[center][h3] Where Grief Sings and Prays
Part 1 [/h3][/center][center][table][row][cell][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/odTNjeu.png[/img][/center][/cell][/row][row][cell][sub]Location: Seluna Temple >  |  Collaboration with [@enmuni][/sub][/cell][/row][/table][/center][indent]Ramona gave Elara a restrained little smile at her thanks, and began to step forward. Then, she stopped again, as Elara declared that she’d wait. There, Ramona stood, looking Elara up and down, at first skeptically, then quizzically. Slowly, as if she had some sense that a single movement could upset the fragile calm of the room, Ramona reached into one of the pouches of her dress and fumbled for her gloves. As the shawl still sat in her arms, ready to be taken, Ramona pressed her fingers back into the gloves, once more hiding from view another bit of the maid’s ghostly skin.

As she got her gloves into place, Ramona sighed.

[color=#007BA7]“There are other ways to leave than the front,”[/color] she commented. As much as her singing or praying voices were, when Ramona was neither projecting nor whispering, her speaking voice was even more gravelly and raspy, like someone who had only barely recovered from a disease of the lungs, or perhaps someone who had made their living shovelling wood into the palace furnaces. Ramona’s tone, meanwhile, was flat, yet less so in a way that suggested indifference, and more so in a way that suggested she was offering a useful reminder. 

Elara’s eyes followed the movement of Ramona’s fingers as she slipped the gloves back on. A simple thing, really. An unremarkable gesture. And yet, it felt like a curtain being drawn between them, between whatever moment had almost passed for understanding and the safety of practiced boundaries. They had shared space before, in that vague, peripheral way that people in their roles do. Ramona had always seemed like a ghost stitched into a servant’s garb, too quiet to be remembered and too strange to be dismissed. Elara had never asked much of her. She hadn’t thought to. And now here she was, holding silence like a gift and a shawl like a promise.

It lay between them now, crumpled and forsaken. 

At Ramona’s gravel-edged reminder, Elara gave the faintest huff of breath—not a laugh, but close. Closer than she’d been to one in hours.

“[color=royalblue]I know,[/color]” she said, letting her skull thud against the stone, its chill leaching into her scalp. “[color=royalblue]But I’ve already left too much the easy way.[/color]”

Her gaze flicked to the corridor’s mouth, where light from the main sanctuary still cast soft patterns along the floor. Shadows moved there. Voices rose and fell. Life marched on, heedless of her refusal to rise and meet it. For a heartbeat, she envied the dust motes swirling in the light offered by the torches: unburdened, directionless, forgiven their fragility.

“[color=royalblue]I’ll take the front when I’m ready to be seen again,[/color]” she added, after a moment. “[color=royalblue]Until then, I’d rather sit here.[/color]” 

Ramona made a slight movement towards her veil, then hesitated, and instead simply affixed her shawl once more. She stood in place awkwardly, her hands slowly drifting down to her sides as she tried to avoid staring at Elara. Her lips shifted, as if she were trying and failing to divine if there were indeed any facial expression more appropriate than her resting look. Though perhaps Elara, as it stood, was currently best suited to receiving a look of approximately as much melancholy as could be summoned without any real effort. Certainly, pity would not have been right, and Ramona could scarcely imagine she’d have known what to do with an active attempt at sympathy.

[color=#007BA7]“Would…”[/color] Ramona slowly offered, [color=#007BA7]“Would you have any use for some company?”[/color]

Ramona’s hands drifted together, and then stopped, as if she had then thought better of insisting on a tie even between her own two hands. Instead, she moved to let out a defeated sigh, though it seemed she’d left no air in her lungs, her chest simply contracting the smallest bit more before stopping. A hand involuntarily shifted to her stomach, as she inhaled quickly through her nose.

[color=#007BA7]“I don’t know what you’re going through,”[/color] she murmured, taking a single step closer, [color=#007BA7]“But sometimes another person can help, even without talking.”[/color]

Years of conditioning screamed for her to refuse, armour herself in the frost of decorum, and let pride calcify the cracks. Solitude had been her citadel; silence, her moat. But the day before had left her so…tired, a vessel drained of every lie she’d mistaken for strength.

Elara let the breath seep from her nostrils. 

“[color=royalblue]If you don’t mind… sitting in the quiet a little,[/color]” she murmured, “[color=royalblue]then yes.[/color]” A beat. Two. Then, softer: “[color=royalblue]Thank you.[/color]” She let the gratitude linger before the next admission crept forth, hesitant.  

“[color=royalblue]I… I’m sorry,[/color]” she said, her eyes still fixed ahead, though her voice carried a self-conscious tilt. “[color=royalblue]I don’t actually know your name. We’ve crossed paths before, so I know I should. I just—[/color]” She shook her head slightly, almost smiling at her own awkwardness. “[color=royalblue]I never asked.[/color]” 

The admission tasted of guilt, but not the bitter kind. More like the ache that followed a healed bruise—proof that something had once gone unnoticed, and now couldn’t be ignored.

Ramona was silent for a moment. She cracked a little smile and took a seat near Elara without saying a word. Her chest jerked, like she was letting out a chuckle, though no sound resulted.

[color=#007BA7]“Then I’ve been doing a good job,”[/color] she dryly responded. [color=#007BA7]“It’s Ramona. Ramona Lume.”[/color]

“[color=royalblue]Ramona Lume,[/color]” Elara repeated, tilting her head slightly just enough to glance sidelong at the other woman. Ramona sat with the sort of stillness that wasn’t practiced, but earned—the stillness of someone who didn’t expect to be looked at, and wasn’t quite sure what to do when she was. “[color=royalblue]I’ll remember it this time,[/color]” Elara vowed, the promise edged with a resolve she didn’t fully feel. “[color=royalblue]Not as an afterthought.[/color]”

Elara drew in a breath then, but it caught halfway through her chest, like her body wasn’t quite convinced she was safe yet. She didn’t look at Ramona, not this time. Her eyes stayed fixed on the grooves in the stone floor beneath her feet.

“[color=royalblue]There was a man killed yesterday,[/color]” she said quietly. “[color=royalblue]Sir Abel. He… interposed himself. Between us and…[/color]” Her fingers spasmed against her knees, mimicking the reflexive jerk of his body as Vellion struck. “[color=royalblue]Tried to protect us. The princess and I.[/color]”

Two blinks. A third. The memory flickered behind her eyelids: arterial spray arcing like a macabre fountain, the wet crunch of cartilage giving way. She’d thought death would smell metallic, but all she recalled was the sweetness of ruptured organs.

“[color=royalblue]He didn’t survive.[/color]” Though even this word seemed insufficient. Survival implied a contest, a fair fight. This had been slaughter.

“[color=royalblue]I’d never seen someone die like that,[/color]” she murmured. “[color=royalblue]Not from a distance. Not like that. Not with that… sound.[/color]” Her throat worked around the memory of it—the scream, the tearing, the way Vellion’s teeth had found the guard’s face like something out of a nightmare she hadn’t earned the right to forget.

“[color=royalblue]It should’ve seemed chaotic to me, but everything actually felt… slow. Wrong. Like I’d stepped into a story that wasn’t meant for me.[/color]”

She rubbed at her arms, as though cold again. As though the memory alone could frost her over.

“[color=royalblue]And after we ran, after I was sure Amaya, the princess, was safe…[/color]” Her lips parted, but it took her a moment to finish. “[color=royalblue]I almost lost it. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. I thought I might black out.[/color]” But Elara knew at the time she couldn’t show that to Amaya. Her friend’s mind had been invaded by the creature responsible for their fleeing. So, why was she the one breaking? 

But it had come back to haunt her anyway, hadn’t it? Right before Aliseth had comforted her. After that, it had quickly passed.  But...would it return? Would she see it coming? 

Ramona slipped closer to Elara slowly. As Elara spoke, Ramona’s lips flickered between small, sympathetic smiles and solemn little frowns. At Elara’s mentioning of one of the deceased guards’ names, and how she had seen the death herself, Ramona’s hand jerked subtly, as she first thought to reach for Elara to comfort her, and then thought better of it. Her grip over her hand tightened. She’d never known how to speak about death. Not when her father, brother, and so many in her community had passed. Nor when the blight followed her deeper into her home. 

Ramona sighed as the deaths in her life floated through her mind. She had struggled to find the words to communicate her husband’s death to his own mother. A part of her had wanted to disappear into the woods instead, to pretend that she too had died. But then, would she have done anything else but wait for the stubborn old woman to die? To then send her off into the seas? Make her own pad of ice, speak her own rites, and be done with it all. Ramona’s gaze snapped back to Elara, her expression half-sympathetic, half-incredulous.

[color=#007BA7]“I—”[/color] her voice cracked. She suppressed an awkward chuckle and just shook her head softly.

[color=#007BA7]“I never understood how people in your position do it,”[/color] Ramona sighed, [color=#007BA7]“I really don’t. You…witnessed death. The very moment life leaves someone.”[/color]

Ramona clicked her tongue and shook her head again. For the first time in a while, she looked directly at Elara, gazing through her dark veil at the handmaiden. She nodded softly, as the corner of her mouth pulled into an apologetic, tight-lipped half-smile.

[color=#007BA7]“It’s death, Elara. There is no [i]should’ve[/i].”[/color] Ramona continued. She held her hands up in front of her chest, shaking them to emphasize. [color=#007BA7]“You saw the moment of death. Death is hard enough when it isn’t witnessed, when you only see its results. And yet? And yet you—you can’t help but ask yourself not just what you should be [i]doing[/i], but what you should be [i]thinkin’[/i]—stars above—what ya should be [i]feelin’[/i]!”[/color]

Without thinking, Ramona reached for Elara’s hand. Her speech grew more passionate, her diction less formal and more like the way she naturally spoke. Her “r”s gave way to “ah”, “th” became “d” and “t”, and “all” became “awl”. Her raspy voice gained real force behind it, as she entered fully into the conversation.

[color=#007BA7]“Ya’ doin’ ya best. That’s just all ya can do. Just let ya’self accept that, and don’t try to do more than your best. Anyone who wants more doesn’t want a world that exists.”[/color]

Elara had braced herself for pity, gentle silence, maybe, or the awkward distance of someone trying not to intrude. What she hadn’t expected was this. Ramona’s voice, stripped of its composure and carved down to raw sincerity, cracked through the self-imposed fog like a shaft of cold sunlight. Blunt. Unpolished. Honest in a way that hit somewhere deeper than she was ready for.

Elara’s gaze lifted, hesitant yet hungry, tracing the lines of Ramona’s face as if deciphering a map to an unknown terrain. The woman’s hand clasped hers with unapologetic sureness, her touch a paradox of warmth against skin so pale it seemed carved from moonlight. Her words echoed in Elara’s ears, not refined, not gentle, but real. And it was that realness that made her throat tighten all over again.

She looked down at their joined hands. She didn’t pull away.

“[color=royalblue]You sound like someone who’s seen it too,[/color]” she said quietly, not as a question but as a reluctant recognition of the kind of pain that gave voice to what others couldn’t say. The kind of grief that didn’t shrink in the face of someone else’s. “[color=royalblue]I think... I didn’t know how much I needed someone to say it like that till now. I mean… I spent the night trying to come up with the right words for a goddess I wasn’t sure would hear me, when it turns out it might’ve meant more to be heard by someone human.[/color]” Elara’s voice trailed off, the weight of the words settling in her chest. Once more, her eyes gave attention to Ramona’s gloved fingers around her own. There was something startling in their steadiness, like Ramona knew how to hold someone together without realizing she was doing it.

Elara’s free hand drifted to her throat, to the absence that still ached if she thought too long about it. There’s always something we carry until we don’t. She didn’t say it aloud, but the thought clung to her ribs nonetheless. And maybe that was the trouble. Elara didn’t know what would happen the next time she reached for comfort like this—whether Ramona would still be there, whether she herself would still be someone allowed to ask. She’d accepted too many kindnesses lately; she wasn’t sure how to repay. Even the prince’s words from before. They hadn’t been cruel ones. Not even untrue ones. They’d been kind, steady, threaded with the sort of conviction that made people believe they mattered just by being alive. And somehow, that had been enough.

She’d spoken first, with the same worry, the same plea. But where her voice had cracked, his had carried. Where hers had begged, his had reassured. And Amaya… Amaya had listened. Not because she hadn’t heard Elara. But because Flynn had reminded her she was worthy of saving, while Elara had only asked her not to vanish. It wasn’t fair, but it was human. And Elara, even now, couldn’t decide which part hurt more—the way he’d said it, or the way it had worked. 

And maybe, more than that, the way he hadn’t used it against her. 

She’d spoken to Amaya with steel in her voice, stepped past the invisible line between servant and sovereign—but he hadn’t rebuked her. He could have. Might have even been expected to. Instead, he’d turned and spoken to Amaya. Backed Elara’s words. Amplified them. Made them palatable in a way Elara couldn’t.

That, too, had been a kindness. And like all the others lately, it left her unsure of where the debt would land. Either way, she knew that she’d have to give them back at some point.  Or watch them break. 

Her fingers twitched within Ramona’s hold, a tremor of surrender. Slowly, she let them intertwine. It wasn’t absolution, nor a vow. Merely an offering: the muted acknowledgment that some debts could be repaid in increments. The start of a possible friendship.

Ramona allowed Elara to sit with the silence for a while. She softly rubbed Elara’s hand with her own, while maintaining some small distance between the two of them. She said nothing, looked towards but not directly at Elara, and nodded softly with a slight, melancholic smile. Her face remained consistent in this way for the duration of the silence, even after she had long stopped nodding. As Elara’s fingers twitched and she moved to interlock their fingers, Ramona gripped more tightly, pressing her fingers in until the webbing hurt. Her jaw tensed for a moment, but her face remained constant.

Ramona moved to speak, and realized that she had once again entirely forgotten to breathe for how focused she had been on offering solid ground to a grieving acquaintance, now perhaps a friend. She inhaled softly, and brought her other hand to Elara’s, clasping Elara’s hand gently between her own as she finally fully turned to face Elara again and look her in the eyes.

[color=#007BA7]“F’sure I’ve seen it,”[/color] Ramona affirmed, her expression drifting into a tight-lipped frown, [color=#007BA7]“Goddess, I’ve been married to it. I—”[/color]

Ramona paused and let out what started as a small sigh and turned into a groan.

[color=#007BA7]“I woke up next to him. Was still warm when I looked at ‘im. Woke up, thought we’d make it to his momma’s house together, move her out, move her into our li’l place in Lunaris, ‘n’ put all ‘at behind us. ‘stead, we, uh,”[/color] Ramona looked away from Elara, towards the ground, her other hand breaking from the clasp to gesticulate towards the ground, [color=#007BA7]“I. I stayed with ‘im till his body was cold. Then went ‘n’ sent ‘m out to sea. ‘n’ then had to—had to face his mother and tell her that…he was gone.”[/color]

Ramona sighed and again took a deep breath. This time, she sniffled softly and looked back at Elara. A glimmer of faintly reflected moonlight from behind her veil suggested that a few tears had come up as well.

[color=#007BA7]“Elara, honey. Ya don’—Y-You don’ ever stop. I los’ my daddy years ago too. ‘n’ I still think about ‘im. Still remember him. Seluna’s…well…my daddy was a…priest…too,”[/color] Ramona reached under her veil and rubbed her eye with her free hand.

[color=#007BA7]“Seluna’s…up in the sky…lookin’ down. Prolly not payin’ much attention to any given person.”[/color]

Ramona stammered and gasped. She made another sound and brought her free hand to her mouth. She let out a small grunt to clear her throat. She shifted in her position to better face Elara and made unyielding eye contact.

[color=#007BA7]“Look. Seluna’s up there. People are down here. It’s…shitty…but there’s never been a group of us who’ve gotten on alone forever. Seluna sure fuckin’—‘scuse me—Seluna sure…knows I’ve given it a shot lately. I…uh…it’s just gonna be messy. That’s grief. It don’ stop bein’ messy. Look at me. I clean all day, and I’m a—heh—I’m a mess!”[/color]

Ramona let out a small hoarse chuckle, and shook Elara’s hand.

[color=#007BA7]“Oh…just a year ago I coulda given you a decent sermon. But this all I got now. An’ that’s…that’s gotta be enough. ‘cus I can’ give anything better. But point is, when they say it [i]takes a village[/i], they really shouldn’t jus’ say it for children. Everybody needs a village, ‘cus we’re all messy, ‘n’ imperfect, ‘n’ we can only [i]live[/i] if we let that happen, and help others mop up when they’re havin’ their flaws spill out all over the place. I don’ truly understand what you’re goin’ through. Not really. But I do know you’re doin’ the same stupid shit I been doin’. Goin’ it alone means nobody catches you when you fall. Nowhere’s a good place to spill all the shit that comes with livin’. Humans catch each other. Humans mop for each other. Seluna don’t. She waits ‘till ya dead to catch ya. ‘cus it ain’t really her job to soothe us when we’re hurtin’. That’s the priest’s job. The [i]person[/i] who works at the temple.”[/color]

Ramona patted Elara firmly on the shoulder.

[color=#007BA7]“Question for you is, d’you wanna [i]live[/i], or just survive? You don’t gotta have an answer today. Shit, I dunno which one I want. But may as well remember you got a choice…”[/color]

Ramona sat back, giving Elara a tight-lipped smile as she did. She swallowed quietly, though it sounded scarcely like a nervous swallow. And then, she sighed slowly without another word, letting her chest relax and deflate.

Elara’s thumb drifted across the ridge of Ramona’s knuckles, a tentative exploration more than a caress. The motion felt foreign, her touch unsteady, like a child fumbling with a lock it hadn’t earned the right to open. Yet there was solace in its clumsiness, a reprieve from the performative grace she’d honed for courtiers and crown-bearers. Her skin lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if mapping the topography of another’s scars might dissipate a bit of her own. When she finally spoke, her voice seemed to carry the trials of someone dismantling a barricade brick by brick. 

“[color=royalblue]I don’t know either,[/color]” she admitted, her gaze lowering not in retreat but to anchor herself in the reality of their joined hands, proof that uncertainty could be a shared burden rather than a solitary sentence. “[color=royalblue]But I think… I’d like to learn.[/color]” For years, she’d equated vulnerability with surrender, a crack through which the world would leach her worth. Yet here, with Ramona, the admission felt the opposite. Just as Aliseth had said it would. 

“[color=royalblue]Someone told me once that some roads only exist when you step onto them, even if it means walking on thin ice.[/color]” A wisp of a smile grazed her lips. “[color=royalblue]So, perhaps, that will have to be enough for both of us.[/color]” She squeezed Ramona’s hand before disentangling their fingers. The absence of contact left her palm chilled, yet oddly unburdened.

Rising, Elara winced as her knees protested, joints stiff from time spent kneeling in half-prayer, half-flight. She welcomed the ache, though, her skirts brushing against the floor as she shook out the creases, her eyes drifting toward the hallway where murmured voices could still be heard. 

“[color=royalblue]I think… I’ll go through the front after all,[/color]” she declared, the resolve in her voice surprising even herself. “[color=royalblue]Maybe it’s time to let others see me, just as I am.[/color]” Or the closest facsimile that she could muster until she didn’t have to try as hard anymore.[/indent]