Eue-Lysae sits in the chair in her suite, the room is chilly; she had opened the window the night before and has yet to close it—the cold tends to help her sleep; the cold tends to keep her calm—though, the cold was not helping her at the moment; it made it hard for her to move her fingers, so she carefully places the half-woven h?lbint rope on the floor and makes her way over to her bed to remove the goose down duvet, places it over her shoulders and returns to her chair; it was better, more comfortable, while it did not fix the cold winter air wafting in through the window, it provided her with a brief remedy to an occasionally beneficial problem; Slowly, carefully, she returns to braiding the h?lbint rope—there was not a set way for how one should braid the ropes, as long as there were three cables (one for the bride, one for the groom, and one for the goddess they were to be wed under), so she weaves them together the same way her mother had taught her how to braid hair many years prior; she gives the rope an occasional tug, just to make sure everything is set snugly, nice and tight—her stomach tightens with it—there is a part of her that wants to damage the rope, just enough that it might, that it just might, come apart; but Dyder does not deserve that... he does not deserve to have his heart broken by her once more, nor Ilsenyla, she does not deserve to have her future torn away from her, but Eue-Lysae already threw her chance to be truly happy away—she let it burn, she let it burn away with the family portraits... she deserves to suffer; she runs a hand down her face and reaches for the wine bottle on the table; she wraps her fingers around its neck, brings it to her lips, and takes a long drink, then she returns it to the wooden coaster.
Luhnylla appears, and walks over to Gyrshke's bed, and she smooths out a spot and sits down. "You're doing the right thing."
Eue-Lysae looks over to the goddess, her tone is soft, motherly, lacking the snark that is present when she smocks about or admonishes Eue-Lysae within her head; Luhnylla is trying to help her find a sort of solace, or at least respite.
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"Yes; I am." Luhnylla says.
"But I do not want it... I do not want solace, nor respite." Eue-Lysae responds coolly.
Luhnylla leans in. Placing her elbows on her knees, she rests her chin in her hands. "You don't want it to end? The limerence?"
"It is not limerence; I'm certain he doesn't feel the same." Eue-Lysae looks away, back to the rope.
"So, then what is it?"
Eue-Lysae pauses for a second. "It is nostalgia. I want things to go back to how they were, but they can't."
"You are being sophistic with me. You do not want things to go back to how they were; you want things to be how they could have been. You are anemoiac."
"Can I not fantasize... is it wrong to fantasize about a world where I'm sheltered, a sheltered housewife to a strong man? My only worries, simple ones. I wish I was ignorant once more; that is all."
"You are not in a position to fantasize, nor dream." Luhnylla's voice grows firm. "I _chose_ you because of your drive; all you wanted was to help those of the future."
"And now I know how bad it truly is, and I want to be rid of it, but I will have nowhere to go or call home to outside the Order, so all I can do is go forward, blindly push forward in a culture where _I am_ supposed to be the Holy of Holies. What is a matriarch who can only sit back and watch all the wanton suffering? A tutor... no, one of the women I was a priestess with, Gelm—" Eue-Lysae swallows sharply and stops herself. "I do not want to talk about this anymore."
"This will only fester, Gyrshke. I know how this ends—"
"Enough of this."
Luhnylla vanishes.
The room goes silent save for the rustling of the curtains.
Eue-Lysae takes another drink from the wine bottle and returns to braiding the h?lbint; she focuses on the sound of the curtains to keep her mind silent—the duvet does less to fend off the cold than it did before.
