So strong out

It was dark.

The flickering light of the candle too weak to dissipate the shadows that stack into the corners and hung heavily upon them.

Laandra lay curled, face towards the wall, eyes wide open. Her breathing short and shallow, as memories rushed through her mind, in much more vivid detail than she had ever wished.

She felt thirsty.

She had refused to eat or even drink anything over the past two days. Refused to speak. Refused to be touched. Just sat there, locked in silence as in a protective suit of armor and remembered it all.

Somehow she remained aware, all this time, of his presence.

He just brought her home, if that place could be named so, laid her down on the bed and said nothing of it all.

He didn’t try to make her feel better. Didn’t offer consolation, a shoulder to cry on, small talk and warm tea. Not even poorly cooked soup - the only type he could make. Didn't talk to her. And it was exactly what Laandra had expected of Eireannan.

To let her be with her pain and her agonizing memories.

If there was anyone in the world that could understand what she was going through, it was Eireannan Saralonde.

So she sat there, and thought about it over an over again, for two days and a half.

---

But it was time to let go.

It had happened more than five years before.

She was no longer that girl, beaten and tortured into submission.

She had survived it.

The fact that she had regained her memories changed nothing.

She was Laandra Seth’Aran, Mage of the Hand of Argus.

And she was strong.