"When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.
When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.
Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed."
― Maya Angelou
RHYSAND
She had existed.
My mind was a chaotic storm of fear and loss and anger. I followed Aeden down the winding hallways until we came before a closed door.
He stopped and hesitated but a moment before he gave my shoulder a firm squeeze and then turned on his heels and left. He of all people understood how much I needed time and space and solitude in this moment.
I stood before the door to Feyre's art room and my hands trembled as I reached for the knob. I frowned and swallowed down the sorrow that was coursing through my body. I remembered when I had prepared this room. It was the day after I returned from under the mountain. The day after I realised what Feyre meant to me. I can still see her wide loving eyes looking through my smug facade and really seeing me. Instead of disgust her eyes held a haunted recognition and acceptance of what I am. She knew the ill deeds and malice and the bloody deeds and yet those same eyes held love. For the first time I felt like I was home. Like there was a place in the world that I was myself and completely belonged without any games or deception. At that moment I had also felt the bond awaken in me and my heart was flooded with the most intense feeling I had ever experienced. It went beyond lust and even hate. The passion I felt for her was all consuming. It had caused me to stumble forth and flee.
When I returned to the Night Court I had wanted to transform it from a dark and treacherous place to one of mystery and splendour. A place fit for such a lovely wild creature. A place fit for my mate. I had the advantage of having seen deeply into her mind and I knew the way she devoured colour, her eyes flicking to and fro trying to absorb and commit them to memory, until she could try and recreate them at a later more private time. Knowing this I had designed this room for her. A large yet intimate art gallery, hung with blank canvases, paint easels, brushes and any colour you could dream of. I had supplies secretly brought in from all across Prythian and even some from places far beyond its borders. I had been so excited to show it to her. Yet the time was never right. Initially I was too guarded and scared to initiate something so vulnerable and intimate and so I left the room unmentioned. Not long after I realised that something had broken within her and that she no longer felt like painting. She treated it as a lost privelidge, as though she had degraded her soul to a point that she no longer deserved to see or create beauty. I knew better. I had longed to see a brush back in her hand, firm strokes of colour splashing forth from the beautiful soul within.
But the room had remained untouched and unused.
Or so I thought.
In Aeden's memories I had seen this room filled with vibrant paintings.
My hand gently turned the door knob and I took one deep breath before plunging inside.
As I stepped into the room I was reminded of how beautifully designed the gallery had been. The moonlight from the high set windows set everything alight with a soft glow. Additional globes of light hung high enough above each canvas to create visibility without marring the effects of the brush strokes.
The room was full.
I choked out a sob as I was overwhelmingly and completely surrounded by Feyre.
Even from the distance of the door way I could seen that not a single painting was spared from a familiar flash of violet. Some of them were almost entirely violet, as though she were drowning in my eyes.
Warm tears splashed down my cheeks as I took a tentative step forward towards the first painting. I was shocked to see that it was Calanmai in Spring. A bright smug of red marked the canvas and sent a red hue out across three shadowy villains. They cowered before a tall striking figure who stood with his arm casually slung over the shoulder of a cowering human maiden. I smiled at this memory and then shook my head as I realised that despite my mockery she had still seen me as a hero that night. She had known the danger that lurked beneath the surface and yet I knew this memory was not tampered with. In her eyes I had been a god-like rescuer that night.
I moved onto the next one to find myself looking down at a most intimate scene. The bars of the dungeon caused stripes of shadow across two figures huddled intimately close on the floor. One was small and fragile while the other leant over possessively and pressed their faces so close that they may have shared a breath. I shuddered realising this was the first confusing moment when she felt my tongue on her cheek and began to feel something forbidden for me.
The next was a whirl of lights and shadow. The chaotic swirl of the brush strokes created a sense of vertigo and amidst the spinning images only two violet eyes were clearly defined. She had somehow managed to paint galaxies within them, as though she could see the stars and the skies within my eyes. I swallowed hard and felt a flush of shame as I realised that this was her drugged recollection from under the mountain.
The next was an unholy amount of green. The shades of green where lack-lustre and the grey backdrop gave it an eery and depressing feeling. Amidst the doom and gloom two figures stood still as the salient feature of the artwork. The larger of the two engulfing the smaller female in a protective hug. I smiled at this. As I stared at the image I remembered how her body pressed against mine had burnt me. How even at that moment she changed my inner matrix forever. I was beyond excited to finally take her home to the Night Court.
Image after image my eyes feasted on the most loving and intimate moments of our short time together. There was so much love and forgiveness in those paintings. They confirmed for me that what we had shared was real. She was here. She had existed. And she had loved me with a devotion that I could not fathom.
My heart swelled as I saw the splashes of colour that could only be the implosion of a star. That night would forever remain one of the greatest moments of my life. I would never forget the wonder in her eyes and the way she was dizzied with glee when we were showered by the cascading lift of the falling stars.
I didn't want them to end. I didn't want to see anymore. I felt like I was walking through time and reliving all of our most precious memories together. I wasn't ready to walk back into reality. A reality where she had left me alone.
My treacherous eyes glanced up and I saw the next painting. My feet were drawn forth by my curiosity as I noted the tangle of limbs and a world washed completely in violet. I smiled knowing that this was the moment that she found herself drowning in my eyes. I remember because I felt that I was locked in her gaze and was falling into them too as we made love for the first time.
Gods above! How was it even possible to love someone this much?
My heart felt like it was bleeding out. There were not edges to bind me inside myself. Everything was raw and exposed and felt painful and numb all at the same time.
I wanted more of her.
I wanted all of her.
The only way to get that was to keep going, so despite myself my feet kept moving onwards to the next painting.
Eventually I came to the last painting.
It had never been hung on the wall.
It was still on the easel.
As I looked at it I frowned and felt disturbed. The picture was of my room and myself as I lay comatosed on my bed. Soft fingers stroked my forehead and in the back of my mind a sense of deja vu engulfed me. I wasn't sure if it was the skill of the painter or a real fragment of memory...yet I felt that this was real. That the artist had lay beside me and run her fingers lovingly through my midnight hair.
I frowned again as I spun around and eyed the art work suspiciously.
They were undeniably Feyre.
Yet I had never given her this room.
She had never hinted at having any desire to ever paint again.
But here I was - staring at months and months of work. There was no way that she had had time to do even a quarter of these painting in the short few months we had had together.
I was broken from my distressed musings as I heard the quiet patter of bare feet padding across the room towards me.
"Rhysand?"
_______________________________________________
Hi Everyone,
Oh the tears! Seriously that poem at the start makes my heart quiver and clench in my chest every time. Nothing has ever come so close to describing the loss of a loved one as those words. Words can't do it justice but I feel it comes a tad closer.
I thought this would be the last chapter.
Turns out there is one more left.
Did you enjoy the tour through Feyre's gallery?
I wonder who the mystery visitor is? Whoever they are they better know what they are doing because I can imagine Rhys killing someone just for setting foot in this sacred space!
Anyhoo - hope this bitter-sweetness has eased your sorrow a little.
Thanks for all the votes, comments and love!
Till next time,
Spinlight xo