Musings Thirty-Six
Imperfect Illumine: Crying in the Garden of Pain
Mephiles' tears have soaked this garden full. Before turning into the heartless monstrosity I've come to know, Mephiles was really a benevolent, gracious Summoner from a thousand years ago. He tells me that he misses that era.
Of progress. Of peace. Of stability, not a speck of worldly worry.
He was especially fond of one Summoner—a strong-bodied Kilika native—whom he'd met more than once during his pilgrimage.
Mephiles tells me, heavy-hearted and sobbing, "My anxieties weaken when he's with me. My worries flee, and my heart warms. But now…"
He doesn't finish. He can't. Lotuses catch his teardrops.
