I woke up in the morning to a cold bed.
I knew I would.
I was genuinely surprised that he had lasted as long as he did. Perhaps I shouldn't have been. His was such a strange wish, but it was dismally genuine. I had no choice but to grant it. Who was I to turn down something so rare?
I lay there for a while. Felt his weight next to me. It was such a shame. I wished I could have thanked him. For a while, I closed my eyes again, and pretended I did.
At last I reopened my eyes.
I called out.
"Guard. Come take him."
Once I was alone again, I tried shutting my eyes once more. It didn't work.
I kept trying until well after noon.
I woke up in the morning to a cold bed.
The one I stand in front of now is much colder.
I gaze away from the painting in front of me. I may have only seen the smile in it once, but it was a good smile. I'd like to remember it.
To my left, an alcove. A hole in the rock wall, waiting. The stone above it is smoothed, with a small hook chiseled out of the granite. A pedestal next to them quietly anticipates a vase with a single nightweed bloom. The weight in my chest becomes too heavy, and I let it out. My sigh echoes in the quiet.
I turn and begin the long journey up the ramp. It would be faster to fly, but I don't. I never do. It would be disrespectful. Not that they mind.
Memories, fuzzy but strong, flash through my mind. His laugh. Her eyes. His touch… I stop for a moment, eyes closed. Remembering. His touch…
A faint smile comes to my face as I continue to walk. It doesn't last past the next painting.
My heart becomes heavier as the air becomes thinner. But I don't let it out. Why for any one I might be near, but not for the rest? I'll carry the weight to the top. Then they'll know it's for all of them.
The vast echo of my steps condenses as I move higher. Finally it's nothing but a sharp rap to my ears. I stop in front of the doors. They are massive, large enough to dwarf even me. There's no ritual purpose to the material - it's used because it's practical. Heavy, carved easily, just as easily enchanted to nigh-unbreakability once our ancient scripts are born upon them. The blackness of the stone that stands out even in the darkness of my slowly growing chasm is simply a coincidence. A fitting one. My exhalation bounces back at me, long and slow.
I hope it carries down to the bottom.
I concentrate, and a green glow extends outwards, beginning to gently snip a swatch of the shadows from the air. I promised myself I'd protect my eyes this time. Me going blind won't help anyone.
Well, it won't help those I'm supposed to care for.
The veil is nearly completed, but before the last magical stitch is placed, I falter. The flowing piece of darkness hangs in front of me, waiting to serve me. How I know that look. But instead, I let it fall apart, and scatter back to the corners of the place that can only be mine.
I'll protect my eyes next time. Maybe it's not day out.
I flinch. I always do. After so long inside with nothing but my own luminescence, the blaze of the noon sun is blinding, and painful. Walking back into the light after… hours? Days? Still not long enough in my fell temple.
I need to get back to them, though. When I'm gone, they become sluggish and sad. They love me with all their hearts, and I love them just as much, but it's an instinctual love, practically without choice.
The few who know of us often say we don't or can't know, truly know pure, absolute, willing love. But you can't spend so much time engulfed in something and not experience it.
My eyes finally begin to adjust to the sunlight, the pain in my retinas subsiding. It's a small punishment, but fitting for being what I am. Everyone's life comes with a price. This is part of mine's.
Before me, I see blurred shapes trying to form. Brown, black, white, more white. A sea of white. For a moment, I lie to myself - it's snow, I pretend. All those little hills, markers of a carefree life. Something a young one might play in. The young of others, anyway. Happy. Free. Innocent. Places to play, a black flag on each one claiming the mound for a different owner. My mouth twitches upwards for a second. Snow forts always sounded fun.
A warmth on my cheek is quickly chilled by the wind.
This won't do. I reach out with my magic, and the clouds glow a bright green as they quickly dissipate. The brown and white islands grow downwards, revealing their true forms - nine mountains. All about the same height. All massive. All lifeless.
All with a door at the top. All with a queen at the bottom. Many times deeper than Beastie Bite now lies. Resting with those she used. Those she loved. Whether she wanted to or not.
Eyesight returned, I take flight, leaving behind my mountain. Soaring over the past, and slowly fleeing a future that spans several horizons, even at this height. As I pass over my predecessors' tombs, I clear away the straggling clouds separating our cold, dead, sacred place from our warm, fertile valley home.
Let us see it.
Where we come from. How each new day is given to us. Where we are always going.
Let us always see it.
The Memorial Mountains of the Changeling Queens.