Sona left the Institute today after staying for three days. She came and went with little fanfare. Her matter of business was somewhat urgent. For the seriously ailing health of the League's staff, including most of its summoners, Lee Sin, some other celebrities, and Sona were commissioned to host some workshops organized by the Kinkou order. Naturally there was a high turnout.
It's part of the public health initiative that's sweeping Valoran right now. As of last year, summoners are more likely to die of chronic health problems than summoning malpractice, followed closely by suicide. No surprise. Everyone around me is old, married, and worried about their families abroad. Lucid has to smoke three different herbs a day to control his blood pressure and arthritis on top of regular meditation and exercise.
I saw Lee Sin as he led a meditation session with Sona and a group of elderly in the Rock Garden. It was a little awkward to see Sona and Lee Sin so intimate with each other after the monk's unwilling yet instrumental role in securing the farm of Lucid's nephew to Sivir. He and the summoner guiding him carried the game.
At one point, after the clinic dispersed, I caught a glimpse of Sona clutching his hands, then leaning into his chest with a sullen and morose aura. As I walked past, my ears picked up only the flowing of the moat which cuts through the garden. Sona's etwahl was silent, lost for notes as people fall into want of words. Lee Sin and Sona look perfect together. The blind monk must have a good ear for music. Beyond that, I didn't know what else to think. I still don't know what to think. I'd rather not think about anything.
I brooded over myself for the next couple hours, keeping to my room until it went dark, past dark, I lost track of time and place. By some strange happening I was outside again, watching the sunrise on the tiny veranda overlooking the gardens. It was early morning, not even sunrise. The light was a muted deep blue, obscuring the horizon under half-darkness. There was a wrought iron table and two cold chairs to keep me company.
Sona entered from the screen door behind me, quietly and without elegance. The metal chair groaned a bit as she eased herself into it. She wore a purple nightgown that camouflaged her entire body against the pre morning darkness. I was looking at Sona's floating head, a cascade of blue hair free of styling falling down to her backside. Her eyes were half closed, and she was slow to regard me at all. We were both visibly tired.
A hand crept over the cold iron surface of the table, reaching for mine. Memories of Sona's embrace at the Serene Gardens beckoned me. I sent my hand over to grasp it, but shrunk back. It was time to break off the experiment.
I keep pushing her too hard. My wits can't keep up with the beat of her music, of any music maybe. Once I see an opening, I discard all notions of safety and restraint. But that opening, more often than not, is a trap. Overestimating her strength of body, I would place her at the front of standoffs to abuse her Hymn of Valor, holding onto some vain hope that our opponents would just back off like we could if we were at full strength. Sona had not the endurance to follow through. The pain was real, yet no screams accompanied it. Even in her mind, there dropped a silence that darkened the acceptance of her next death into a tangible nightmare that buried all forms of real pain. I feel powerless to escape it, so I'm giving up.
This I related to her as we waited for the sun. Adhering to the cliche, my aching heart wouldn't hold itself together, so I let it collapse right in front of her in a bleeding mess. Sona listened with a face of sheer disbelief. The etwahl floated silently behind her, deprived of Sona's impulsive idle plucking. We both ran out of things to say. The silence grounded a wall between us.
Sona closed her eyes and her head turned down, as if she had nodded off to sleep. A glistening tear moistened her eye. I rose to my feet. She stood up after, wiped it off her cheek and gave me a pleading stare. Now it was my turn to listen. Looking into her eyes then was like gazing up at the ceiling of a concert hall. To think at one time I seriously considered pursuing her. I thought this attraction was beyond infatuation. Even though our relationship is intimate, such closeness is only part of the job. Nothing more. Even though we open ourselves completely to each other on the playing field, all of a sudden I feel further from her than ever before. It seems I have been exhausted of substance. Things are changing, and it's shown how I've overstayed my welcome. No amount of her condolence can overcome my dread of failure. I must be the first person in her career to say that I don't want to hear her again.
Sona's expression was expertly subdued. She backed off while looking at me, locking her eyes into mine until she turned a corner and was gone. Just like that. I sat there until the morning warmed the air a little. I wallowed in self pity for a while before coming back to my office to continue my work.
I'm sorry for your nephew, Lucid. I wish I could promise an end to this sort of injustice. But I fear a promise like that would dissipate in thin air, devoid of action.
PS: A part of me feels like I'm letting Lucid and his nephew down by dimming down my relationship with Sona. Now my sentiment is conflicted. I am confused.