(12 Fashanos 5115, An aside from the Harp)
I feel the crash of her soul the moment her eyes open. She is still so distant, but yet, turns to me. Ach! There is naught I can do for her but be. Here. With her. Her anguish overwhelms everything, burning; everything except my need for her.
She drowns in me, and I can but be the instrument of her undoing.
“Dear one? Hear how I cherish you. Now. With…you.”
There is no answer. If she is not even aware of the music of her hands on me, how can she hear my unfaltering devotion? When will she hear my voice? She needs me now. When?
Whispers soft tell all,
Stay with me, sweetest bardess!
Oh, I ache with her.