A Touch Of Darkness

2 || Fallen

Time is lost on me. It always has been. I have no means of measuring its unbroken track, and so it passes unrecognised. Seconds slide by, brief but eternal. Minutes merge into hours without a name to provide a count. Only my senses allow for the faint idea of day and night, but I sometimes wonder whether they are a figment of my ever-present imagination.

However, through those unique visits -- the ones brought by the girl filled with light -- I keep track of the passing seasons, the rough edges of years. Or at least, I used to. Now she is gone, even they sink to nothing, and I am lost to the endless sea of nameless time.

"What season is it?" I ask of one guard as he delivers yet another tray. They might be a way to measure time, if there was any distinction between them, but the meal rarely strays from its basic form, and the guards' conversation is minimal.

He ignores me and makes to dart away into the darkness, but I rush to the bars, desperate to gain something. "Please. Is it still winter?"

He stumbles back a couple paces, but then pauses, his stance hesitant. "No," he says, his voice so quiet I have to strain to catch it. "It's spring now."

Before I can ask anything more, he pulls away, the echo of his quickening steps slowly fading until he too is gone.

With a sigh, I turn away, reaching for my flame on instinct. It's spring. Up above, the breeze will be fresh and warm, the air filled with birdsong. The fields will be bright with bluebells and lilacs, and all the other spring flowers I'm forgetting. I'm sure this was her favourite season. I hope she is out in the world enjoying it as she always did, even if she can't tell me of her adventures.

Fire blazes dark in my palm, and though it calms my heart, my thoughts continue to race. I hope she is okay. I pray her light still shines.

But my prayer slips away, worthless and unanswered, into time's empty flow.

When the guard comes again -- a different one, but just as eager to leave -- I call after him with another question. "How fares the war? Our fighters?"

He casts me one, fleeting glance before he vanishes without a word, but the look tells me all I need to know. It is heavy with despair, and its weight tightens my chest.

Time drags on. Of every guard that comes by, I ask of the war, or the turning seasons, or simply of the weather. Anything to grasp some knowledge of what lies above, where she is. Most give me no answer. Those that do stay only briefly, but the few words they offer are all I have, and so I cling to them.

A lost battle. A slain commander. Another drafting of soldiers. Good news is near impossible to find, yet still I catch myself holding onto my sliver of faith. She is still alive. She must be, or all I hear is futile.

Summer comes and goes in a swirl of snatched reality. More and more, I search for some end to the suffering above, but it only seems to worsen. The visits become less frequent, although it could easily be another illusion, one that stretches out the lonely moments.

Hope slips from my grip along with time. Why do I cling on so tightly, anyway? I am merely a cursed thing left to wait in the darkness. My wills are no weapon to halt the tide of war.

I stop asking. The more I know, the harder it becomes to forget.

By the time the chills that leak into my cell whisper of winter, I've fallen almost entirely to my flame, the last comfort I have left. The snake becomes a permanent resident, its inky black eyes there to swallow my fear when it threatens to overwhelm me.

On one such day, I pace my cell, the snake sliding at my heels. Fire circles my hand, but I am not satisfied. Something cold thrills through my veins, a faint sense that change is alight.