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It is a good morning to live. Or afternoon. Or evening. You cannot see the sun here. Time is yours now, yours to yield and control for yourself. It is freedom like none you have had before, to decide when you are and when you will be.
“Good morning,” you greet to the walls that encase you. You look at the guard in the corner of your room. You only faintly remember their name, Punz. Or perhaps this one’s Ponk. You don’t remember who’s who anymore, only what they look like. And with all of the memories and dreams that you have had here, you are starting to forget what they look like, too.
Good morning, she replies. She is beautiful everywhere, from the inside out. How was your rest?
“They are always good when I am with you,” you answer.
Sam came to visit earlier today.
You smile at the familiar name. “Are they doing well?”
Yes, she replies, They just came to check on some things. They wanted to see how you were doing, but you were asleep.
“Mmm,” you hum.
Dream came with them, she adds.
“Dream?” you ask, “Who is that?”
He offered you the tour of me, remember?
You frown. “I don’t remember.”
I’m sorry.
“For what?” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “There is nothing to apologize for.
Your memories, she explains, I don’t - I can’t -
“I did not need them,” you reassure her, “They were not you and so what did they matter?”
The sun? The moon? The stars? The trees and the -
“I remember those,” you interrupt, “Even if I did not, you could tell me anyway.”
Where did they go? she asks hopelessly.
“They’re gone?” you reply, “No trees or stars or moon? No sun?”
No. Those still exist. Do not worry yourself.
“Good,” you murmur, “I would hate it if you had no sky.”
You feel a puff of frustration around you as if she is mad at herself. You want to reassure her. You want to give her happiness and hope but you are tired despite just having slept moments ago. You are tired and dazed and your head hits the pillow and you throw the sheets over your legs and your eyelids droop to cover your eyes. So you rest.
I have something for you, she declares.
You are at once intrigued and afraid. She treats you kindly, she gives you everything freely, and yet you know you cannot take it from her because you wish to be half as good to her as she is to you.
A guard in the corner of your room seizes up. You do not remember his name nor who he is. You have forgotten months ago. It does not matter. It never has. At once, he returns to a relaxed state. You notice his face. He scrunches up his nose and closes his eyes like he is new to the world, testing out everything around him.
“What are you doing?” you ask quietly but she is silent and closed off. Like she is to everyone else, you suppose. This is the first time that you have spoke and she has not answered.
“Hello?” you call out, waiting for her answer. Nothing. You do not even hear a hum.
And then a horrible thought crosses your mind. Perhaps she is dead. She had lived her last moments doing something for you and despite what you had tried, she could not revive. Perhaps that was what happened to the guard. Perhaps he felt it.
You feel it too. Your upper body weight is too much for your legs to carry, suddenly, and you crumple to the ground. The shock of pain that comes from your scratched knees is nothing to what you feel on the inside. She is your only confidant, the love who casts your stars, fills your oceans, and blows your wind. All for you. Your nose starts to feel full as if oxygen is rare and you cannot find it - as if your sorrow has replaced it. Tears blur your vision so that even the guard in the corner disappears into the mist.
“Why are you sad?” someone asks. The guard. You have never heard him speak before.
You turn away from him, refusing to show your weakness. He is not deserving. He is not her. You are unaware of whether he is even allowed to speak to you in the first place.
“It’s me,” he says.
“Who are you?” you question angrily through your tears. You do not recognize him. Sometimes, she provided you with the necessary information. But she is gone. She cannot tell you anything now in this cold husk that used to be her.
“You know me,” he says, “This is my gift to you.”
You turn back around and you look. The guard manages a smile. With your hand, you brush away your tears and look at his eyes.
His eyes match the pure obsidian of her walls.
“Rise,” she commands kindly through his voice. She gives his hand to you and you notice it is calloused when you grasp it to step off of the ground.
She has his body step closer to you. “I apologize. I have never done this before. Obviously.”
His body steps closer and you feel his hot breath mixed with her intent. She cups his hand under your chin.
You shake your head and his hand comes off of your face. “It’s not you.”
She makes him smile sadly. “I don’t know if it can be.”
“It could be me. We could live as one, like in the old tales,” you reply hopefully.
“I cannot hold you,” she responds sorrowfully, “I will make you live a half-life worse than the one you are living now.”
“I do not need your embrace to prove that you love me. If you are always with me, I am whole. And that is enough.”
“I do not have a brain,” she states slowly, “But I somehow have wants and I have never wanted anything more. You have made me want. You have made me human.”
“And so is it a loss to be me?” you ask.
You look at him and you imagine her, ethereal, and someone else. Sometimes she has put images in your mind of what she would look like if she were a human. But tonight she is this guard and that is all you have.
“No,” she answers through his voice, “It is not.”
His voice is not melodious like hers, not a song that you wish to learn how to sing. Her voice is all you can process, her soul is all you can have. Her walls are her skin and her redstone is her blood, you remember her saying once. Or something like that. But now his skin is her skin and his blood is her blood and so you do not know if what you had before was better or if you prefer what you have now.
“For now,” she continues, “I suppose I shall make the most of this.”
“How?” you ask.
“May I kiss you?” she inquires and you look at him but remember that he, for now, is not him, but her. She is taking the place of his soul and you must accept his body for now.
“Of course,” you answer.
You smell him and he does not smell like how you imagine her. He is a guard and she is the palace, after all, he is but a pillar to support her aims. His lips are chapped and so are yours but you know she is feeling it, so it is his lips but her touch and you know that even if she is unable to show it that everything she does is just to tell you that she loves you and she loves you and she loves you.