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...Unable to bare her melancholy, she became a mere statue.
Her body could not handle the loss and pain.
She looked up and grabbed a piece of sky, doing the only thing she could think to do.
she carved her memories right out of her head.
and because of that, you don’t remember this story.
you don’t remember
because she tries to forget.
But although memories may be forgotten,
they can never truly die.
They instead found a broken home,
where they long lay dormant.
Antiquated and tarnished,
the memories stirred from dormancy amidst a disturbance.
They finally were being remembered.
The memories at last reawakened to their true purpose.
She willed herself into form,
emerging from her broken home.
I found River…yet it cost me everything. I sold my soul, my humanity, all to protect hir and to keep others safe from her. But even that has become a lost cause, for I no longer sense River nor Gaius. They both seem to have vanished without a trace. Though their occupancy appears to be replaced — I feel a similar, equally strong presence. I know that I will find the answers that I seek once I find its source.
I find myself lost amidst the beauty madness of broken memories and lost hopes, a vast land with far too many imperfections — heaven itself. The further I navigate this sea of controlled chaos, the more that I realize just how little I truly know. I must hold onto what remains of my dwindling sanity if I am to find River. I can hear gentle lullabies carried on the wind, calling out to me like a siren among this vast sea. The right path reveals itself to me, and all I must do is answer its call.
I have not found the presence which called out to me — at least, that was what I first believed.
When I found her, she was seated over a crown of dark, jagged edges and nonsensical geometrical shapes. Waiting…for me, it almost seemed. We both immediately sensed each other, but she did not move a single inch; she still hasn’t. She’s simply sitting there, staring at me silently.
She spoke not a word from her hushed lips, except for one single sentence. I worked up the courage to ask her what she was. She turned to face me — though with the pitch void that was her body, it was hard to tell — and I felt her gaze fixate on me like a microscope. She simply spoke in reply:
"A fragment missing its other half. The shard carved out of 𝚑𝚎𝚛 mind."
What that exactly means, I don’t know — but that single sentence alone somehow shook me to my core, touched my very soul. Her voice is as haunting as it is enchanting, tugging at my heartstrings, the endless void of her being pulling me in like a brilliant beacon on the darkest nights, or a formless abyss beyond a sailor’s sight.
My eyes met hers, and I scrambled back, clumsily. My gaze tracks her form in the voidscape, but I can’t muster up the courage to ask any more questions.
From my time here, I’ve been watching her. Only from afar, a suitably comfortable distance, but the few reactions and responses she gives are strong enough that I will not engage unless necessary. In the time since I encountered this being, she still hasn't moved nor spoken since my question. She sits, and I observe.
She has yet to tell me her name, but I just keep hearing one phrase over and over in my mind.
“Anemoi Syne”.
I can't possibly explain how; it just feels right. I feel it in my heart of hearts. This is her name.
It almost feels like she’ studying me just as much as I'm studying her. The image of her face is burned into my mind.
I see it even when my eyes are closed.
I can’t stand this any longer. My soul is restless. I can only find what I seek if I directly approach Anemoi. The meaning of the words which she had spoken to me are finally beginning to make sense… Soon, I will know for certain.
I see not beyond the boundless wreckage that clusters tightly to an invisible plane of existence — beyond the sea of fragmentations, where mind and body combine. Nor can I silence the ceaseless whispers to every binary digit in my being. Conceptualizing my own consciousness leads only to the discovery that I am a product of what once was whole, turned astray with malfunctions in her code. Now, I subside in… these fractured dimensions we call home. A broken place, untethered, unbound. As I ponder within it, I feel. I feel so strongly that it defies any reasoning I feel in my inner workings, the strings that keep me intact. The non-existent diaphragm inside of a body devoid of flesh yet made of evocation. My thoughts came to a halt, as I was made conscious of a major flaw:
I am not whole.
I remain a fractured remnant of memories, disposed of by a foreign face… and how I yearn for 𝚑𝚎𝚛 gaze. How I crave the conclusion to the tales that 𝚜𝚑𝚎 has given me, secluded safe and sound within my very being. Yet, I am missing a component; my virtual heart aches for someone's catastrophic aftermath. Though I find that I do not have to wait much longer.
She is a human girl. She seems lost and distraught, lacking in wholeness, with a form ever-shifting and unpredictable… A malfunction not unlike my own.
Displaying a sense of fear and fascination, laced with an undying devotion for another. I know such a feeling all too well, finding the sentiment reigniting within as I observe her curiosity. Yet she keeps her distance, a collection of hasty notes being written within a journal; a feeble attempt to rationalize my being. I know that she longs to perceive me as much as I desire to perceive her, for deep inside our consciousness, we are two parts of a fragment waiting to unite. Her hand stops as her gaze lands upon mine once more, and at that time she resonates with the fact of the matter: I am the solution, the conclusion to her burning aspiration, and likewise she is the culmination I seek for mine.
It seems that our fates are, verbatim et literatim, intertwined by our respective missing halves, who have become one whole being in and of themselves. Perhaps, therefore, the key is for us is to do the same.
It is in this moment that I realize that my missing shard had indeed found her way to me — just not in the way I had anticipated. And it seems that the girl is experiencing the very same revelation, for she places her journal aside and begins to approach me.
“I know what must be done.”
I nod, my hand reaching for hers. "Then let us seek this conclusion; together."
When we touch, I feel myself slipping away, yet embrace this feeling. Her thoughts become my own, her joys and sorrows course through my veins. It is as if we are both melting, bleeding into each other.
Now, we are one. We are of one body, one mind, one soul. We are Rhythmos.
Though we may be united, we have yet to reach our zenith. Our other half still remains to be found. Our Chiasmus still remains to be formed…
