15

Something awful has happened, she felt. Not just an ugly scene, when she was rejected, humiliated, hurt and cast away. That happened, too – it filled her with anger and wounded her pride, it brought on a sense of helplessness such as she never knew before, and crushed her with immediate and irrevocable loss: the light, the happiness were just there, she touched them, and then they were snatched from her by the very man who had power to bestow them. She was offended in her best feelings and intentions. She lost something that she wanted – him. And she felt the loss all the more because she had a chance to taste the prize she sought: she did kiss him, and she did feel his love, and her own, and what was just a fantasy became reality for a second, and it was magical. And he turned it all away there on the spot, and the pain of rejection was worse because she now knew exactly was she was loosing. It wasn't just a dream, it was real, and he didn't want it. That seemed important, at first – the need to blame him was overpowering. But, even as the whirlwind of anger and self-pity engulfed her, she felt there was something else. Something beyond the obvious, something much more powerful and sinister. Something that couldn't be patched or explained calmly, something that couldn't be discussed and amended.

Something irredeemable.

Something changed between them, making it impossible for her to reach him. Even as he screamed at her, even as he raged at her attempt to make him happier, she still felt he was open to her – he was with her. And then he was gone – distanced from her in an almost physical way, as if encased inside impenetrable glass. She still could see him, and feel him, oh so close to her – she just couldn't touch him. Of his fear and anger at her attempt to help him she could have asked him. As days passed, she has reached a conclusion she really should have asked him, before rushing into things, but at that time it didn't seem necessary: she was so confident, so sure they both wanted the same thing. She would have done things differently if she were not so young, and so elated by her discovery of loving him. She might have guessed there was much more to him, and to his existence, than she saw in her fascination. She knew he was a mystery to her – she might have asked some questions before trying to change his life for him. Yes, about the circumstances of his actions she could have asked him – she could have explained her reasons and may be, just may be they could have forgiven each other. But in the face of his distancing she was helpless. Nothing she could do or say would have any effect. When he was sending her away, meaning it this time, she tried to stir him – she voiced her anger, she confirmed her hope, she even insulted him, and she made an extreme effort to bind him to her, feeling something akin to magic flow through her as she voiced her prophesy of his eternal regret. It worked – she saw it in his eyes that he felt the bond forming. But it was all in vain. She felt his pain, and knew he feels hers, however much he tried to hide it, but he was unmovable, as if frozen.

It was maddening – to see and feel him clearly, to know every stirring of his heart directed on her and still be unable to connect with him. She felt so helpless. To see him suffering was torture. That's what became paramount to her as time passed – his pain. She felt it when, sitting in her cell, too angry to cry, she heard him raging around the castle, crushing things around him. She flinched at the sound of every breakage, and her heart constricted at the inhuman sound of his howling. He was like an animal in agony, and she wanted to rush out to him and console him – she wanted to simply hold him, letting the pain slowly leave his body. But she could not, for she knew that in some way incomprehensible to her she was the very thing that caused the pain. She was the reason he suffered. She did something to cause all that grief.

He calmed down, after a while, and the silence felt worse than the raging. The hours passed, and she went through all stages of anger and regret. And then there was a whiff of purple smoke in the room, and when it cleared there was a tray with a teapot and 'her' chipped cup on it on the floor.

That was when she cried.

He cared for her, he truly did. He loved her – she saw it, so clearly, and felt it, so deeply. He looked at her so – how could she ever forget his face, his eyes when he searched her soul with his look, trying to understand why she came back to him. He wanted her so – she felt his whole body reach out to her, even as he tried to shy away. He looked at her as if she was a miracle. He sighed so – he made such a weird and wonderful sound when she kissed him, such a small and weightless sound, like a breath of the opening heart. She knew that he loved her, beyond doubt, when she heard it. But somehow love wasn't enough, and it was so unjust. Love was supposed to conquer everything, but it didn't.

Perhaps she wasn't strong enough. Perhaps she needed to know him better – perhaps her love, great as it was, was just… too blind, yet, and didn't find a right way to his heart. Perhaps she needed to know herself better. She tried to change the man she loved into a man she didn't know – perhaps it was wrong. She did see the face of that other man in her dreams and she glimpsed him, briefly, when they kissed. He didn't look that different from Him, but may be there was more than met the eye.

Perhaps love wasn't enough, and something more was needed. Like courage, or understanding, and capacity to forgive. She had no problem with that – she forgave him, very soon after she left the castle. He hurt her, he did wrong by her, but love he brought her was more valuable then any wrongdoing: she knew him, and she loved, and that was a reward in itself, though this noble thought wasn't always enough to console. And anyway he could not be blamed – he was but a victim of something beyond him. She needed to know him better to understand what it was. She needed courage to come back again and find out, despite his rejection, despite her fear to be rejected again – and of course she feared that, she was only human. But she was determined to come back, nevertheless. She owed it to herself. She could not live, feeling his pain all the time. She would never be complete without reaching him again.

Yes, that was very clear to her – despite all that happened, despite that horrible impenetrable wall that stood around him now, they were still connected. The bond between them existed – pulsating like a living thing, hurt and bleeding, but alive. In the vast wilderness of her life she was still not alone. There was still no other path before her but the one they were destined to walk together. He was there, and he watched her from a distance, and he was in pain and in chains, and it was up to her to find a way to hold his hand, if nothing else. Yes, it was up to her, because she was free, while he was imprisoned.

She felt so even as she was imprisoned herself. Every day of her captivity at the hands of the evil dark woman she once met on the road, the woman that destroyed her life, yet showed her a way to happiness, she told herself that no walls could hold her forever – they cannot be kept apart forever. They were promised to each other – they said 'forever' to each other, and there was no breaking that bond. Nothing as big and powerful as the love she felt when they kissed could be defeated. She kept holding on to that moment. She kept seeing his face – alight with wonder, open, childlike, and so beautiful now in her mind's eyes. She kept hearing his sigh.

God, she missed him so – missed everything in him, from his voice and his laugh to his touch and the glimmer of gold on his skin. The worst was when she dreamed of him, and woke up to find herself alone.

She cried a lot. But she never despaired. Even when, after what seemed like ages she felt some strange and terrible movement in the world around, she wasn't really frightened. Strangely alert to everything connected with him, she sensed it was magic, and that it was his. It all felt like the end of the world, the earth trembled and the clouds of black smoke filled the air. It was not like smoke from a fire; it was cold, and it didn't smell of burning. It went through the air changing it, somehow.

She should have been frightened, then. But she wasn't, for in the clouds of this smoke she thought she glimpsed his face. And it didn't frighten her that she was dying – he was with her, and that was all that mattered.

And then she woke up, and was lost. She did not know what she was, and what her life was about. She had no memories and no dreams. Some part of her was missing, and she felt it, but didn't even know what was it that she missed. She had no way of finding out. She looked into her soul to find answers, and saw only a vast and wild land, covered with cold mist, ravaged by cruel winds, looked upon blindly by stormy sky. There was no sense of direction here, everything was lost in darkness. And in this darkness, she was completely alone.