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The Name That Returns in Ash
758, in the octave of Epiphany. Monastery of Saint-Loup, in the hills near Éauze
Mirelde tells me I speak in languages that should not be heard.
She has found me before, seated rigid in the cloister garden, unmoving in the lamplight, mouth moving around syllables that fall from my lips like oil from a cracked vessel. She never interrupts. She writes them down when she can.
This time, the words were different. When I woke, she stood at a distance with a scrap of vellum in her hand. One name was repeated in her precise, studious hand: Thoöni.
I did not recognize it, not at first. It made my teeth ache. It felt like a wound closing too fast.
She brought me the diary I had begun ten winters ago, the one I thought would keep the edges of me from blurring again. She pointed to passages I had written without understanding, those fragments that seemed to be guided more by the hand than the mind. In the margins, her annotations: names, symbols, cross-referenced pages. I saw the shape of something I had not meant to remember.
Thoöni.
A girl with sharp eyes and salt on her skin. A fire-watcher. A questioner. One I had tried to forget so completely that even her echo had been buried under centuries of hunger and dirt.
But now she stalks the edges of my thought like a ghost, unbidden. When I sleep— when I truly sleep — I see her watching me from the edge of flame, asking questions I do not understand. The monastery is quiet, too quiet. I feel her walking the halls some nights, not quite Mirelde, not quite wind.
I returned to the place where I keep the stylus and fragments of clay, the remnants of the writing I can no longer read. I ran my fingers over the dried scripts, hoping for recognition. One bore a mark I had not seen before, pressed with more care than the rest. Mirelde said it matched a pattern in the margins of a scroll she had found in the apocryphal wing. She thought it was accidental. I know it was not.
Thoöni is not just a name. She is a fault line.
I think she was real.
And I think I killed her.
Whee! ’t Is een gemak om TYOV te spelen als er een ding is dat er u bij helpt. Ik heb een website die bijna alles kan opvangen:
Uw en mijn vriend Bootstrap zorgen ervoor dat het bijna bruikbaar is op een telefoon, maar eigenlijk niet echt. En dus dacht ik, ik maak maar eens een echt mobiele versie ook. Vergelijk de site nu (links) en een eerste paar pagina’s in een Figmaprototype (rechts):

