DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but the computer this was written on. Xena: Warrior Princess and all story lines/characters belong to their respective owners. This is just for the entertainment purpose.
Please R&R. I hope you all like it.
Cheers!
Alder.
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It's been almost a year since that day, and even so, I remember everything with a certain clarity that is vivid enough to frighten
me. Morpheus fills my dreams with visions of such emotion, it causes my to heart ache for you; your smile, your touch, the sheer
depth of your azure gaze; all of which that is now confined to my soul, clinging to your memory.
The weather has taken a turn for the worse, a cold wind biting at my skin through the layers of fur and animal hide laced
about my body. I pull the leathers close, but it holds no importance for me now; the cold, the pain, the instinct for survival;
it is all meaningless. The only thing that matters is the preservation of the small clay urn that I hold lightly between my sore
and stiffened fingers.
A small smile plays across my lips as a foreign memory wells in the recess of my tired mind. Oh how I had pitied her, Pandora,
for her unfortunate situation. Through fate she had been destined to carry her grandmother's burden, charged with the task
of protecting the hope of mankind, lest it escape from the box and be lost to us all. It is ironic in a way, that I sit here now so
many years later, and face such a similar situation.
"Xena…"
Blond hair falls from its place and situates itself across my vision. I've let it grow longer this past year, you would have liked it.
My hand moves to brush the strands away from my face, with the intent of replacing them once again behind my ear; instead
my fingers trace lightly across my cheek, sending a shock through my body when I realize, they're wet.
The thought of crying had not entered my mind since you left me, for fear that once I have started, I wouldn't be able to stop.
To remember you is to remember a world of pain. There are too many memories, too many regrets, and so many sights I wish
I hadn't had the opportunity to see.
The sight of your beaten body, slick with the course pattern of your lifeblood, haunts me more than any dream. The gruesome
image plagues my memory, never allowing me the peaceful bliss I desire the most, but the thought of letting you go
shatters my very being.
My gaze falls to the simple piece of pottery in my grasp, absentmindedlystroking my thumb along the nicks and grooves
of the material. This battered chamber holds what is left of the once physical essence of you, and it is both my blessing,
and my curse.