in our hearts, our tremendous passion for each other, the song our souls sing when connected and intertwined.
In this moment, we’re reunited, and nothing else matters. Our love has weathered storms and emerged stronger, more resilient, and more precious than ever before.
Teuila smirks, and snarks, “Dork.”
I break into laughter, crying tears of joy. Te continues, “My Airhead. My Air, the very air that I breathe. I know I don’t say it enough, but I love you. I truly do. If—. If you weren’t you. If you weren’t right there, when I came to—. I think, I think I’d have been broken, lost forever. But of course my dork, my Airhead would stand in dragon’s fire with me, for me. You’re you. Reggie. You’re you. You’re you, and that, that is the single most important fact in the world to me.”
Oh Te, oh Teuila. My lower jaw quivers as tears continue to stream, my soul struck deeply by her sentiment. I can’t bring myself to say anything to that, but Te continues, “I, well, I was, I heard, mostly a lot of rain, I don’t think I was really present or anything, it didn’t seem like very long, but I had some time to think, and that’s why I’m ready, why I need you to be you, to say the good things, the right things, the things I wasn’t ready to hear. You can’t do this without me? I’m broken without you. And, uh, who’s this old lady hugging us in meatspace?”
The seriousness and soulwrenching, heartwarming nature of our reunion is dispelled, as I blink in confusion, before barking a laugh. I return to meatspace to find the two of us being knelt over, and embraced by Dame Altross. I could swear she mutters, “Tabitha nevermore.” My brow furrows. I think Dame Altross knows instinctively that Taylynn is dead, but perhaps this act of kindness gave her some closure, and I can honestly use every last hug I can get at the moment. The clock is short, I’ve got three to thirty days left to live, most likely on the shorter side. Hm, fall starts on the equinox on Fakeworld, right? That’s the middle to late end of September usually. Maybe it’s the same on Rayileklia, though it’s not like I can see the sun or moon to judge. I have to work under the assumption that every day could be my last, starting at the beginning of the month.
Teuila sighs telepathically, “I almost wish you hadn’t reminded me that your time is so short. My Air. We have to go, we have to. Every minute is a little more risk that we don’t make it in time. Please tell me you have a plan, you always have a plan.”
A sly smile creeps up the left half of my face, almost humorously as I respond, “I do, I have a plan, a direction.”