That single word coupled with the tangling and untangling fragrance of her, become a vortex in my mind. Rational thought collides with irrational thought, wants, and needs. All of them together, do battle with my better self. Standing up, my feet are unsteady; my head is a carnival ride of haphazard motion, and my inner wild is desperately cleaving for release. I can hear her heaving for breath as quietly as she is able and can smell the palatable desperation to remain in control and calm. I have to back away or it will be over before I can form a thought to stop it. I am too close to losing the battle with my other self and I have less ability to restrain him of late. I am not master of myself right now. I’m too close. Mistakes made years ago will not be repeated. It is a hard reminder in the back of my mind. I have to back away or risk destroying another who might finally, so many years after Ite, be worth the challenge to learn.
Backing up, I find myself stumbling backwards, the mad tumbling bramble in my mind cluttering all rational thoughts and abilities. Lights flash against darkness in my mind, leaving momentary blindness in their wake and confusion. Images slideshow with lightning quickness; her standing in the moonlight, then it isn’t her at all but another who looks at me with sorrow, courage and compassion. More images come of her shivering to maintain control as I stroked an ice cube down her cheek; back to the other her, shivering from a different kind of stroking. The back and forth are disorienting and I find myself ass-planted on the floor with a ‘whump’ grabbing for my temples to stop the onslaught of the ensuing madness. The back and forth comparisons will not be still.
Kneading my eyes with the heels of my hands I shake my head to clear the fog from my addled brain. I am aware that she is not able to see me and that is a small mercy, though as I settle I can smell the cloying damp earth smell of her sobbing in confusion. The smell of her tears is nearly my complete undoing as my other self surges forward to rage at memories. I clamp down hard on the past and the storming emotions to wait. I am rewarded with the low tone of her breath hitching across her vocal chords as she rights herself and regains her composure. Sadly, for both of us, it isn’t enough. I want more.
Cyrenna of the Erian is a beautiful, smart, purposed woman. She sits at the right hand of Amarine, one of the god-faces of Amaranth as an advisor in the affairs of the Aradian people. She has no notion of any other life or purpose before it is time for her to be reborn, until she sees the Vengelys and recognizes Tynan as her one perfect match. She faces the ultimate challenges in trying to answer the one question she never knew she would face…how much is forever worth? Through the mist and time she learns not only the answer to that question, but just how far she’s willing to go to get it…or a chance of it.
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There is no simple description for Aedan Byrnes. Obsessive, dreamer, reclusive, compulsive, outdoorsman and wordsmith would be among the list if one were started. The displaced Gael lives in the upper Midwest with family between jaunts wherever the road takes him. A frequent traveler, he is as likely to be found rock climbing or spelunking as sitting fireside dreaming or aimlessly floating away.
A lifelong lover of words and writing, he claims a diverse reading appetite and his writing reflects the myriad influences. A self-proclaimed 'reader's writer', he looks for the emotional and the sensory in word combinations, not just the visceral comprehension of phrases in the stories he crafts and his love of all things literary shines through.