One, two, three, four...
Every step I take must be counted. The rhythm helps keep me sane, keeps me distracted. It's not that I fear what will happen - it's that I fear I will enjoy it.
Five, six, seven, eight...
Eight moons. Eight moons since I was brought within those walls. I've counted every cobblestone on the Garrison path: one-hundred and thirty seven. I've counted the tears in Dreppin's shorts: six, not including the makeshift belt loop. I've counted the exact number of beers Imoen needs to drink to start tabletop dancing. But there's one thing I refuse to count. Just. One.
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve...
To say that I loved Gorion would be a gross understatement. I worshipped every pebble he walked on, and how could I not? He sheltered me, taught me, helped me to understand this duality inside. 'Falia, no matter what happens, you are in control. It is, after all, your body.' And he was right, in a way.
To me, Gorion was on part with the gods. But...the wheezing as he conquered the monastery steps each day; thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen...; the chills that ravaged him in winter's dawn; seventeen, eighteen, ninteen...; the look of confusion when he tried to recall certain names, certain places, and sometimes who I even was; each day, Gorgion reminded me of his humanity.
Twenty.
And then I lost him.
I was livid. Knowing that I left my idol, my father, to his death? Not a waking moment goes by where I don't wish to change the past.
But I can't.
So instead, I change the future.
Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four...
We're meeting each other's gaze head on. I can see that uncertainty: the cold, calculating cogs clinking away in his mind. Sarevok is scared, and I want this moment to last. For him to bathe in these disgusting emotions, swelter in them until their fetid fumes consume him in the very humanity he so despises.
Twenty-five scars, etched into his gauntlet. Twenty-six hours since I'd said goodbye to my companions. Twenty-seven months since I'd left Candlekeep.
He draws his sword; I draw my claws. All I can hear beyond Lupus' roar is his echoed words from my lips:
You. Will. Learn.