THE WEIGHT OF SILENCE

[Melpomenne 2032]

 

Spoiler

 

 

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PLEASE do not METAGAME this information. 

NONE of the events described below are public knowledge at this time and are ONLY known by the characters mentioned in the post.
 

TRIGGER WARNING: ALLUSION TO SUICIDE 

 

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THE WEIGHT OF SILENCE

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The harsh, cold breeze was unkind. The wind, funneled up from the river and against the city’s walls, only sharpened its bite. The woman closed her eyes. Her pale face flushed red, and the tip of her nose grew numb.  The sound of the river rushing below—swollen from the heavy rains upon Valdev the day before—made her stomach turn.

Her eyes opened, and the sight shocked her. She trembled, as if she had wandered to the edge of the wall in her sleep. No—no, she knew where she was. She knew exactly where she was and why she was there. She visited this place often when her mind grew too loud, when it felt overrun with voices heralding their own thoughts.

She looked down at her hands. In her right, she clutched a handful of missives—pleas for her missing daughter. In her left, the worn handle of a small dagger.

 

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For ten months, she had been tormented by the strangest dreams—falling stars, a battlefield painted in blood. They came to her each night. And her usual nightmares had not ceased; they layered upon the fresh ones, sinking deeper into her waking mind.

She saw her grandmother, the late Queen Amaya, hanging in place of her murderer. She saw the severed head of Marius—her friend—beside her, in her arms, at her feet, floating pathetically in the river as though it had never belonged to a man who once lived and laughed.

The dread followed her into the day. Her husband had long since left their bed—he always did, the loving and kind man, he woke up each day with purpose. She would rise only around noon, left to wallow in the dark of their chambers.

Dressed, now, she would drift down the corridor of empty rooms, slowing as she passed the quarters of her eldest children—her twins. Once, their names had been carved into a sign above the door, but it had been beaten down, left shattered upon the floor, flecked with dried blood.

She never entered. 

She could not.

Visions followed her already—of her daughter, discarded in the cold, starved, eaten, beaten. She could not bear to see the place where she should have been. Where she had once been safe.

And then, always, her mind would turn on itself.

A voice—not her own.

“Had ea known vy were this weak, ea would have never agreed to our little pact.” It echoed, “Vyr children are gone, and all vy can do is wallow in sorrow.”

“Vy-vy malignant bitch!” She squealed, nails digging into the flesh surrounding her ears. “Ea’m doing all ea can!”

“Evidently niet. Else they’d be in this room, mm?” – “Nie true Haeseni-born woman would sit so idly by. Vy remind me of the wailing women of Aaun.” A chuckle.

The woman leaned forth, knocking her head against the wall in frustration, as if her pain would transfer to the one tormenting her. “Silence… Silence!” She pleaded with a shriek, her voice bellowed throughout the empty halls of Mondstadt.

The voice sighed, the annoyance in its voice nearly palpable. “Had ea still lived, that boy would already be at mea mercy.” – “Vy know it was him. Perhaps he had the girl believe he ‘loved’ her, and stole her away into the night”

Pushed herself up against the wall, slowly sliding down until she found herself sitting upon the floor. “Yes - … yes, that boy.” — “Vy speak with reason, at last.”

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The woman’s gaze lingered upon the things she held. She knew she had to let go—one or the other.

Hope over solace, or solace over hope, she thought to herself.

She was so tired, you see. So drained of it all. The weight of her station—of her children, her house, the viscounty, herself—had become unbearable. She had never imagined it would be so… much.

She had idolized the steadfast women of her community. They were strong, wise. They balanced everything upon a perfectly manicured finger. That’s all she had ever wanted.

But she was weak, broken down by maladies and betrayals that never seemed to cease.

She could not help it.

Nor could the people around her.

“He is old enough, mea boy,” she quietly justifies aloud, “and Moryana is independent. She does nie need me - she never did.” 

 

 

A hand opened.

The three pages drifted away, carried by the river’s breath against Valdev’s red walls before sinking into the mud below.

She watched as the portrait of her daughter disappeared into the sludge.

Nerida readied her blade.

For a moment, she saw a glimpse of her.
Her long, chestnut brown hair and eyes — one much lighter than the other.

She pressed the tip to her stomach.

Three sharp, short breaths.

Then—

A voice.

Not her own.
Not the one that haunted her.

His.

 

“What are you doing here, my love?”

 

Her grip faltered.

The blade slipped from her grasp, clattering against the stone walls before tumbling after the missives below.

She gasped—silent, but shaken.

Realizing.

Realizing what could have been.
What she could have done.

And there she stood, pathetic, upon that wall.

A man looming behind her.

The moon looking down in silence.

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[Koodini 854]

♪♪♪

He knew not of the weight. He knew not of the strain. He knew not of the burden.
All which haunted the mother was unknown to the son.
 

Still, he acted.
There was nothing which prompted him but the fatigue intertwining her eyes.
 

That night, he fished his room's sign up from the floorboards.

Another came in its place, host to two names. Anaksandr's own and another's — half of his whole.

[TheBreak 45]

The day was nearly like any other for the man, but it was on that day when he decided to visit the royal gardens of New Valdev. He might never come to know significance of that decision.

 

Was it through the guidance of God that the man found his wife by the edge of the wall or was it the love between these two souls that sensed the danger of the other?