My heart is anguish within me;

The terrors of death have fallen upon me.

Fear and trembling fills my heart,

And horror overwhelms me.

And I say,

"Oh, that I had wings like a dove!

I would fly away and be at rest;

Yes, I would wander far and wide;

I would lodge in the wilderness

I would hurry and find shelter

From the raging wind and tempest."

The crisp piece of paper sat delicately in my hands as I stood, still and silent, listening to the faint whispers of the wind in my ears. Beneath my feet rested the giant grey stone baring all the names of the magi that fell at the Battle of the Breaking. Six months, the thought crossed my mind without emotion, without feeling as I stared numbly down at the immaculately inked letters on the paper, the words meaningless to my mind. It seems like yesterday...

Her face haunted me in my nightmares – for I no longer had any dreams, only the memory of bloodshed that tainted my vision with crimson and the screams that echoed in my ear every single day. When I smelled the salt in the air, my mind took me back to the night in which I kneeled beside Aria's unconscious body, lying in the sand. I had looked up to the stars and prayed that night. I prayed that somehow, through the impending war, we would both make it out alive. That the gods would grants us both long and happy life.

"I'm scared, Atlanta," her last words hung suspended in the air as my vision blurred with salty tears, heart wrenching from the agony that I had kept bottled up inside me for so long now. "I'm scared that we'll lose. I'm scared- I'm scared that we'll die."

Yet here I was, with the tender breeze of spring caressing my cheeks and tossing my hair, unable to tear my gaze away from the paper in my hands to glance downwards at the plethora of names that were etched on the monolith on the ground. Here I was, alive, deeply inhaling the cool air and trying to remember why I had come here in the first place, when I knew that nothing could bring back the dead and that visiting the memorial stone only caused me more heartache.

"Oh, Aria," never had I recalled my voice to sound so choked, so full of raw grief as my fingers curled tightly around the edges of the paper, crumpling the sheet into a ball. Finally, without the poem to distract me, my eyes that were filled to the brim with tears were forced to look downwards at the memorial stone. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

What exactly I was apologizing for, I did not know. Perhaps it was because I didn't save her, that I let her die in my arms a second time – and I received no more miracles from the gods to save her. I only knew that when my brown irises connected to the freshly craved name of Aria Gracen on the stone that I finally broke. Something snapped inside of me, somehow the wall of thorns that I had grown around my heart to protect myself from further pain suddenly withered and died. It didn't matter now, all of it – Aria's name on a rock was just another name on the rock amongst hundreds. It didn't mean anything; it didn't speak of the kindness and intelligence and grace of the woman that I had once called my true love. The woman that I still called my true love, and always would.

A wail, high-pitched, full of sorrow, tore itself from my throat and lips as my knees buckled from underneath me, sending me crashing down onto the memorial stone. Subconsciously, I was aware of the prickle of pain that occurred when I fell, but it was nothing, nothing, compared to the loss that I felt in my heart. After six months, her dying face was still seared clearly into my mind, like a brand on a horse. Her eyes still sparkled and laughed with joy, and then subsequently glazed over in the familiar murky grey shade of death. Tears leaked out of the corner of my eyes, dripping down my cheeks, leaving a trail of burning fire behind.

Aria once told me that our lives were like antelopes. We leapt gracefully across the plains, but one brief second in the path of a hunting tiger, and we were gone.

She was an antelope. Graceful, beautiful, boundless, free. But then war ravaged the land, and her heart was too weak, her body was too frail, her magic not yet developed enough to face the monstrosity of warfare that eventually took her life. And I – I was helpless to revive her, only able to crumble onto the blood-soaked earth and hold her in my arms as she breathed her last breath, not even able to whisper her final goodbye.

"I wanted to build you a mansion," a finger, ghastly pale and shaking, traced the outline of the A engraved in the rock, and I closed my eyes, wondering with a passionate yearning that if I concentrated hard enough, I might be able to touch her, to see her on the other side. "Do you remember, Aria? When you were asleep, I promised you the best house in Aavayoh. I promised," once again, my voice cracked, dry and raw from crying, but I swallowed hard and continued on, finger moving to the R. "Best wine, best house, best wedding, best life. Naïve, eh?" A weak chuckle escaped my lips, followed by the trembling tracing of the I and then the A. Aria.

G-R, "Do you want to know something?"

A-C, "I never told you this, but..."

E-N. Gracen.

Aria Gracen.

"You were a risk. A mystery. And the most certain thing I'd ever known." I finally finished, letting the edge of my fingernail to rest on the jagged edge of the carving of the 'N', eyes still tightly closed, searching out in the darkest for that comforting shade of red, for those warm pigeon-grey eyes, thinking: I love you, Aria.

There was no reply except for the chilly spring wind murmuring in my ear and the thumping of my heart in my chest, for the memorial was so isolated and quiet. Silently, though with memories and thoughts swirling around like a whirlpool in my head, I lifted the heavy helm of my dress and stood to my feet, the ball of paper still hanging limply from my fingers. I had almost forgotten that it was still there, and my slender fingers gently smoothed out the torn piece of paper, holding it up in the air so that sunlight penetrated the words and made it easier to read. I had spent a great deal of time back at my house in Aavayoh penning this particular poem, trying to vent out my emotions, and the ending I loved particularly.

"Oh, that I had wings like a dove!

I would fly away and be at rest;

Yes, I would wander far and wide;

I would lodge in the wilderness

I would hurry and find shelter

From the raging wind and tempest."

Just as my eyes completed dancing over the words on the ruffled piece of paper, the soft sound of cooing unexpectedly graced my ears, and in surprise and shock I jerked my head upwards at the sky to seek for the source of the noise. It did not take long for catch sight of a single, pure-white dove sitting perched on the jagged branch of a half-fallen tree, eyes wide and curious, head turning this way and that as if surprised at its surroundings.

Then, in one fluid motion, the bird launched its sylphlike body into the air, supple wings spreading wide and soaring effortlessly into the heavens, up, up and away. It was then, and only then, when a light wind – warmer and somehow cozier than the chilly harshness of spring – swept through the clearing.

I could not be sure, but I swear that it was like a great burden had somehow been removed from my back. Like something had come from the wind and the skies and swept the hurt and pain away.

For the first time since Aria's death, a true smile crept up onto my lips as I spread my arms wide, closing my eyes and imagining that I too had wings like a dove, gliding upwards into the skies with my love flying by my side.