Ancient Death

Her head was spinning.
Her heart was pounding.
Her mouth was dry.
Her whole body was numb.
And if Death could shake, her fingers would be shaking till they were unable to function.

Her mind was blank. She didn't know what to think. Her restless mind was finally quiet. She didn't know if she should be filled with joy, or be overwhelmed with sadness. Or both. Happy with tears in her eyes.
How could she feel this way? This woman was not really her sister. Her mind could comprehend that, but her heart told different.

She was tired of feeling this way. Feeling unsure, and confused, especially about her feelings. How should she feel? Is she at all, her own person? She hoped she was, but she pushed that thought away, for it was a scary one.

She finally felt normal. Or as normal as you can hope for. No one can decide what normal is. What is it anyway?



That was all bull if you asked her. Normal is what you were raised with, what you grew up with, what you were familiar and comfortable with. Although no one can define normal. This was just her opinion and take on it. What she thought normal was.

She felt confident. She spoke next in a very strong voice. Not shaky this time.

"I am the one who saved your life,"

Though knowing herself, she felt she needed to tell her this... the truth

"-though I am also the one who caused it."

The goddess paused.

"and I am awfully sorry for that" she continued.

She paused again, and this time stayed that way.

The woman just stared at her. Not saying anything. She on the other hand thought of mulitple ways to reply --during the unbearable silence-- and also during this time, she found something out about herself. She was tired of it. Tired of the silence the Irish had to offer. Like the silence was doing the talking. It probably wasn't a bad thing. Quiet was good. She just hated when they all stared. Like the way the woman was.

She was about to speak again, to break the silence, but...

"You brought me here, didn't you?" the woman said.

At this, she was confused. Confused, because there was no curiosity at all in her voice. Like she was just saying a statement. Well, it made sense. It was simply...obvious.

Azshara felt there was no reason to respond, so she didn’t. Why ask a question when you already knew the answer to it?
For this reason, she saved her breath.

"What is your name" the frail woman demanded.

Azshara felt tempted to reveal her name but she was smart enough not to. This woman was still a stranger, and mortal, making her even more untrustworthy. No difference if she looked like her sister or not.

"None of your business" the goddess had said. Not in a hard voice, but a strong one.

"You shouldn't have helped me!"

For the second time tonight, she was surprised. This is not what her sister would say. This is not what she expected. And how odd it seemed for her to be. She always knew what to expect. But not now. It was a weird feeling. She was not used to it. She wanted to take this woman, jump out the building and kill her. The impact would definitely not kill herself. But that's how much this woman was getting on her nerves.

Did she just think that? Was she that cruel?

Is there something about herself she doesn't know about?

She feels her eyes moving away from the window --thinking that horrid thought-- and back at the girl's face.

"Well then, I believe we’re done here”

Now she saw her surprised, like she expected her to fight back, yell at her for making such a rude comment. She doesn't blame her. She looked like the type. Reasons she will not mention, but still, it's wrong to assume such a thing. Besides it wasn't worth it. She was just a stranger after all. Then again, that's an advantage...if she wanted to get away with it...
It felt like a black cloud was pulling her in. Darkness, evil, and everything bad. A blind force letting it win. The woman spoke, bringing her back into focus.
She didn't hear what she said, but nonetheless, she was herself again.

She was done here. She took the car keys out from the pocket of her cargo pants, setting it on the end table by the door. She wrote the route her car was on, on a pad, and left, not once looking back.