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It'd been mere hours since the glorious, but saddening ending of the now former Demigod of Reason, Anaxagoras. With him, went the Titan that'd made its home within his undead form, Cerces. A romantic ending for a maddened scholar who'd accomplished his life's work. He'd employed forbidden methods that even Aglaea knew were punishable by death. He brazenly defied the Counsel and casted his vote to the Flamechase Journey... Of which would be accompanied by him frivolously spouting confirmation of his theory and very actions. Yet, he never faltered or stuttered. Not a step missed, nor a syllable dropped. His voice strong, so that it carried to the surrounding masses' ears, his stance and stride as bold and eccentric as he in that iconic moment. It was only then did Aglaea realize the gravity of the situation. But, it hadn't weighed in until his inevitable passing. With his very life lost at the Grove that unfateful day, he was nothing more than a walking, talking corpse.
She'd ushered away her fellow Chrysos Heirs hours earlier to hole herself up in a closed off room within the Baths. It took far too much reassurance to Hyacine that she was sound of mind, with nothing ailing her. Yet, what was this new experience masking her ethereal form? It was as if she were gradually, slowly sinking into an endless sea. The tide never receding, only snaring her and dragging her further under its cold depths. To resurface was nigh impossible, nor was treading the dangerous seas plaguing the demigod. Her mind, body, and whole being were cruelly afflicted. It certainly wasn't the Black Tide. Aglaea would've made sure of that... Her heart and soul had slowly eroded over the centuries, leaving little to no emotional capacity in its wake.
So, what exactly had she'd become an unfortunate victim to?
Eyes flutter shut, reflecting upon the events leading up to today, images flashing in mind one after the other. Only when the troubled woman reaches Anaxa's death do the pieces gradually lock in place. Eyes are quick to open, a sharp pang piercing where her heart - if she even HAD one per Caenis - was. Excruciatingly foreign sensations followed, her shoulders tensing and her head dipping. Her jaw slowly clenching, bring her to grit her teeth. Hands balling into tight fists that wrinkled the fine silk of her white gown. Her throat closing as tremors and shivers course throughout her radiant form... Resulting in a hoarse sob releasing from the depths of her 'soul'. Then, came the waterworks - tears she'd been fighting back for a millennium, no longer choked back. A pitiful sight she'd permit none to gaze upon, for fear they'd deem her unsuitable to reign Okhema as they had before.
Shaking her head to and fro, golden hair disheveling in the process as she slams her hands down. As if to defy the 'emotions' coursing through her near snuffed out soul. Her wrecked mind splits into many paths, but none will Aglaea follow. Her only route must be guiding Okhema, her Chrysos Heirs, and her people towards peace. Romance cannot spare her own mind even a moment, for trouble could strike when least expected. Yet, there is a sudden spark of realization that zaps sense into the grieving woman. A letter that she'd found tucked away in an inconspicuous corner of her room only recently following Anaxagoras' passing. A letter whose addressee hadn't ever become a recipient... There was far too much that that Goldweaver had left unsaid to him; loaded words, meaningful and needless emotion, and most of all, the want for reconciliation.
Pushing the waterworks back, she smooths her dress out and dries the wells of tears. Her wellbeing is still in fractured pieces, scattered amongst in a million pieces. Gathering enough courage, Aglaea shakily rose to her full height. Her typical grace and serenity having been all but drained of her at this time. Slowly, she'd stumble her way back to the peace of her living quarters, hand gripping her aching chest. That feeling couldn't be strangled out of her, even if the woman were to try.
Her famed golden threads were strewn about, fingers curled around the paper in her grasp. Tracing each letter, seated upon the warm comfort of plush bedding. Aglaea had already taken the necessary measure to ensure she wouldn't be disturbed... Eyes flutter shut, for the first few words felt incredibly dated. Lips creasing into a deep frown as they echoed through her mind: "I had never intended to drive you away, but that's exactly what I'd done the day I took upon the trial." Words that Aglaea couldn't recall scrawling down. But, she was well aware she'd done irreparable damage to her relationship with Anaxa. Bracing herself, raring to finish this letter.
"It will forever dwell in my mind the look of scorn and betrayal wrought upon your face. I cannot speak for you, but that was enough to fill me with regret. Regret that will live with me for the rest of my life, even as a Demigod. I have heard time and time again that as the decades and centuries pass, my emotions will gradually drift away like the tides. To never surface again, no matter how valiantly I fight to feel. Will they call me empty, void of life? A selfish part of me hopes you never become the target of my loss of humanity."
Aglaea's finger stops abruptly once more as she wrinkled her nose. A sharp exhale leaves the Goldweaver as she contemplates every word before her. Despite her past self's wishes, Anaxa had indeed become the subject of blasphemy. A target, even if painted upon himself voluntarily, that she'd repeatedly contributed to. Whether it was with meaningless arguments and debate, or whispers of her own. Shaking her head in disapproval, she continues the tedious reading as hot tears sear the corners of her eyes once more. How odd.
"I write this to you upon the very night of my ascension to demigodhood to apologize for everything that has transpired and for what is to come. You needn't forgive me, only to know how I feel before it all fizzles out. I wish that, one last time, we could meet and speak freely. As I am expected to take up the mantle someday of ruling Okhema, there will surely not remain much time for such longer. Please, Anaxagoras. May I come see you and laugh like a simple woman once more?"
The letter ends upon that sour note. So much vulnerability had been laid bare to the very man she'd clashed with for years. A heartfelt letter unveritably addressed to Anaxa, pleading for his presence and acknowledgment. Certainly, a folly she wouldn't have entertained in recent months... Until, the very day he'd stumbled into her presence unwillingly, living life like he was already dead... And, much to her internal horror, he had been. His new life support had came in the form of the titan, Cerces. The more that the seamstress invests in this moment, the worse her hollow shell of a soul is rattled to its emotionless core. Or was she? Fingers sink into the parchment aged by the centuries' elements. Setting it down gently in her lap as she chokes back another sob. She can only pray there is an afterlife, or their paths cross in their next life like his life's work had predicted.