A/N: The lack of laughter and warmth reminds Griffin of what was lost when it turned out her best friend wasn't a creature of darkness like her.
The quiet hurt. Sure she was rolling her eyes hard and already on her way out of the room the moment Ediltrude and Zarathustra started another one of their obnoxious fights and when it was late at night and she'd already broken curfew too many times, she considered using her pillow–not to cover her ears but to suffocate them both–but the quiet understanding they shared during the rest of the time was much more painful. At least with the arguments she often ended up getting dragged in the middle. But when they were doing their twin thing and communicating silently, it felt like they entered their own realm and she was left alone in the suddenly cold room that was usually so stuffy due to everything that was crammed in it that you couldn't breathe. But in those moments it felt bigger than the universe and she was left in the center of all that empty space, separated from everyone else and depraved of the warmth of human contact like she didn't deserve it.
She spent all her free time in the library. The silence was different there. Less hostile and empty when she knew that she could grab any random book and it would keep her company without passing judgment on her. It was a safe haven where even her own thoughts couldn't jump on her, for the books protected her from that too. They occupied her mind with themselves, and filled it with structured knowledge that held the hurricane of her doubts away. But no matter how much of that she acquired, it still wasn't enough to fill the emptiness in her heart. It was still there, dark and silent, like a black hole that was slowly consuming her, when there was no light to illuminate it and no laughter to ring through it. And she shouldn't be seeking light since witches drew their power from the dark but she'd lived too long with it to forget about it's soothing presence.
There were so many things that reminded her of it. The secret code she still used when she was writing down thoughts she wanted to keep private, for it was the safest thing she knew and she could trust it was uncrackable. The warmth of a pinkie promise she could still feel even though it had been long broken and she'd forgotten the feeling of contact with someone else's skin. The memories in her dreams. They all screamed one thing when she couldn't even make herself say Faragonda's name.
She'd always been there for her and Griffin had trusted her with the darkness of her heart because she'd been her sister. And now she wasn't even a witch. And how could she call a fairy sister? How could she look at Faragonda with her sparkly outfit and her shimmering wings and not shield her eyes from the blinding light? How could she hug the one thing that was meant to oppose and destroy her? For light and darkness had always been at war, and fairies and witches were bound by that dynamic as well. And the past didn't mean anything–it couldn't–for it was all different now. And it would never be the same. She wasn't strong enough to change anything.
Witches were supposed to draw their power from the negative emotions. But it seemed that no matter how hard the heavy nostalgia was crushing her heart, it wouldn't fuel her magic and she was left weaker than she'd ever been before.