I am drifting pleasantly within a soothing place that is made up of many things.

Slowly, various recognitions come to me and labels I can put to things.

Lucian is the soothing place.

That is its name although I’m not quite sure where or when it is located.

There is a dissonance and a fire, orange, yellow, burning brightly.

I am beginning to remember things.

There’s another awareness much like my own,  and I’m wondering if it one of mine that got away but slowly it becomes apparent that the other is him, of course.

How many times have I died today? he asks.

I’m not sure but I know I just died twice.

Hm. Perhaps three times, if you count the dungeons.

There is a laughter that is quite bright and untainted, save for a small fringe of purple just barely noticeable around the outside edges.

What are we doing?

To each other, to ourselves?

We stay with that for a while and it occurs to me to think that I am quite tired of this way of playing games.

One time, we will push it past the limits and then what will happen?

One or the other will stand with a corpse that can no longer be revived, or we make it so eventually that no-one comes to our aid and rescue, and that will be the end of all the games.

That would be a shame, he says and there is the laughter again.

I haven’t had so much excitement in five hundred years.

Perhaps never, really.

More details come to me.

Do you hate me still?

Yes, of course I do. Like I’ve never hated anyone. What about you?

I think about it and I must agree. It is the same for me.

Do you love me still?

There is a small sadness as he replies, Of course I do. Like I’ve never loved anyone. What about you?

I think about it and I must agree. It is the same for me.

What do we do with that?

He laughs again.

Let’s not use those swords again. It seems somewhat – futile.

I must agree.

You have grown, I tell him. You are good, as good as I am.

What I lack in talent, I make up in perseverance.

You lack no talent, only practice.

You too have grown. You stood up for yourself, at last.

You pushed me to it.

You deserved it.

I feel a tingle of anger, and at the same time, a tingle of tiredness.

Who are you to judge me?

I am no-one, he admits. But I wasn’t judging you. You hurt me, I hurt you back.

A children’s game.

A human game. That is your reward for insisting that I am nothing but a man.

Perhaps I was wrong about that.

Perhaps you were, indeed.

The thought gives me hope. In that case, perhaps you were wrong by insisting that I was nothing but a woman.

Perhaps I was, indeed.

I killed your servant this day.

You are a murderer. An executioner and a torturer and a rapist. That is the truth.

That is a part of the truth. As it is that you are a whore.

I am not. I never took payment for my services.

Did you not, indeed?

I think about it and perhaps he has a point.

You are a whore, a traitor, a hypocrite and a liar. That is the truth.

That is part of the truth.

But truth it is, for both of us, nonetheless.

Truth it is.

I want to bed Chay Catena.

I know you do.

What would you do if I did?

I would expect you to lie about it to me afterwards. Then I would torture him and execute him.

It is my turn to laugh.

But all those things are only a part of the truth. What other truth is there?

That is an interesting question.

When we – lie together, we never link our minds.

I have avoided this and kept it strictly to the physical.

Do you think that may have been a mistake?

(Reflection) I do not know the answer to that question.

Are you still afraid?

No. At least I do not believe that I am. The truth is that I am lost to you and all else is an illusion.

That, too, is a part of the truth.

Will you continue to feed as you have learned to do?

I have always taken lives,  for many lesser reasons than this day.

What does it feel like?

I can show you, share my memories with you but in truth, you will have to experience this for yourself.

I don’t want to think that I would or could, but undoubtedly, the time will come.

That too, is a part of the truth.

Shall we wed before we set off for Manoranta in the morning?

It seems an appropriate time.

Indeed. I have no desire to return here for a century or so.

You are no longer immortal, I remind him.

You can remedy that situation, I am sure.

We play with death because we know it cannot touch us.

We play with death because we think that it cannot.

Perhaps we play with death because we don’t want to admit how terrified of death we truly are.

All these things may well be parts of the truth.

How can we bring a child into this?

Perhaps we should not.

Perhaps we truly should not. This is our problem, not his.

There is time left to decide these things. It is your choice.

It is our child.

It is still your choice. I can not make it.

Can not or will not?

Either will lead to it being your choice, in the end.

Do you desire me?

Always.

Will you cease to fight on that level?

I will attempt to do so but I will not promise what I cannot know if I can keep.

Your best effort will be more than my reward.

Do you desire me now?

Always.

How do we bridge between the hard and this?

We have eternity to learn.

Indeed.

Will there be a time when we will tire of one another?

This is a possibility.

This time has not yet come.

Indeed, it has not.

I allow myself to become more aware of the physical and ease towards the sensations in my body, warm, a little stiff from being in the same position for too long, heavy pressure where his arms and hands have been.

I open more fully to him on the other levels and it overlays in swirls of rainbow bright and I can feel him pulsing all around me as well as those sensations of the hard and when they come together it is a harmony that truly sings to every part of me.