Where I was raised, there were no lanterns-
just shadow-thick paths and the hush of the wild,
and I learned to see in darkness
the signs that light dares not reveal.

And you-
I have never met you.
Not in flesh.
Not in voice.
But I know you,
the way the sea knows the moons pull,
silent, constant, aching.

There must have been dark signs
etched in your sky-
omens braided in smoke,
whispers from gods who never speak plainly.

Some nights, I reach for calm.
I close my eyes,
pretend your soul hasn't tangled with mine
in dreams I don't speak of,
in prayers I barely understand.

And when I see you-
not waking, but waiting-
I swear there are alarm bells in your eyes,
not to warn me&
but to warn you of me.

I miss the woman I might have become
had your fire met mine.
And I despise the shell I wear now-
half-lit, half-lost,
waking to a world where you still sleep.

If you saw the markings on my skin,
the new wounds I never asked for-
would you reach out?
Would you cross the Veil,
teeth bared, arms open,
to drag me back into your storm?

But you dont know me.
Not yet.

Still&
I wait.
Still, I chase the dark signs-
the ones I saw when your shadow first passed mine.

When we met-
not in body,
but in fate-

I saw them.

And I followed.
And I follow still.

Penned by my hand on the 24th of Sarapin, in the year 982 AF.