Role

Chapter 25

She moved with exaggerated lethargy, as though every step pained her. The room
was mundane and simple: a basic sleeping pallet and pillow, a small cabinet
with wash basin, a narrow wardrobe. Decor was minimal, but it did not matter
to her. She locked the door behind her and shuffled across the room. The
hinges groaned as she opened the wardrobe.

She had taken up residency here in Hamsah Mu'tazz, at least informally, as a
way to remove herself from the constant questioning looks of those in Darsylon
or Voralian City. Everyone was out to be helpful, but here in Hamsah, she had
chance to find privacy, and to consider her life. It was a place reminiscent
of one of the mercenaries from her youth, an arial named Birdy, who loudly
complained of the lack of feathered women at the Drunken Efreeti. Aurew had
thought it unusual at the time, to which Birdy suggested it was not unusual
at all.

Shaking off the fog of memory, Aurew stared into the wardrobe and pulled out
several objects of no significant value by most accounts: some valerian roots,
a jagged fist-sized crystal of aelite, and a long-dead white and pink swamp
lily. With great care, she placed them about the room; one on the windowsill,
another on the basin, the last, next to her pillow. These were the remnants
she had left to hold onto, even as the memories tried to slip away. Here was
a place she could pretend the outside did not exist, the critical eyes would
withhold judgment. That she should have moved on by now, that somehow time
could solve the puzzle of grief.

Every day was a jumble. That time at the inn, did she imagine it? Were the
details wrong? She had the flower, but the memories fell farther behind.

Tucking herself into the meager bedclothes, Aurew twirled the dried lily
between her fingers and whispered, "So beautiful, so deadly."

As she stared up at the ceiling awaiting the relief of slumber, she wondered
what more would be gone tomorrow.