Melancholia

I walked through the ruins of Time with caution. One was never sure what one would find there, in that great, crumbling stone palace. At some time or another, fine tapestries of brocade and silk banners had been hung, along with other such trappings. Now, though, they are nothing more than pretty cobwebs. Such a travesty, that a place like this should fall into disrepair. And abandon. Yes, above all other things, the ruins of Time had been abandoned.1

In the unnerving silence that swathed the place, the stars could be heard as they first appeared, ripping through the twilit sky. I walked on, deeper into the heart of the once sacred palace. Dust was kicked up as my feet trudged onward. It filled my mouth, and throat, and I thirsted. But there was nothing to be found here, save regret, sorrow, and traces of what might have been happy moments. And one cannot drink these things. It grew darker. The light seemed to be running in the opposite direction. Was it such a tragic place that even the very sun fled from it?2

At last I reached the center of the palace. The Throne Room. Two enormous oak doors were open wide and nearly off their hinges. There was something about this that was unproportioned; not quite right. I journeyed on, into the room. Oh, the ancient reveries...they were so loud, so...alive. Yet the knowledge of their death made the grief stand out all the clearer. I stood at the beginning of a runner that led to the throne, gazing down at it. It was threadbare, and faded by the darkness. At one time it had been a deep red color. I followed it, my thoughts not on the huge chair ahead. The runner told a story. A story of grander times than now. However, those thoughts would have to wait. 3

A single sob rent the cold, musty air. My head involuntarily jerked up, eyes searching for what or who had made the piteous noise. And though the cry was not my own, tears pricked my vision. My sight rested on the throne, where there sat a figure. It had its arms around Its knees, head hung, dark hair hiding any visible features. Rocking back and forth, It glittered in the light that shone from a crack in the high-domed ceiling. At first glance, I mistook the sparkle for liquid, but was proved wrong when I stepped closer to discover It was dripping with jewelry of silver and blue glass like every tear ever shed.4

Gently, I stroked Its hair with an extended finger. And slowly It raised Its head to reveal red, glassy eyes and it was, in fact, a young woman. Like the runner, it appeared that the darkness had faded Her once brown eyes to grey. They had been line with khol at some point, but it now ran down Her face in streaks. She shivered.5

"What is your plight?" I asked her. With ringed fingers, She gingerly tucked Her twisting tresses behind Her ears.6

"A child," Her voice shook with tears. "I had a child. I had a child!" With that She became more distraught than She had been previously. Her entire being shook, arms reaching out as if to catch this child of which She spoke. Then She pulled them back, crossing them over Her chest. "I had a child, so full of life. Shining and happy. She was happy! So happy. Where, oh, where is my child? The child that was--!" Her words were cut short by her sobs, which turned into coughs and chokes. I waited for Her to regroup. All words of comfort and sympathy were not to be found. Her sadness had taken me aback. It was all I could do to nod and leave Her to Her sorrow.7

And in the depths of the ruins of Time, in the quiet of cold solitude, She threw back her head and screamed, "I was the child!"8