The reflection of the Queen: Exile

Epilogue

THE DREAM MAN

It was as if I had been compressed inside a shell, dark, silent, feeling nothing at all.

And as if suddenly I was pulled out of it, shattering it with such overwhelming power that it dragged me with it.

For days I had been fragmenting inside that shell, feeling myself unraveling from the deepest part of me. The essence of my being, that which kept me in this world, was vanishing without me being able to do anything to avoid it, and therefore so was I. I was not smoke, it was less than smoke, something so imperceptible that I felt it again as if it was not really real, as if it had never been real and everything that had made me think otherwise had been nothing more than an illusion as vain as I was.

Seeing the silver misty wasteland again was like breathing, no matter how long it had been since I had done so. It made me feel as alive as knowing that, slowly, everything that had formed me, everything that had made me myself since I died and came to that place, was coming back together, coming back to me from the deepest darkness. I looked down, how the smoke was forming my hands and my body again. I brought one of them to my face and, as usual, I didn't feel it, but I knew there was something there.

Below my feet, I was suspended above what seemed like a wide circle traced with light, and that same light formed shifting, sharp, incomprehensible symbols that moved around me. I was not even touching the ground; I was floating, weightless and disoriented.

It didn't take me long to realize that I was not alone and that, for the first time, the person accompanying me in that place was not Persie. Instead, it was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen or dreamed of. Small, but slender, every inch of her body, of her snow-white skin, was delicate, almost ethereal, like a beautiful spirit or some kind of wonderful supernatural being. Her face was so beautiful that it took my breath away, features of a heavenly creature tempting like those of a demon. All of her exuded elegance and mystery, as if just by looking at her I could clearly guess that under all that purity and perfection was hidden something dark and terrible that only made it impossible for me to look away. She didn't look away from me either, with unique eyes that seemed to be made of steel and stars, and for a moment I allowed myself to walk the path of those slender shoulders and the collarbone on which fell completely white and smooth locks.

"Eriavar," she whispered, and I shivered when her voice did too.

"Who are you?" I asked, cautious and intrigued.

"You don't know me, but I know you, and I've spent all these years missing you."

When had I met her? How could I have been able to forget a woman like her? The mere memory of her there in front of me would haunt me for eternity, and in another life I had eliminated her from my memory? I found it very hard to believe that this was possible.

"I need to know who you are."

"My name is Furya. And you were once Eriavar. My husband. My king. My love."

That didn't seem so impossible to me, since with one look it was already clear to me that I loved her as much as a being like me could love.

"I'm very sorry, Furya, but I don't remember you."

"Don't worry," she replied, smiling faintly. When she came closer, I saw that her eyes were full of tears. Were they tears of joy? What I did know was that the love I saw in them was a love I had never forgotten. She reached out a hand towards my face, but I caught it before it could touch me, shaken by the mere touch of her skin, clutching her fingers between mine as if they were the most precious thing I had ever held "I will make you remember. Would you... would you remember me, Eriavar?"