Private Tales This Void Feels Eternal

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Aeris Silversale

Aeris Silversale

Another to mourn
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No matter how large or minuscule happiness manifests in Parumora, it would not last in these parts.

Shattered, torn apart, stifled. Robbed, even.

For anyone to truly be happy here, you needed to rise above the heartbreak, the fear, the idea of your loved ones never coming back but perhaps in the form of a spirit. Aeris grew up honouring the dead, praising their spirits still protecting the Mourners and saving a life when they no longer walked this plane, up until she became a Mourner to fulfill the wishes of her first love.

She didn't know honouring Aaren would be the very thing to send her down the deepest pit of guilt, that he died and she got to survive and made it her mission to ensure his memory did not go in vain. Young, she was young to take that on, and support his family with visits and memories, but they soon moved on and accepted his fate.

She didn't.

It was like clockwork for her. Her moods would improve, her sleep lasting more than four hours as she was able to sleep through most of the night, and Aeris was genuinely smiling and socialising with her associates and friends without hiding her true emotions. Then there came the triggers.

Fear. Despair.

Why did that always seem to be the epicenter of all that has happened? If she thought about it, deep down, she could easily blame either option. That was until the real reason, the real wound that kept opening and opening over again reminded her how life could be fleeting.

Grief.

Aeris could not hide behind her famed helm as she stood amongst Mourners, heads bowed as someone recited prayers for the lost soul they came to lay to rest. Their spirit could not be saved, but she didn't listen for the recounting of their untimely death. All she could do was feel a grief that was old, that grew with her the past couple of years, and never released her from it's ever present company. It felt real, as if it stood with the Mourners gathered, cold arms brushing against her own.

There was a gentle sprinkling mist of rain that covered the grieving scene, giving the illusion of a fog that wrapped around them. To many, this was as close to sunshine on this island. Aeris clenched her fists. Even if the sun shone this day, something would steal away it's light, it's radiant warmth.

Nothing good can last here.
 
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Death was commonplace now. The only certainty that Phorasmos brought was that of the inevitable end, that one's body would one day be separated from the soul, and the soul cast either into the madness of the isle or the security of a vessel. The daily dangers of being a Mourner came with a high rate of mortality, and these days it was no longer shocking or horrifying when someone Tristan had only just spoken to the previous day came home as a soulless corpse.

Yet the rituals persisted. The procession, the seeing off of the body that the soul might find rest. It was the duty of those who called Phorasmos home, and it was the duty of those who would see that its corruption did not spread beyond the Arai Sea.

"We grieve the lost."

It was said over and over and over. Tristan heard it daily. He looked over the somber faces of the other Mourners, smiths, and villagers alike. One stood out. One that was not stony and reverent. One that brimmed with frustration. Aeris. How many times more must she have heard that tired verse?

"We grieve the lost."

Tristan bowed his head. The ritual hadn't yet ended, and it was rude to look up. He knew the timing like the back of his own hand...it would be over soon.
 
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She stretched her fingers at her side, hoping no one could spy her keeping herself calm and present. Aeris should have been putting on a face depicting grief, but she could not bring herself to play pretend at that moment. An age, eons perhaps, and then the prayers were said and done. Loosing a shaky breath, she lifted her face to the fine mist that clung to her lashes, eyes searching for that elusive sun to warm her and make her feel something.

And then bodies around her began to move. She thought she had seen Tristan Locke in the crowd, but soon lost sight of him.

The procession, meant to leave the grieving family behind while the other Mourners took to lighting the fires symbolise souls returning. Aeris moved with them, unthinking of where she intended to go. The Mourners were like a current, pushing her out to sea, but the further she got from the burial site, the darker it got.

There were less people out this way, but enough that Aeris came to a stop and wavered on her feet.

When she came home with Aaren's soul, his family had not asked her to remain for the burial. They were distraught, angry, and after two weeks they warmed to her once again. She had never gotten to stay and watch for the last time someone be laid to rest, and once again, that pitiful feeling of guilt wracked her.

She stumbled, fell to her knees where she winced audibly at the sting coursing up her legs. It felt real, oh so fucking real, and that seemed to be her undoing.

A sob left her lips, and Aeris shut it just as quickly to keep from attracting attention to herself. She looked around frantically, trying to compose herself as grief clung to every limb and made her heavy from it. She wanted to be back in her room, to shut the curtains and curl up in bed and weep. She was sinking, drowning, dying.

Her chest held unbearable pressure, leaving her beginning to hyperventilate.

She was drifting out to sea now, untethered.

Grief, grief, grief. That was her prayer.
 
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Many would have missed it, Aeris' departure from the procession. Tristan did not. Even with his head bowed, he caught the sight of her slipping away in his peripherals. Perhaps being on high alert was a blessing offered to him by Fane...more likely it was the curse of paranoia granted to him by experience.

Under most circumstances Tristan would not have done the ritual the disrespect of going after someone...but this was Aeris. She and Tristan had seen combat together, experienced the horrors of the Possessed in the beneath the boughs of the Twilight Pines. He felt he owed it to her to see that she was alright.

So Tristan slipped off as well. He found her, brought to kneel, and stood above her listening to the quiet sound of her barely stifled sobs. Tristan did the only thing he could think to do: he sank dropped down in front of her and wrapped Aeris in a hug.
 
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Aeris had pushed away from such emotional embraces in the past, but she had been too shocked and debilitated by grief to push Tristan away. She knew it was him the moment she realised she was not alone. He had become a good friend, as did Haka begin to grow on her, and so too did Iruna. Without much warning, Aeris had found solace amongst the numbers of Mourners to call a true friend.

They all had lost someone.

And that was that Tristan could communicate in that crushing embrace. He held her up as her own sobs wracked through her and make her shake, her cries muffled against his shoulder. She could count on his strength like a rock in a rushing river. Ever constant and unyielding.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." She sobbed, the hate of being so vulnerable and useless clinging to her like the guilt of her own survival. "I'm sorry..."

Aeris did not know why her defenses were left wide open, that the tears felt the need to consume her. She had a way of keeping it all away, to block it with poor sleep and plenty of liquor, but after what they had witnessed in the Twilight Pines, Aeris had not been to the pub since.
 
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