Chapter 31 – Right Where You Left Me
The woman's voice was beautiful, clear, smooth, and riddled with emotion as she sang, the torchlight reflecting in her warm blond hair like flickers of gold. Her modest audience in the barn was raptly listening to her, lulled by the sweet mellow notes she was plucking from her harp, offering the villagers the gift of music which they had been robbed of for so long because of the Singing Sword.
But the sword's affliction had been lifted when its wish was finally granted, returning their earing to those who had lost it, and now the village was blooming with all sorts of sounds, laughter, music, singing…The playful giggles of children, the clanking mugs of fresh ale being passed around, the colorful voices of storytellers…
The widespread joy was truly heartwarming to see, with many different pockets of celebration scattered across the small village, and even if it was quite late into the night already, the festivities were far from dwindling.
Maeve leaned a shoulder lazily on the opened barn door, arms crossed over her chest for warmth as she listened to the woman sing in the torchlight, allowing her mind to drift to the gentle notes of her harp while a middle-aged man with a thick beard tried to explain to her the history of the song itself, something about a woman waiting for her lover gone to war...
She was listening to the villager absent-mindedly, smiling here and there to stay polite and wondering whether he was trying to flirt with her or if he was genuinely looking to share the origin of the song, when she felt someone approach her from behind, someone who stopped mere inches from where she was standing, almost leaning into her.
The bearded-man took one look at the new presence over her shoulder, awkwardly grew quiet, then quickly made himself scarce, clearing his throat to excuse himself before strutting away deeper into the barn.
Maeve suppressed a smile, almost feeling bad for the poor villager, when Sinbad spoke behind her, right next to her ear.
"Making friends?"
His tone was slightly teasing, and she followed in the same mood. "Hardly. You keep scaring them away."
He didn't reply, merely grumbling inaudibly behind her, and although she could not see his face, she could almost feel his gaze surveying the inside of the barn like a hawk, as if to deter anyone from coming near her again.
She was tempted to tease him further, but the song of the blond-haired woman came to an end and the small crowd erupted in appraising claps, which momentarily diverted her attention. The blonde beamed and thanked her audience, her round face alight with joy under the glow of the torches, while a young lad with a flute happily joined her for another tune and the woman's fingers quickly returned to her harp, their combined voices soon ringing softly in the night.
The new melody was slow and gentle, almost cradling everyone in the barn like a lullaby, and with Sinbad standing so close behind her, Maeve was temped to lean back into him for warmth. But his voice drifted to her ear once again.
"I owe you an apology," he said, steady and low, his warm breath almost sending goosebumps down her neck.
"What for?" she frowned in puzzlement, slightly turning her head to the side to look at him.
"For not trusting your instincts," he explained, his voice growing heavy. "You knew something was wrong with Alana right from the start and I didn't listen to you. I'm sorry."
The depth of his blues eyes was filled with warmth and sincerity, and she gently shook her head to add some nuance to his statement. "You were only trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, to protect your brother," she said with a sad smile, averting her gaze as she remembered her own stubbornness in the matter. "I wasn't exactly tactful with my warnings. I only cared about being right, not safeguarding his feelings. I owe him an apology for that."
The song's melody drifted between them as he remained silent, the heat of him radiating into her back from where he was standing so close behind her, tensed and protective. She could only see half of his features in her current position, but judging by his stiff composure, she could sense something was still weighing on his mind, some inner turmoil she could not quite decipher and that was making him on edge.
She was about to pry and ask him if he was alright when a toddler clumsily escaped his mother's grasp in the small audience and ventured to the blond woman's harp in curiosity, his little inept fingers plucking at the strings and disrupting the tune. The crowd laughed at the sweet display while the mother rushed to catch her son in embarrassment, and Maeve couldn't help but beam along with the villagers.
But her smile quickly died on her lips when she felt her back grow cold, Sinbad's presence vanishing from behind her. When she turned around, she barely had time to catch a glimpse of him as he retreated down the gloomy path that circled around the barn.
Concerned by his brooding mood and wondering what might be tormenting him so much, she stepped away from the torchlight and set off after him, plunging into the silvery darkness of the night and following the path he had taken.
When she found him, he was pacing by the fence of a rudimentary paddock, his shoulders tensed and his features obscured by the shadows. She slowed in her steps at the sight of him, almost hesitant to approach him while he quietly battled some inner demon she could not see.
"What wrong?" she asked tentatively, stopping a few feet away from him to grant him whatever space he might need.
He stopped his pacing momentarily, just long enough to exhale some bottled up tension and let his shoulders sag before he turned his back on her and gripped on the railing of the paddock's fence with his hands.
Growing more and more worried by his persistent silence, Maeve carefully joined his side in the moonlit darkness, choosing to remain quiet and wait for him to speak, his hooded eyes masked by the shadows and staring ahead blankly, as if he could not look at her.
When he finally spoke, his words caught her off guard completely.
"When you fell overboard…" His voice was huskier than usual, low and thick with emotion as he seemed trapped in the recent memory. "I thought…" He pressed his lips together, gritting his teeth almost in anger as he struggled to articulate whatever was plaguing him. When he locked eyes with her at last, they were painfully brimming with all the distress he had felt earlier that day. "I never want to feel like that again."
She felt the air leave her lungs, nearly rocking back on her heels at the small blow of his admittance and suddenly fully understanding what that specific ordeal had meant for him. He had lost Lee to the ocean when he was twelve years old—a story he had openly shared with her not so long ago on a sleepless night—and for a moment today he believed he might have lost her as well.
Her heart spasmed in her chest at the mere thought of whatever deep-rooted anguish he might have endured for the brief two hours that went by until they found her in Firouz's tub.
She swallowed hard, trying to formulate a proper response to dispel his apparent distress, but he looked away into the night before she could speak, his entire body tensing again as he seemed to be sucked right into the memory once more, his grip on the fence tightening.
But she would not let him drown in the dark.
"Hey." She stepped closer to him, grabbing his wrist to gently pry his hand loose from the railing and turn him to face her, forcing him to look at her in the moonlight. "I'm here. I'm right here."
He met her gaze heavily, his features riddled with emotions in the darkness, raw and sharp as a blade, and as they both grappled for words to diffuse the rising tension between them, they just naturally melted into each other.
He pulled her close and she wrapped her arms around him tightly, holding him as steadily as she could while his own arms locked her in his embrace, strong and possessive. He was rigid like a rope pulled taut, his entire body still bearing the weight of the day's hardships, and he was clinging to her as if she might evaporate into thin air.
His hands moved along her spine, one coming to curl around her hip and the other traveling up to hook into the slope of her shoulder, and she felt him tuck his nose into the crook of her neck, breathing her in as if to steady himself.
He had never done this before, and it sent shivers to the tip of her toes and flutters to the pit of her stomach, while she slowly felt the tension bleed out of him into the night, his iron grasp around her gradually softening, but not yet releasing her.
She continued to hold him as well, lowering her head onto his shoulder to breath in the fabric of his clothes, familiar and comforting in the shadows, while she waited for him to gather his thoughts and his composure, content to just remain in his arms for as long as he needed it.
When he finally pried himself loose a bit, his husky voice was still quite heavy with turmoil. "If we hadn't found you…" He shook his head as if to banish the sheer possibility his words were conjuring, while his haunted gaze was lost in the obscurity of the night. "I would have used the wish to-"
"Don't." She cut him off with a bated breath, stopping him from venturing down the slippery path he was embarking on, on the one hand because of the terrible implications it carried considering the poisonous wound Doubar had been sporting earlier that day, his very life saved by the sword's single wish, and on the other because he was dangerously close to shedding light on what they always avoided between them, what they always danced around and refused to name.
She was not ready to address it. Not tonight. Not yet. They had all the time in the world. Let it remain nameless and intangible for a while longer, until she could gather the last shard of courage that she needed to lower the remaining walls around her carefully guarded heart.
He didn't press further, respecting the boundary of her unspoken request, while she tried to soothe his frayed nerves in the darkness. "I'm here," she stated once more, her fingers travelling up to his neck and face, gently brushing stray strands of hair from his forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."
The memory played on a loop inside her head, as if her wounded mind had latched onto that specific moment to torment her like a tragic nightmare.
'I never want to feel like that again.'
His words rang in her ears, like tiny blades poking at her heart. He had lost her for about two hours that day, and still it had deeply shaken him, riddling him with anguish and fear and ripping into his emotional baggage.
He had lost her for real this time around, and for much longer, the duration of her current absence still unknown to them both. Had it torn him to pieces? Completely shattering the carefully guarded trauma he carried within him when it came to losing people at sea?
Judging by his fragile state that night in the village, she could not bring herself to imagine what might have gone through his head after the storm, when he fully realized that she was gone.
Who had been there to hold him that day in the dead of night when his demons came to haunt him?
Rubbing the red linen of his bandana gently with her thumb, her heart filling with painful longing, she closed her eyes briefly and took a slow breath, allowing her ears to anchor on the sound of the crashing waves a few yards before her, loud and soothing.
How many times had she sat like this? Staring at the ocean blankly and wishing beyond measure that the Nomad would appear on the horizon? How many times had she wished for the waves to swallow her whole and carry her back to where she belonged?
For the brief two weeks she had spent with Dim-Dim after the storm, she had lost count of all the hours where she sat like this on the empty beach, paralysed and numb, heartbroken and ripped apart by longing, and outraged at the unfairness and cruelty of it all.
She would just sit on the beach without eating and without sleeping. Just sitting still and staring at the ocean, its endless waters calm and undisturbed, indifferent to her weeping soul.
She would just sit and wait. Over and over again. Her mind flickering everywhere and no where at once, while her heart bled for all the time that was lost.
How different everything could have been…if only they had put words to this thing between them, naming it for what it was, or what it was blooming into…
But it was too late now.
And here she sat again, on another beach, on another island, just sitting and staring and waiting…
As she looked blankly at the vast tranquil ocean, still struggling to come to terms with her decision to remain in Kalladrell without contacting the crew, to keep them safe, her treacherous mind was about to plague her with what she had witnessed in the Blind Mountains once more, the sight of that harlot laying her hands on him while he looked on the verge of shattering like glass, but movement in the corner of her eye suddenly diverted her attention.
Robin had just emerged from the treeline in the distance, tensed and serious, his raptor eyes attentively surveying the shore until they finally landed on her, his shoulders sagging with relief for a barely perceptible second, before he proceeded to slowly hike up the beach in her direction, towards the spot where she sat with her knees slightly pulled towards her and with her arms resting on top of them.
She could tell he was watching her carefully as he approached, as if measuring what might be going on inside her head by the brooding look on her face. He had cleaned up nicely, she noticed, the clothes on his back fresh and new, and with the mud and the blood completely washed away. The only visible traces the Blind Mountains had left behind were the numerous cuts and bruises painted on his skin, which would take a few more days to fully heal, and the subtle lines of fatigue that would surely continue to crease his features until he got a proper night of sleep.
She had cleaned up as well by now, the sea properly washing away all the dirt, grime and blood of the deadly mountains from her skin and her hair, after which she had slipped into her old white linen dress, the only clean item of clothing left at the bottom of her poor backpack, while her shirt and trousers dried off on the sand and her leather jacket kept her warm in the crispy autumn air.
When Robin finally reached her, Maeve saw his eyes briefly flick to her exposed bare legs, but he quickly caught himself and looked away. Under other circumstances, a blush might have crept over her cheeks, but right now there was no room in her head for self-consciousness. Her mind was nothing but a black morass of bitter thoughts.
He sat down beside her quietly, not too close, yet not too far, and mimicked her position with his arms resting on his knees while she nonchalantly wrapped the red bandana around her wrist to stop toying with it. Some deeper instinct urged her to hide the personal token out of sight, but she reasoned it was useless because pretty much everyone had already seen her with it in the Blind Mountains, either tied up in her hair or around her wrist, even though no one truly knew the untold story it carried…
They sat side by side in silence for a long time, simply watching the ocean waves roll back and forth, sucking at the sand over and over again in the fading afternoon sun, which was slowly descending behind the treeline at their backs, casting the beach in mild shadows.
When Robin spoke at last, his words were admonishing, but his voice was calm. "The next time you decide to skip town, would you mind informing Leisa where you're going? Before she proceeds to rip everyone's head off?"
Maeve almost rolled her eyes. "We're not in the Blind Mountains anymore. I can take care of myself."
"I know," he conceded, slightly grimacing. "But you try and tell her that."
She didn't need to imagine the Radakeel's feral concern, easily picturing the warrior woman barking at everyone to send them out on a search party to find her, and she realized she must have been gone for a few hours at least, which was enough to drive Leisa completely mad.
But Maeve would not apologize for it.
As she continued to brood quietly, Robin seemed to grapple with his next words as he looked at her with sorrow and sympathy. "Cassidy told me about Jacob," he began, his blue eyes heavy with grief. "I'm sorry."
Maeve pressed her lips tightly together, sullenness filling her blood. "Not as much as I am."
He shifted slightly where he sat, as if struggling to find a way to pull her out of the darkness of her mood, opting as usual to remain calm and steady while she inwardly seethed with bitterness. "Did you get the answers you were looking for?"
"Not really," she replied dryly, deeply annoyed by the whole turn of events and her utter lack of control over it.
The only question Jacob had answered was the one she did not want to believe, effectively trapping her under a crown she did not want.
"He confirmed I was the Fire Maiden," she reluctantly admitted. "Then he gave me this-" she lifted the Hallox to show Robin the curious object he had entrusted her with. "-proceeded to mumble a few prophetic words about the Dark Wars, and he died."
Her summary was curt and almost harsh, but Robin made no comment on it and simply reached out a hand to examine the small silver item. "What is it?" he asked with a puzzled frown.
"He said it was a Hallox, a powerful weapon," she responded as she handed it to him for inspection, her tone still dry with irritation. "But he was short on specifications as to how it works and what I'm supposed to do with it."
She watched him as he studied the small object that looked like a thin metal stick with small nodes on either end, with a tiny slit carved down the length of the item like some sort of whistle where one could blow. As he clutched it in his hand, the length of the metal stick disappeared inside his palm only for the nodes to remain visible on either end of his closed fist, and the way his brow furrowed in confusion was her indication that he did not know what the unusual weapon was either.
"What did he say about the Dark Wars?" he pressed further, latching onto another part of her speech as he handed the Hallox back to her.
Maeve inhaled deeply, anchoring her thoughts on the fragmented pieces Jacob had given her with his last breath, scarce pieces of a bigger picture that remained dangerously incomplete.
"That the cycle was not undone," she replied sourly, profoundly hating how blind and clueless she felt at the moment. "I suppose he meant to say that whatever it was that happened during that ancient time might eventually repeat itself. Like the Djin Lords capturing the last Fire Maiden."
He will come for you…He knows…Jacob had cryptically warned her, sending cold shivers of dread and anguish down her spine. Who was the he? King Zankar? The Djin Lord? Someone else? And what did he know exactly?
"Djin Lords have been gone for hundreds of years," Robin began, "I don't think-"
"They're not gone," Maeve shook her head, remembering when Dim-Dim had informed her that Turok himself had probably been one of those dark wizards. "My friends and I defeated one about a year ago in the East. And my mentor warned me about another before he sent me here. My guess is, it's either Commander Sarkin, the man who led the raid here in Denwood, or it's King Zankar himself."
They both grew silent at her sinister suspicions, with Robin gravely analysing the new pieces of information he was receiving and their implications in battle, the General in him surfacing in the depth of his blue eyes, while Maeve's mind treacherously brought her back to some distant memories, the acrimony returning to her voice.
"Do you know I was once taken prisoner because of the color of my hair?" she mused darkly, eying the ocean in resentment. "They wanted to sacrifice me to a demon from the Wikken Hells in exchange for their freedom and their lives. Feels oddly familiar…"
"You're not our prisoner," Robin corrected her gently. "You can leave whenever you-"
"I can't." She bit into the words and shook her head. "I promised I would stay and help. And even if I wanted to leave, you told me that worldwide ships rarely sail to Kalladrell. And since Tyross is currently under the control of the Blood Raiders, sending letters out through the 'Door to the East' as you call it, will be pretty much impossible."
She rested her case, even if she knew her arguments were blatantly useless since she had already decided to stay in Kalladrell, while Robin cleverly opted to poke holes through her excuses.
"You could use magic," he pointed out, deftly exposing the solution that was as obvious as the loud waves crashing a few yards before them.
"I don't know how to do that," Maeve lied, averting her gaze back to the cursed ocean, while he continued to nibble at the issue as if he knew he could corner her with it.
"The wizards can," he said plainly. "I'm sure the Central Council of Erindale would be happy to send out a message on your behalf. Unless you don't want to leave…"
Maeve scoffed at his bold assumption, even if the hidden truth beneath it stung her like a hot poker. "I'm not exactly looking forward to fight a war against the Blood Raiders, King Zankar, a Djin Lord, a Belrok and-"
"A Belrok?" His eyebrows both drew up as he interrupted her list of foes, a flicker of confusion flashing in his blue eyes.
"The beast the prophecy speaks of," she explained somberly, her fingers toying with the Hallox. "The one Leo recited in the Blind Mountains. The beast awaken, to lose or win. Before he sent me here, my mentor warned me against a Djin Lord who would unleash a Belrok from the Wikken Hells. I'm pretty sure that's the beast the prophecy refers to, although I have no idea what a Belrok actually is…" Her voice trailed off as she morosely pondered what kind of hideous monster destiny had in store for her, on top of everything else.
"I do," Robin answered, his lips drawn in a tight line and his eyes suddenly darkening with gravity.
Maeve felt herself pale right away. "What?"
He looked away almost angrily, wiping a tired hand over his face before revealing a translation she was definitely not ready for. "Belrok is the ancient Korellien word for dragon."
She blinked, his unfathomable answer abruptly knocking the wind from her lungs, and she was certain that if she'd been standing, she would have been knocked off her feet.
A dragon.
A fucking dragon.
"Wonderful," she scoffed in derision, leveling her glare at the sea while her mind failed to fully compute this new piece of information. "Just wonderful."
Robin remained quiet beside her, watching her while she seethed with rising helplessness.
When he spoke again, it was to offer some hope and speculation. "Maybe that's some sort of weapon to kill the beast," he said tentatively, pointing at the Hallox in her hand.
Maeve rolled her eyes at him. "What am I supposed to do? Whistle it to death?"
He smiled at her sharp retort, his face lighting up despite the grave implications of their entire conversation. "I don't know," he shook his head, his gaze softening as he glanced at the horizon line. "But it looks like we'll have all of winter to figure it out."
Maeve was not convinced at all, her nerves feeling like barbed wire beneath her flesh. "Shouldn't I be riding to Erindale as we speak?" she asked, her mind racing ahead. "I need to warn the Central Council about the Belrok and the Djin Lord, and if there's a war coming, I-"
Robin shook his head again, this time to try and dispel her growing list of worries. "I spoke with General Bennett. The last he heard from the Central Council in Erindale, our spies reported that the Blood Raiders were moving further inland in Tyross to subdue pockets of rebellions amongst the inhabitants. It would appear they intend to finish their conquest of the island before they turn their attention back on us. It should give us enough time to properly rebuild Denwood and rest. I highly doubt they'll attack again during winter."
"And if they do?" she counter-argued. "What if they attack precisely because they know we'll assume they won't?"
"They won't attack the same village twice," Robin responded confidently. "Therefore, we'll be safe in Denwood for the time being."
Maeve knew he was probably right, but worry still nibbled at her bones like an annoying parasite.
"What about the rest of Kalladrell?" she pressed again. "The prophecy says the coasts will be set ablaze by three. Southampton was the first city to be attacked, Denwood the second. There will be a third."
"Aye," he agreed somberly. "Which is why every major city on the island has been fortifying its defenses since the very first raid." He turned to catch her eye, steady and solemn. "We know they will attack again, and I assure you, we intend to be ready for it."
Maeve held the weight of his sturdy gaze, watching as the ghost of the General swirled in the depth of his blue eyes with warm reassurance. But the sense of helplessness swiftly rushed into her blood once more, swallowing her with bitterness.
The scope of everything was simply too vast for her to cope with all at once. The prophecy, the Blood Raiders, their evil King, the Djin Lord, the Belrok. She could easily name the threat they posed, but she was still utterly unable to fully grasp and conceptualize all the consequences they would unleash down the line. Or rather, she could, and it was just too overwhelming to think about.
War. Death. Destruction. Suffering.
That's what it meant.
And it scared the wits out of her, the fear biting into her bones like poisonous fangs and an infuriating reminder that she had been thrust into this whole mess against her will. That she had not chosen any of it.
But that was a lie.
She had willingly accepted the mission Dim-Dim had entrusted her with, albeit blindly, but she had agreed to it by her own volition.
And less than an hour ago, she had decided to stay in Kalladrell…
Alone.
Keep them safe, she reminded herself, the longing creeping into her broken heart like a restless spirit, her fingers absent-mindedly toying with the red bandana around her wrist while she glared at the ocean with gritted teeth.
"What are you angry at?" Robin suddenly asked her, his clever eyes flicking between her face and the red strip of linen.
"I'm not angry," she replied briskly, pressing her lips together with pride and stubbornness.
"Your brow is creased," he observed cunningly, "and your jaw is clenched so tightly I can almost hear the bones grinding together." He tilted his head to catch her eye, resting his case. "You're angry."
"I'm not angry." Maeve glowered at him, a silent warning for him to drop whatever bone he wanted to pick, but he just held her gaze steadily, as if he could read her like an open book.
It was perfectly annoying, his ability to poke holes at her defenses while she was adamant to resist him, but still she found herself deflating in resignation, knowing she would not win against his unyielding determination, not when he was looking at her like that.
"Fine," she snapped with irritation, returning her glare on the ocean as she inhaled deeply, her veins filling with a cold sense of defeat and resentment. "I just…My mentor, the wizard who sent me here, he knew about everything. He knew about the Fire Maiden prophecy and he never had the decency to explain anything before sending his gullible apprentice to the end of the world."
She closed her eyes briefly, the sting of duplicity still sharp and painful. It was clear Dim-Dim had known about everything from the start, and that he had deliberately chosen not to tell her the truth, for whatever mystical reason. "I feel like a tool. Like a pawn on a chess board."
Robin watched her sadly, his composure tensing up as if he wanted to reach out to her, to remove the hefty weight of everything that had been thrust upon her since her arrival in Kalladrell. But that was a feat even he could not accomplish. He could not protect her from the intricate designs of prophecy and fate.
No one could.
But still he tried to dispel the darkness of her brooding mood.
"You're not a pawn," he assured her, a small smirk curving the corner of his mouth. "You're the Queen."
His attempt at some humorous wordplay made her glower at him half-heartedly, his smirk gradually widening into a grin when he saw her bubble of bitterness crack, until he finally managed to steal a smile from her lips, despite her will to resist it.
It lifted the mood instantly, and Maeve almost felt the dark clouds of her tormented mind swirl away like smoke, but she quickly shook her head, pushing the words out even if she knew he might not want to hear them.
"Just because Jacob confirmed I'm the Fire Maiden, it doesn't mean I'll agree to play such a role," she said softly, insisting on being completely honest with him while Robin held the weight of her gaze respectfully.
"I know," he replied steadily, a small smile still curving the corner of his lips like a silent promise, as if he could just tell that she would someday become everything he believed her to be.
Maeve wished she could share his faith but she could not, her weary mind still struggling to wrap around all the dark intricacies of the prophecy that was coiling around her like a trap. She also had no more strength left in her to argue with him on the matter for today, especially since she dreaded how many similar conversations would take place later tonight during the Night of Yel, where the people of Denwood and the soldiers from Littleton would most certainly question her role and her motives, believing in the queen she was not.
They both fell quiet then, settling into a comfortable silence while watching the tranquil ocean spanning before them, the heavy gloom of their previous discussion gradually lifting.
But it was soon replaced by another kind of silence, a tension that slowly began to thrum in her core while she sensed the subtle shift in Robin as well, as if he was silently wrestling with himself right next to her, working to supress the instinct to pull her against him and dispel the anguish that haunted her, like he had in the depth of the Blind Mountains after her nightmare.
But they were not in the mountains anymore. There was no more need for them to touch, no more need for warmth and physical protection, and she could sense he was struggling to switch off those former reflexes now that they were back to civilization.
She could feel those same reflexes roaring to life in her own blood as well, her body remembering all too well the feel of him against her back while he held her in the dark deadly woods, a wonderful refuge for her terrible loneliness. It was a tempting place to return to, the safety of his arms, but she carefully cast the memory aside, burying it as deep as she could like some treacherous artefact, well aware that it was a dangerous slippery slope for her wounded heart.
When the silence and the invisible tension finally became too much to bear, Robin stood up beside her and brushed the sand from his trousers. "Come on," he declared, a subtle edge to his movements as he extended his hand down, the only physical connection he could safely re-establish with her for the time being. "We should head back. My sister and Tess put together some clothes for you. As soon as the sun sets, we'll be honoring those who have passed."
There was no hesitation when she took his hand and he helped her up to her feet.
No hesitation when she gathered her clothes and her pack and followed him down the beach.
No hesitation when she decided once again that she would stay.
To keep them safe.
Yet half of her remained on the beach, a weeping ghost who would continue to sit and stare, sit and stare, waiting…forever waiting for precious white sails, for the ship that would take her home.
A ship that would never appear.
You left me no choice but to stay here forever
And it's been so long
I'm right where you left me
Still sitting in a corner I haunt
I sat and stared, right where you left me
When I was still the one you want
Right Where You Left Me – Taylor Swift
