Serafina Pekkala
Serafina Pekkala flew through the night without purpose, her hair streaming behind her despondently. There was no life left in this lonely witch queen. She was alone on a cold night with no one but her daemon for company. The air was still and stale around her as she flew listlessly through the stars.
If she'd been human, she would have cried. If she'd been unwise, she would have made herself fall. If she'd been anyone but herself, she would have screamed her sorrows to the wind until her throat was raw and each breath burned like wild fire. But she would never be anyone but herself. Alone, beautiful, immortal and wise, a helping hand for those in need. And how it sickened her, though it never had before. Now though, now she wanted someone to comfort her. Comfort her now that she was choking on bloody tears and blind with sorrow.
But there was no one. There would never be anyone, not like that. Yes, of course, there had been, once. But he was dying. He was human. And it broke their hearts to see each other. Him because she was still young and beautiful, like he wished he could be for her, and her because he was old and human, like she wished she could be for him.
She knew it was selfish. She knew there were others in worse states then she. She should be comforting them, not bemoaning her own problems. But tonight she couldn't help herself, she couldn't take any more pain.
She had seen Lyra cry all the slivers of her broken heart out onto the bloody grass. She had seen Mary leave behind her dear Mulefa friends, grief in every movement she made. She had seen Will force down all his pain and guilt and sorrow and close the last window, trying not to vomit all his feelings up again. She had seen people die pointlessly and hearts be broken without need. She had seen love caught and killed and hung to dry. She had felt all the sorrow of the world, and she knew she wasn't the only one. There was a little child-no-longer-a-child in Oxford who felt it all as well. And just the thought of someone else feeling like this, carved another gash in her already shredded heart.
If she'd been anyone but herself, she would have screamed the world's sorrows to the wind until her throat was raw and each breath burned like wild fire.
Serafina Pekkala flew through the night without purpose, her hair streaming behind her despondently. There was no life left in this lonely witch queen. She was alone on a cold night with no one but her daemon for company. The air was still and stale around her as she flew listlessly through the stars.
If she'd been human, she would have cried. If she'd been unwise, she would have made herself fall. If she'd been anyone but herself, she would have screamed her sorrows to the wind until her throat was raw and each breath burned like wild fire. But she would never be anyone but herself. Alone, beautiful, immortal and wise, a helping hand for those in need. And how it sickened her, though it never had before. Now though, now she wanted someone to comfort her. Comfort her now that she was choking on bloody tears and blind with sorrow.
But there was no one. There would never be anyone, not like that. Yes, of course, there had been, once. But he was dying. He was human. And it broke their hearts to see each other. Him because she was still young and beautiful, like he wished he could be for her, and her because he was old and human, like she wished she could be for him.
She knew it was selfish. She knew there were others in worse states then she. She should be comforting them, not bemoaning her own problems. But tonight she couldn't help herself, she couldn't take any more pain.
She had seen Lyra cry all the slivers of her broken heart out onto the bloody grass. She had seen Mary leave behind her dear Mulefa friends, grief in every movement she made. She had seen Will force down all his pain and guilt and sorrow and close the last window, trying not to vomit all his feelings up again. She had seen people die pointlessly and hearts be broken without need. She had seen love caught and killed and hung to dry. She had felt all the sorrow of the world, and she knew she wasn't the only one. There was a little child-no-longer-a-child in Oxford who felt it all as well. And just the thought of someone else feeling like this, carved another gash in her already shredded heart.
If she'd been anyone but herself, she would have screamed the world's sorrows to the wind until her throat was raw and each breath burned like wild fire.