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denial
A final hug, a whisper of a farewell, and then receding footfalls. There is no closing of the door, no looking back. Eyes shut, Shara doesn’t see her go. After all, Ritz is merely off on another mission. The delusion crumbles before it sets in, for Shara hears the anguished cry of her heart, the start of quiet, internal rebellions.
You will be back. Not today, not tomorrow, but you will be back – right? This can’t be the end of us! Seven wonderful months, and then, poof, you’re just – gone!
Her nails sink into her palms, until her fists quiver.
anger
Glass shatters and furniture violently crashes, spraying Shara with splinters. The pain goes unnoticed, for she’s a swollen-eyed blur, a raging maelstrom, a tirade of anguish. No room in her cottage is spared. Everything must be in utter shambles, like her ailing heart.
“One can live a lifetime, and not find the one. But incredibly, I find her, someone so right for me – and then, surprise, she can’t be mine! I can’t understand why life is this fucking cruel – why are you so fucking cruel to me?”
Leaving behind a ruined home, she storms off, seeking an answer, craving respite.
bargaining
Arriving in the belly of the earth, Shara kneels reverently. Before her stands an ancient tree, the aegis of all viera, Exodus. Shara bears no offering, but her tears suffice, watering him as her desperate cries echo within the forgotten chamber.
“Mighty Exodus, I offer you my life! Please, I beg you!”
Scales clink, as consequences are weighed.
“I cannot grant your wish. A mere girl is not worth tampering with time and space.”
“She isn’t a mere girl! I love -”
The ground heaves against her bold defiance. “Silence!”
Stung and smarting, Shara finally flees, her strained sobs echoing.
depression
Upon returning home, Shara rests in the rubble of her bedroom. Closing her eyes, she embraces the brutal bliss of an empty defeat. The withering begins, as her appetite dies. Chill grips her, even on the warmest of days. Knocks on her door go unanswered. Her heart thumps weakly, her vegetative state only sustained by the life-support of delirious whispers.
“Stop this, Shara!”
“No,” Shara breathes, her cracked lips smiling. “You’ve killed me, Ritz. I love you too much.”
“Then write to me. Just pick up a pen, and write. Please, Shara!”
“Okay, my dear. I’ll go on, just for you.”
acceptance
It takes Shara several weeks, just to write the first words.
Hi, Ritz. I’m trying the writing thing. Don’t worry about me, I’m eating again, and I even managed to clean up the house! Guess what I found today?
Smiling, she glances from her journal, to the lock of snow-white hair on her bedside table.
I found your gift! Does this mean you’ll come back? You know, I still keep the door open, just for you.
While contemplating that possibility, her hopeful grin slowly fades.
If you don’t return, then there’s only one way that my longing will end, Ritz.