A Deliberate Withdrawal

The queen paces. Back and forth, from one end of the coffered ceiling room to the other.  XIV paces here, there, back again.  She looks but doesn't see, her feet slowly wearing a path into the wooden planks beneath. We might think her tread would be quick and agitated, but in this notion we would be dead wrong. She is taking it slow and deliberate, you see, like walking through waist-high water against the tide.  She looks but doesn't see, for her gaze is directed inward to a place only she can visit. If you listen closely you just might make out the words which she breathes more than speaks into the atmosphere:

"Slow and steady wins the race."

Slow and steady; strong and brave; grace under pressure; focus and ferocity.  She paces in order to allow the mantra to envelop her. She wishes to embody all these things, but she also intends to maintain the honor she holds so dear.

She's not certain she's going to make it.

Her blood is simmering. It's a fire beneath her skin which doesn't burn hot but very, very cold.  It chills her, for she knows she's playing with forces beyond her ken and if she lets go there will be damages indeed.  The augurs have warned her. The gods themselves sent word. She paces; she looks but doesn't see.

She tries. She tries to belay their fears. She tries to control herself.

The queen has locked herself away in her quarters with an old dog and a gramophone. She comes out at specific times during the day and night to walk the ramparts with the ancient cur, but as for communicating with the citizens of Aes Sidhe she remains mostly silent.  There is a widening distance between the sovereign and her subjects, a chasm she is creating in mind and body.  She does this deliberately, and the reason is simple: she must make a choice without them. Without the help of Lady Eva Mendes or Lady Chamberlain Adelheid Einrichtungsmanager.  There is a fever which burns cold in her, and she needs to either overcome or succumb.  There is no other path. She looks but doesn't see, outwardly silent but shouting at the top of her lungs.

No one can hear her, and that's exactly how it needs to be right now.

It's been XI months since that life-altering betrayal.  XI months since she began pacing the floors exactly XIV steps in the coffered ceiling room.  She is different now, strong and fierce, darker and more dangerous, but also numb.  The fire burns cold. She wants so much to feel again. She wants so much to be loved again.  She has lost so much in the course of the year, but she is rebuilding the very broken ramparts she walks across with her aged furry companion.  Life continues on, but she feels apart from it somehow.

She must find a way to reconnect, or she knows she will be lost to the void.

The queen paces back and forth, her feet slowly marching her across the worn floorboards.  She is fatigued, for she dreams all the time now. Vivid, lurid images unfolding before her subconscious eye while her blue-eyed, bespectacled phantom continues to follow and interact with her there. He is becoming a constant companion, and although she is growing used to him, he still gives her an initial shock during every nocturnal encounter.  She still has no idea who this is, but she is growing increasingly suspicious.  He is Other; he does not belong.

She is not depressed or lost.  On the contrary, all her actions are deliberate and methodical.  What she seeks is freedom, but what she is experiencing is limbo.  She is in a holding pattern.  She paces and paces in this space because for now it is the only space which contains her.  She is on the verge of breaking free, and when she does... as long as the fire doesn't consume her she will run at top speed with the wind in her hair until she reaches the end of the road with a glad heart.

The question is: who is at the end of that path?  Whom will she choose?  Someone? Anyone? No one?  She thinks she knows what she desires, but she knows not if she speaks truth to herself.  Honor. Conviction. Grace.  These are her realities and she meditates upon them when she can.  Desire. Passion. Fervor. These are the things which distract her, hence the reason why she remains alone in her plush quarters with some music and an old dog. 

So let us leave the solo queen to her ruminations. We have not disturbed her, Friends, for she looks but doesn't see. We can take flight over the old dog's body, giving him a gentle pet as we take off, up towards the coffered ceiling and then backwards through an open window. We glide upon the currents and long as we dare, watching the queen add yet another pressed disc to the gramophone. The air currents drift away from the window, and as a result so do we.  Now we can see the mending ramparts with our own eyes and once we take full stock in the image we suddenly recognize it for what it truly is.

A Dark Tower.

Your hearing damage
Your mind is restless
They say you’re getting better
But you don’t feel any better
Your speakers are blowing
Your ears are wrecking
Your hearing damage
You wish you felt better 

~Thom Yorke