A Banal Shade of Gray

It had been the most unremarkable sunrise in recent memory. Dorian lay on the grass, watching as the piercing darkness of the night gave way to a banal and oppressing morning. The sun hid in shame behind a flat sheet of clouds which promised nothing more than a gray day.

“Pity. I won't even get a good storm out of these sad sops,” he commented apathetically. Dorian twittered away at lyre. There was not much left of the morning, for him at least. Before noon-day he was to report to the channeling fields for class. It was funny. As a solider, he'd thought that he'd only have to work hard and attain the full-rank of Asha'man before the Black Tower would leave him and his music alone. Like many things so far in life, he had been wrong. There was still class to attend; only now he was the instructor. Sadly, there were also still consequences even for an Asha'man who skipped his lessons without a bloody good reason. Penance was not reserved for only the junior members of the order.

But Dorian's lyre needed tuning; it was reason enough to dawdle. His students were used to their master's frequent tardiness by now, and the ones that weren't would have to be eventually.

A woman came around behind him and placed her long white arms around his neck. Her skin was smooth and flawless having never seen the sun. How could she…since she wasn't real.

“Andromache. I haven't seen you in a while, I can't say I'm relieved though.”
“You mean to tell me that you didn't worry?” The voice that whispered in his ear was quiet and removed. It was more like listening to an echo.
“Worry? Worry that I had gotten well.” There were days that Dorian realized he was mad. There were days too that he did not remember. “But since you are here, you might as well sing for me.”
“I will not sing to that melancholy droll.”
“It seemed fitting, given the day.”
“Better a funeral dirge.”
Dorian's fingers stopped moving across the strings. “What do you know Andromache?”
“You ask your figment? When you should listen to the wind?”
“I have, and it was well pleased by Ellisande's Farewell to Aemon. Go away Andromache if you intend to speak in riddles.”
“Put down your harp,” the specter hissed in an uncharacteristic show of anger! This peculiarity was only brief. Soon she was back to cooing at him, and stroking his cheek with one hand. “My D-o-rian.” The light help him, but her touch felt real.

Just as soon as he registered that thought, she disappeared. She left him feeling empty inside when she went away like that. Although Dorian plucked away at the taunt strings of his lyre for a few more minutes, his heart was no longer in it.

______________________

"Take what you can have, rejoice in what you can save, and do not mourn your losses for too long." ~ Lews Therin Telamon

• Posts in this string:
  • A Banal Shade of Gray posted by Asha'man Dorian Faye on 04/04/2008 @ 04:56:25

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