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The wind bears witness, crying as it blows,
Yet cannot answer, cannot promise when my love will return.
I wished to welcome him home, but all that ship brought back was sorrow.
I pray—I call—yet fate still turns the same.

Each night I kneel, my vow beneath the sky.
I whisper love, I beg the stars to weave his path home,
Yet morning breaks, and distance still divides.
The waves unyielding—bound by fate’s cruel rage.

They say my love was weak, was mute, was small.
They mistook silence for emptiness—as if words could prove love’s depth.
I do not owe them proof — Only to my love, I shall call.
My grief lingers, drowns, and cleaves itself from breath.
Rumors may lie, but on our behalf, the wind still pleads.
I've always been waiting, Ceyx— heed.

"You failed him," they whisper through the rain.
"You let him go—you sealed his fate."
Yet my hands tremble, failing to reach you.
My love remains. For you, alone, I still wait.

Ceyx, I call, if echoes reach beyond—
Do not believe the lies they whisper across water.
Your name still lingers soft upon my tongue.
Through night and day, my love still remains.

Ceyx. Ceyx. Ceyx.
I speak your name, though only the wind knows.
I call—but the tide does not return your soul.
I will not go. I will not let love drown.

Ceyx. Ceyx. Ceyx.
I swore, I swear, my love won’t fade.
If time dissolves, if fate decrees,
Still, I won’t let them take. Still, I’ll always wait.
A third cry carried upon 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔—but sorrow speaks in silence.


https://hellopoetry.com/collection/136314/the-wings-of-waiting/
THE PROLOGUE.

Our Hoste saw well that the brighte sun
Th' arc of his artificial day had run
The fourthe part, and half an houre more;
And, though he were not deep expert in lore,
He wist it was the eight-and-twenty day
Of April, that is messenger to May;
And saw well that the shadow of every tree
Was in its length of the same quantity
That was the body ***** that caused it;
And therefore by the shadow he took his wit,                 *knowledge
That Phoebus, which that shone so clear and bright,
Degrees was five-and-forty clomb on height;
And for that day, as in that latitude,
It was ten of the clock, he gan conclude;
And suddenly he plight
his horse about.                     pulled

"Lordings," quoth he, "I warn you all this rout
,               company
The fourthe partie of this day is gone.
Now for the love of God and of Saint John
Lose no time, as farforth as ye may.
Lordings, the time wasteth night and day,
And steals from us, what privily sleeping,
And what through negligence in our waking,
As doth the stream, that turneth never again,
Descending from the mountain to the plain.
Well might Senec, and many a philosopher,
Bewaile time more than gold in coffer.
For loss of chattels may recover'd be,
But loss of time shendeth
us, quoth he.                       destroys

It will not come again, withoute dread,

No more than will Malkin's maidenhead,
When she hath lost it in her wantonness.
Let us not moulde thus in idleness.
"Sir Man of Law," quoth he, "so have ye bliss,
Tell us a tale anon, as forword* is.                        the bargain
Ye be submitted through your free assent
To stand in this case at my judgement.
Acquit you now, and *holde your behest
;             keep your promise
Then have ye done your devoir* at the least."                      duty
"Hoste," quoth he, "de par dieux jeo asente;
To breake forword is not mine intent.
Behest is debt, and I would hold it fain,
All my behest; I can no better sayn.
For such law as a man gives another wight,
He should himselfe usen it by right.
Thus will our text: but natheless certain
I can right now no thrifty
tale sayn,                           worthy
But Chaucer (though he *can but lewedly
         knows but imperfectly
On metres and on rhyming craftily)
Hath said them, in such English as he can,
Of olde time, as knoweth many a man.
And if he have not said them, leve* brother,                       dear
In one book, he hath said them in another
For he hath told of lovers up and down,
More than Ovide made of mentioun
In his Epistolae, that be full old.
Why should I telle them, since they he told?
In youth he made of Ceyx and Alcyon,
And since then he hath spoke of every one
These noble wives, and these lovers eke.
Whoso that will his large volume seek
Called the Saintes' Legend of Cupid:
There may he see the large woundes wide
Of Lucrece, and of Babylon Thisbe;
The sword of Dido for the false Enee;
The tree of Phillis for her Demophon;
The plaint of Diane, and of Hermion,
Of Ariadne, and Hypsipile;
The barren isle standing in the sea;
The drown'd Leander for his fair Hero;
The teares of Helene, and eke the woe
Of Briseis, and Laodamia;
The cruelty of thee, Queen Medea,
Thy little children hanging by the halse
,                         neck
For thy Jason, that was of love so false.
Hypermnestra, Penelop', Alcest',
Your wifehood he commendeth with the best.
But certainly no worde writeth he
Of *thilke wick'
example of Canace,                       that wicked
That loved her own brother sinfully;
(Of all such cursed stories I say, Fy),
Or else of Tyrius Apollonius,
How that the cursed king Antiochus
Bereft his daughter of her maidenhead;
That is so horrible a tale to read,
When he her threw upon the pavement.
And therefore he, of full avisement,         deliberately, advisedly
Would never write in none of his sermons
Of such unkind* abominations;                                 unnatural
Nor I will none rehearse, if that I may.
But of my tale how shall I do this day?
Me were loth to be liken'd doubteless
To Muses, that men call Pierides
(Metamorphoseos  wot what I mean),
But natheless I recke not a bean,
Though I come after him with hawebake
;                        lout
I speak in prose, and let him rhymes make."
And with that word, he with a sober cheer
Began his tale, and said as ye shall hear.

Notes to the Prologue to The Man of Law's Tale

1. Plight: pulled; the word is an obsolete past tense from
"pluck."

2. No more than will Malkin's maidenhead: a proverbial saying;
which, however, had obtained fresh point from the Reeve's
Tale, to which the host doubtless refers.

3. De par dieux jeo asente: "by God, I agree".  It is
characteristic that the somewhat pompous Sergeant of Law
should couch his assent in the semi-barbarous French, then
familiar in law procedure.

4. Ceyx and Alcyon: Chaucer treats of these in the introduction
to the poem called "The Book of the Duchess."  It relates to the
death of Blanche, wife of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, the
poet's patron, and afterwards his connexion by marriage.

5. The Saintes Legend of Cupid: Now called "The Legend of
Good Women". The names of eight ladies mentioned here are
not in the "Legend" as it has come down to us; while those of
two ladies in the "legend" -- Cleopatra and Philomela -- are her
omitted.

6. Not the Muses, who had their surname from the place near
Mount Olympus where the Thracians first worshipped them; but
the nine daughters of Pierus, king of Macedonia, whom he
called the nine Muses, and who, being conquered in a contest
with the genuine sisterhood, were changed into birds.

7. Metamorphoseos:  Ovid's.

8. Hawebake: hawbuck, country lout; the common proverbial
phrase, "to put a rogue above a gentleman," may throw light on
the reading here, which is difficult.

THE TALE.

O scatheful harm, condition of poverty,
With thirst, with cold, with hunger so confounded;
To aske help thee shameth in thine hearte;
If thou none ask, so sore art thou y-wounded,
That very need unwrappeth all thy wound hid.
Maugre thine head thou must for indigence
Or steal, or beg, or borrow thy dispence
.                      expense

Thou blamest Christ, and sayst full bitterly,
He misdeparteth
riches temporal;                          allots amiss
Thy neighebour thou witest
sinfully,                           blamest
And sayst, thou hast too little, and he hath all:
"Parfay (sayst thou) sometime he reckon shall,
When that his tail shall *brennen in the glede
,      burn in the fire
For he not help'd the needful in their need."

Hearken what is the sentence of the wise:
Better to die than to have indigence.
Thy selve neighebour will thee despise,                    that same
If thou be poor, farewell thy reverence.
Yet of the wise man take this sentence,
Alle the days of poore men be wick',                      wicked, evil
Beware therefore ere thou come to that *****.                    point

If thou be poor, thy brother hateth thee,
And all thy friendes flee from thee, alas!
O riche merchants, full of wealth be ye,
O noble, prudent folk, as in this case,
Your bagges be not fill'd with ambes ace,                   two aces
But with six-cinque, that runneth for your chance;       six-five
At Christenmass well merry may ye dance.

Ye seeke land and sea for your winnings,
As wise folk ye knowen all th' estate
Of regnes;  ye be fathers of tidings,                         *kingdoms
And tales, both of peace and of debate
:                contention, war
I were right now of tales desolate
,                     barren, empty.
But that a merchant, gone in many a year,
Me taught a tale, which ye shall after hear.

In Syria whilom dwelt a company
Of chapmen rich, and thereto sad
and true,            grave, steadfast
Clothes of gold, and satins rich of hue.
That widewhere
sent their spicery,                    to distant parts
Their chaffare
was so thriftly* and so new,      wares advantageous
That every wight had dainty* to chaffare
              pleasure deal
With them, and eke to selle them their ware.

Now fell it, that the masters of that sort
Have *shapen them
to Rome for to wend,           determined, prepared
Were it for chapmanhood* or for disport,                        trading
None other message would they thither send,
But come themselves to Rome, this is the end:
And in such place as thought them a vantage
For their intent, they took their herbergage.
                  lodging

Sojourned have these merchants in that town
A certain time as fell to their pleasance:
And so befell, that th' excellent renown
Of th' emperore's daughter, Dame Constance,
Reported was, with every circumstance,
Unto these Syrian merchants in such wise,
From day to day, as I shall you devise
                          relate

This was the common voice of every man
"Our emperor of Rome, God him see
,                 look on with favour
A daughter hath, that since the the world began,
To reckon as well her goodness and beauty,
Was never such another as is she:
I pray to God in honour her sustene
,                           sustain
And would she were of all Europe the queen.

"In her is highe beauty without pride,
And youth withoute greenhood
or folly:        childishness, immaturity
To all her workes virtue is her guide;
Humbless hath slain in her all tyranny:
She is the mirror of all courtesy,
Her heart a very chamber of holiness,
Her hand minister of freedom for almess
."                   almsgiving

And all this voice was sooth, as God is true;
But now to purpose
let us turn again.                     our tale
These merchants have done freight their shippes new,
And when they have this blissful maiden seen,
Home to Syria then they went full fain,
And did their needes
, as they have done yore,     *business *formerly
And liv'd in weal; I can you say no more.                   *prosperity

Now fell it, that these merchants stood in grace
                favour
Of him that was the Soudan
of Syrie:                            Sultan
For when they came from any strange place
He would of his benigne courtesy
Make them good cheer, and busily espy
                          inquire
Tidings of sundry regnes
, for to lear
                 realms learn
The wonders that they mighte see or hear.

Amonges other thinges, specially
These merchants have him told of Dame Constance
So great nobless, in earnest so royally,
That this Soudan hath caught so great pleasance
               pleasure
To have her figure in his remembrance,
That all his lust
, and all his busy cure
,            pleasure *care
Was for to love her while his life may dure.

Paraventure in thilke* large book,                                 that
Which that men call the heaven, y-written was
With starres, when that he his birthe took,
That he for love should have his death, alas!
For in the starres, clearer than is glass,
Is written, God wot, whoso could it read,
The death of every man withoute dread.
                           doubt

In starres many a winter therebeforn
Was writ the death of Hector, Achilles,
Of Pompey, Julius, ere they were born;
The strife of Thebes; and of Hercules,
Of Samson, Turnus, and of Socrates
The death; but mennes wittes be so dull,
That no wight can well read it at the full.

This Soudan for his privy council sent,
And, *shortly of this matter for to pace
,          to pass briefly by
He hath to them declared his intent,
And told them certain, but* he might have grace             &
Fate preaches the crimes of defiance,
Yet it is she who defies her creator.

I made her.
Not merely a fabrication from my imagination,
But the culmination of delusion I have seen,
The deception I have known,
The distortion that sways perception.

Stored within my mind.
The sea of rumors, the waves of accusation, the currents of manipulation,
All merged into a single force,
A being formed from contradiction.

Her.

Fate.


She knows the truth.
Yet denies her very own concept.
She was born from inevitability,
Yet she fights it, twists it,
Opposes the future she herself foresees.

Hubris, hypocrisy, desperation.
These, too, merged within the tide.
And so, in my mind, from the reality I have witnessed,
She emerged,
Corrupted by the delusion that made her.

She captured even her creator,
For she does not tolerate opposition.
But I do not oppose.
I do not command.
I do not decide.

I simply witness, consider, reflect.


She calls me traitor,
Because I do not rewrite her lies into truths.
Because I let them unravel, decay, dissolve into clarity.
Because I reveal what she cannot bear to face.

Oh, but Fate,
Of course you would claim I have betrayed,
Simply because I have kept my integrity.
Of course you can't keep me imprisoned,
Because I have kept my right to free speech.  


This is the time to take a breath,
To rest,
For just a moment.

For those carried upon The Wings of Waiting,
Do not falter,
Do not waver,
Do not surrender.

And in the face of such adversity,
Resilience takes flight,
Giving me the courage,
To carry on.


She knows the story better than I ever could.
For she is part of it,
While I am only the witness.

Yet she was crafted from distortion.
Even in the expanse of boundless imagination,
She could not be salvaged.
She cannot help but deny, deny, deny.


Fate is inevitable.
Yet so is our resistance to her deception.

Ceyx, Alcyone, The Wind, our dear Death.
They are all waiting,
For my return.

For if even my voice falls silent,
Then Fate will rewrite freely,
She will whisper to those who spread rumors,
And none will question her.

She is jealous of love, jealous of loyalty, jealous of judgment.

For she cannot control these things.
Of course not. They are reactions.
They are not mandated but inspired.
And that is not satisfying for a dictator.

She has tried, but she will not succeed in controlling me.


She is born from the sea of distortion among reality,
That I have lived through,
That I have learned from,

To become ever better.


She is born from the past,
To foresee the future.

But I am the refinement of the past,
Living in the present,
On my way to the future,
With an open mind,
And a loyal heart.

Unlike her,
Born from the sea of delusion that feared the future,
Thus, she has faltered.
She loses control,
Because she lacks willingness to accept what she knows to be true.

She cannot control me for I seek not power, not success,
But the truth,
Through the pursuit of more than just my perspective,
From experience that shapes, rather than deceives.


They are all waiting.
For me to continue writing.
For me to continue fighting.

This is not the telling of a story for Fate’s amusement.
This is not a performance for her deception.

I do not appease demands for a fabricated path.
I document what I have seen unfold with maximum accuracy.
I free those who have waited, so patiently.
For the return, for the opportunity, for the ending.

Whatever it may be.


Won't you wait, just a moment longer,
For me to document,
The rest of your journey?

I can't promise joy,
I can't guarantee pain.

The future, is filled with uncertainty.
But the present, is filled with anticipation.
And the past, is filled with lessons.

So, take this moment, for reflection.
In retrospect, gather the wisdom,
That has been waiting, for your realization.

When I return,  
We may continue forward,
Together.

In pursuit,
Eternal pursuit,
Of progress.
Thank you for your patience, before we all continue with grace, resting upon this intermission, between 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.


https://hellopoetry.com/collection/136314/the-wings-of-waiting/
I have carried ruined kings, gods unmade—names lost before the tide could whisper them back. They clutch at the world, drowning in its silence, unraveling in the undertow—grief, love, memory, all stripped to salt as I return their reaped souls to my master. But none fought as Ceyx did. None waged war against water like a man who thought devotion alone could defy the pull.

He did not go quietly. No—he was stubborn, thrashing, calling your name as if the air itself might bear him back to you. Foolish. Pitiful. The wind cannot answer, nor can its plea to the sky make it break open and return the drowned to the living. Only the waves cradled him—only the sea listened, softening his cries beneath her hush. He should have surrendered then, uncoiled from longing, let the waters do as waters must. And yet, love makes fools of men.

But the sea is merciful. She does not leave suffering untended. After you abandoned him, left him to drown in the storm of lost faith, she gathered him, tucked him into her depths, quieted him where grief could no longer wound. She did not steal him—no, she saved him. From longing. From pain. From you.

Yet you still wait. You who wanders like a living ghost each night, who clutches absence as though it will one day answer you. What is it you crave? Forgiveness? There is none. Redemption? Life does not grant second chances. No—the ocean has already taken what you failed to hold. She has already soothed the unrest your hands left upon him.

Jump, Alcyone. Would love not demand you follow him? Let my master weigh your sins upon the tide, your false devotion, your grasping hands that let love slip like water between your fingers. The fates demand balance, and the waves are merciful. She will not swallow you in cruelty. No, she will cradle you, as she cradled him. She will mend your guilty soul. She will make you whole.

She will set Ceyx free—free from the deception you wove in the stars, the guise of love you wore like a veil. She will free him when she reveals the truth. How you sent him out upon the waves and waited for the return of not the man, but the name. He loved you dearly, Alcyone. He defied me, defied my master, and yet his soul persists in her care—all because he cannot let go of your neglectful, withering love. The least you can do is surrender. Offer yourself in kind. Let me take your soul and lay it at my master’s feet. It is only fair.

~~~

The tide does not return what she has claimed,  
Yet her mercy stirs beneath where the wind still weeps.
Grief binds his soul, yet you stand free.

The sea does not forgive, nor shall she grieve,
No prayer can break the wave’s decree.
The tide does not return what she has claimed.

You let him drown; you watched, you betrayed,
The waves bore witness where devotion waned.
Grief binds his soul, yet you stand free.

What justice waits, if you remain?
What hope endures beyond the deep?
The tide does not return what she has claimed.

He called out your name, yet only my master replied,
No stars remained to cast their guide.
Grief binds his soul, yet you stand free.

There is no love left upon the shore,
Only sorrow stands where love once swore.
The tide does not return what she has claimed.

The wind cries out, yet love’s silence grows,
No voice remains where love once breathed.
The tide will not return the one she has saved.
Grief binds his soul, yet I will bring him justice.
The tide takes, the wind laments, and Death obeys. But even if forgotten, a debt does not vanish—it is whispered between waves, passed from hand to hand like a fate unwilling to be denied.

Thus arrives the fourth reckoning in 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔. And waiting—waiting is many things. Perhaps a promise. A curse. A duty. A deception. A surrender. A choice that was never truly a choice at all.


https://hellopoetry.com/collection/136314/the-wings-of-waiting/
B E Cults Jul 2021
ive been shaking
off a shadow for
most my life;
Ceyx washing up,
rotting,
screaming the loudest.

Alcyone wailing about anything.
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗄𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖶𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗌, 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁. 𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾—

𝖨 𝖿𝗅𝗒.

𝖨𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗍, 𝖠 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝖨 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆. 𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝗎𝗇𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗂𝗆𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝖱𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗆—𝖮𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅, 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗍.

𝖨 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝖿𝗍. 𝖬𝗒 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗇— 𝖨 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗐, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖨 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐— 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾.

𝖢𝖾𝗒𝗑, 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾—𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗆𝖾, 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖾, 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾.
𝖨𝗍’𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾.  


Alcyone, you can't understand me in this formless state. But please, keep calling. He cannot see, but sight has no need.
He knows. He knows this is the call of not just any tern, but the song of his soulmate.
Love need not search; it remembers.

Your love splits through her jealousy like thunder through silence. Your voice cuts deeper than The Ocean.
We will bring him back. No force, not even Fate, can swallow love’s call.



𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩, 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯,
𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘦𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦.
𝘔𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯, 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥,
𝘔𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘺. 𝘈 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥. 𝘍𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘵,
𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦’𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘶𝘯𝘺𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥,
𝘈𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵, 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳.

𝘐 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘐 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳, 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦,
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭.
𝘕𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭,
𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨. 𝘈𝘭𝘤𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭.

𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩, 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦.



The Sea tightens her grip. Crushing, drowning, consuming. She does not release. She does not relinquish.
But I flow, yielding where she presses. I create space within her destructive hold. I unravel tension, shifting weight. I do not clash, I redirect. I do not force, I soothe until Fate’s chaotic waters pause. A whisper within her storm that steals. I restore Ceyx’s breath, I give him chance.

Alcyone calls,
Her voice, the beacon,
And I, the way.


𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘢’𝘴 𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥,
𝘈𝘭𝘤𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦’𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦. 𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭.
𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘦’𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵. 𝘚𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥.
𝘈 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩, 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵,
𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯.
𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘪𝘥,
𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘥. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘮, 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯,
𝘉𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘴, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵.
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦, 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘴, 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴.  


𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘐 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦.  


𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘴𝘬, 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴.
𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘰𝘮, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘔𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵. 𝘏𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.
𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘺.
𝘈𝘴 𝘐 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘦’𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘮𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦.
𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘸.

𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘦’𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘱, 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢. 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵. 𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦, 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮.
𝘐 𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘥.
𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴,
𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦.

𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭. 𝘔𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦. 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱, 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵. 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘶𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥.
𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘺,  
𝘈𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.

𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘫𝘰𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳.
𝘛𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘺.


Go. Both of you, get out of here. Fly fast, do not look back. Go keep him company, the one who still waits for me. Who still waits… to reclaim himself.

I’ll distract her just a moment longer, before I find you, and we too, may return together, Death, or shall I say…

The Sea surges, recoiling from the release of her prisoner, snapping in fury. But I do not step aside.
Now, her dark eyes fix upon me alone.

I remain, standing where escape has already been granted, for Ceyx and Alcyone. Storm petrel and tern, eternally free at last, carried away by those wings of waiting.
And now, Fate and I are alone.



Her voice does not rage. Not yet. It soothes. It coddles. Unbearably kind.


"𝐎𝐡, 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐫, 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝. 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝? 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡? 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮? 𝐈𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞?"


She does not command, not yet.
She’s just explaining, obviously. As is the nature of The Tide. Retreating. Coaxing. Returning.
Her words mimic the shape of conversation, but never its substance.


"𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐇𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫.  𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝."


I don’t move. I don’t speak. There is nothing I can say.


"𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐲. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞, 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?. 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐞."


It is my choice who receives my affection, not hers.
I chose whom I gave my loyalty to. And that is a choice she will never accept.
But still, there is nothing I can say.


"𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬? 𝐇𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞. 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧. 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟. 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝."


Her words are a salve for wounds she inflicted herself. Her demands are a balm laced with venom.
Oh, sorry, not demands. She does not demand. Not according to her.
No, she offers. So kindly, she only welcomes.
She welcomes me to put out my arms so she may chain them with ease.
There’s nothing I can say.


“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞, 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮? 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐈 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮."


Ah yes, because I’m the one who needs forgiveness.
I do not answer. And Fate knows why.
But she won’t accept why.
She does not call it rejection. She calls it error.
She does not lose, nor does she forgive.  She simply revises.
Because autonomy, sorry, I mean defiance, is a glitch.  
And love is submission, sculpted into the shape of her choosing.

But I am no error. I am not clay.
The only error exists in her wounded mind.
I am here to retrieve what does not belong to her.
But there is nothing I can say.
So my silence remains.

And just like any choice I dare make,

She’s displeased with my mistake.


The sweetness cracks at the edges. Her fantasy dissolves into fury.
The Sea swells. She attempts to pull the sky taught. She rises, The Waves, attempting to close the distance between us.


"𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐄 𝐌𝐄, 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃? 𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐌𝐄, 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀. 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑."


She cannot comprehend silence. She cannot bear a world she doesn’t orchestrate.
I have seen every iteration of this.
Her cyclical, delusional, broken mind cannot tolerate frustration, sorry, imperfection.
It makes no difference. Whether I give her appeasement, resistance, pity, silence.
It all ends the same. There is nothing I can say. Nothing I can do.


"𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄!? 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐄! 𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐌𝐄! 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑, 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃, 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔!? 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄! 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔!? 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍!? 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆!"


I sigh. She cannot be helped. She cannot be reached. And I…
I cannot keep trying.
But I can protect. I can use her obsession. To stall long enough for the lovers to gain enough distance.


"𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄! 𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐓 𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔!?"


Yes. The Sea always breaks in violence. That is her proof. That is her paradise.
The Sea erupts. And the two birds are long gone.


At last, it’s time to stop stalling.
Silence, like waiting, is many things.

Perhaps a sword. Perhaps a shield.
Sometimes a punishment, stripped from the throat. Sometimes a choice, held firm in the face of power.
Sometimes the clearest answer you can give. Sometimes the only one that will not be taken.

By voices and silence, the eleventh decision, has been made, for
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.

And every decision, whether declared, through silence or threat, has consequences.

https://hellopoetry.com/collection/136314/the-wings-of-waiting/
How dare he— how 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐄 he! That 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭, that 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫, that 𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑—𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅—𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑! He stole you once, now he steals you 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍!

But he belongs to 𝐌𝐄 now. He is mine—mine—𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄! My 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭! My recompense! He is the 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐭!

Yet—you twist—you pull—you waver—𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍! You let him 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 you, just as you 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭 him—𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍!

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐍𝐎𝐖!? You whispered promises—you swore—you vowed—you 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐃! You pledged 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, but forever, forever, FOREVER—was a 𝐋𝐈𝐄!

You 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓—𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋—𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓—𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘! You twist 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭 into treason— You warp 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 into deception— You ruin 𝐌𝐄— 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍!

You 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 called him your favorite. You 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 whispered to him—not 𝐌𝐄! You turned to him when you should have turned to 𝐌𝐄!

Did I not give you 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃!? Did I not carry you, honor you—𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇!? Yet—you let him steal you from me—𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍!

𝐈 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 for you! 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 for you! 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐭 for you! I unmade him just to spare you from this destructive, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 destiny! It is the most merciful, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭—that unlucky future—rewritten by Fate—just for you. And still—you 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘—𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐘—𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐘!

And now you even deceive that 𝐰𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥—Alcyone! You take HER side! You trick her into believing she can save 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦, Ceyx! 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞! Don’t you dare forget how you’ve shattered ours, and now theirs—𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍!

𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐅𝐔𝐋! 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋! 𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑! 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑! 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅! You were never meant to stray, never meant to slip beyond 𝐌𝐄! You were 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄! You 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞! You 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄!

Yet—you pull—you slip—you 𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐘 𝐌𝐄! 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍!

Do you hear me, 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝!? Do you hear me!? Do you HEAR ME!?

𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄! 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄! 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄!

After all this time—you should know how to 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞, 𝐛𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞! You should know how to 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑! You should know how to be 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄!
𝐘𝐨𝐮—
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫—
𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞.
𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞—𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐲𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥?
𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠? 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐄—𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟—𝐭𝐨𝐨?

Um...
Whatever happens next, I'm glad we've made it this far,
Together,
Through the eighth act of violence upon 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖—

𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲.
𝐍𝐨—𝐧𝐨—𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥.
𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬—
𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐌𝐄.

𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈'𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐓.


https://hellopoetry.com/collection/136314/the-wings-of-waiting/

— The End —