For Dejah

Post by **The Wings Of Fate** » Sat Sep 02, 2006 7:28 am

Sythe lingered at the edge of a wide, bright clearing, with chains of lilies round his feet and a faint scent of honeysuckle in the air. It was warm with the sun heavy on his shoulders. His heart was erratic yet the sweet colours of the forest delighted him, and he could not ignore the great calm brought by bird song and by a full belly. He had returned to say goodbye. 
 
He’d carried his shame and regret and hate since leaving Deep Forest and was at peace with it. There’s only so much self-loathing he could endure before separating himself into two people – one who had made a very cruel choice, and one who was now suffering the consequences, like a son who is left penniless after his late father had frittered away their savings on women and drink. He could not imagine what she thought of him now. 
 
The reasons for his departure were instinctive and vague to the Demon himself. It is something he could not explain but to say, “Maybe it will take a lifetime to see, but this was the right choice and we will we one day be happier for it.” The day he left Sythe had been infected with a very intense sense of foreboding. It had left him freezing and then, very suddenly, senseless. He likened it to being hit over the head with a tree branch, but to forever remain in that split-second of time before unconsciousness. Numb. And he knew with the deepest of certainty that if he stayed with Dejah they would both die years before they were due, and in a most demeaning and sickening way. 
 
And the worst part of it was that, at that moment of awareness, he had ceased to love her. Whatever omnipotent being had spoken to him that day made sure the decision was an easy one to make. Sythe would have to separate himself from Deep Forest and everything he loved to save two lives that were worth saving. It was worth their young but deep love. It was worth her torment and his self-disgust. It was worth everything because they would live on. They would live on to affect the lives of people they wouldn’t have had the chance to and, through those, affect a hundred more. There was something high, high, high above him that could foresee thousands of years into the future, and needed something specific to take place – something that started with an encounter made by either Dejah or Sythe or both, when they have lived long enough to do so. 
 
And of course he could have created this through some fault of mind – this elaborate and far-fetched story that seemed more like self-delusion and excuses the more he thought about it. But he’d challenge anyone to explain why he would cease to love a person he had, but only the day before, looked forward to spending the rest of his life with. He’d loved loved loved her so deeply, but even the memory of that was hard come by. 
 
“Im sorry!” He roared. And the forest went quiet but for the echo of his voice which carried itself far into the distance. He looked grim and weary and afraid someone would hear him – but wasn’t this what he had come to do? “I’m sorry Dejah,” and his flames leapt about him, “I’m sorry I left you, but… but you wouldn’t believe it!” And he laughed because he was yelling so loud now, to nobody, “You’ll never believe it. But please! Please do…” and he choked through the words, “I will always be your friend Dejah.” But his voice carried a sort of fierceness to it, and if she could have heard him she would not be disheartened. The word ‘friend’ had never sounded so powerful, so sincere. “I’ll find you again. In another life, if things work out that way, if we ever needed eachother!” And he smiled to himself then because he wasn’t sure if they ever would. Not after a lifetime. But some trace of love sprung back at him then, and in a similar way tears sprung to his eyes. With his throat raw he finished, “No regrets Dejah! You are perfect!” And he could hardly stand there a moment longer. 
 
A flash of fire could be seen skirting across the Forest boundries and away. But something in that clearing had changed. The voice had left a mark. And it may take a thousand drifting leaves and travelling animals and whisps of air to carry it, but that mark would find her. And when it did she would know and she might understand, which was exactly what Sythe was counting on.