The Sisterly Vibes My Hearrtttt - Blog Posts

it was not usual to see the dancer of saltshore in such a state, one might call it pitiful, but it could easily be summed up with one description: broken. perhaps it were zahra's on fault for feeling everything, and yet, she would push away the bad, the negative things that she did not want to spend her energy upon. it served her well for most of her life, and then there was now, this moment, where she practically melted into the steps that the princess regent had sat upon - wearing her grief with the grace she so naturally possessed. zahra would envy the other if she did not care for and respect her so much, beyond the connection that only she knew between the two of them.

the floor was cool and hard, she tried to grasp onto her senses so she would not entirely crumble. what did she feel, hear, smell - the sweet fragrance of citrus emitted from the other as she welcomed her to lean against her. zahra naturally found herself doing just so, it were a silent motion of the two of them, as if they so often supported one another in such a way.

zahra did not want to wet the beautiful fabrics the other adorned and so quickly ran a hand over her face, as if that would make much difference for they only continued to flow no matter what she desired. "it is, most certainly." a faint smile crossed her lips at the thought of rashid's soul at the end of it's cycle, escaping the pains and difficulties of the mortal world.

the dancer quietly contemplated the others words, comforted by the fact that others felt as she did, that while the grief was heavy, it was not entirely her own. of course, zahra was entirely aware he left behind his own wife, a princess of dorne, and it was in that awareness that she did all she could to maintain herself to a degree that matched the sorrows of those around her until it were an appropriate time to release it as one who shared many cherished moments of her life with rashid jordyne.

brows furrowed gently as she dug into her memory, a tired laugh slowly escaping her. "i did, recently actually." the years had separated the two of them, unintentionally. they simply continued on their own paths after the natural end of their relationship, and it were not long ago when their paths crossed yet again in these very halls. and she suddenly realized the conversation offered the sense of closure she so desired - not that she felt he was missing, but perhaps, she wanted to think they had made the right choice all those years ago. and they had.

"and i suppose looking back now it was such a gift. to be given that small bit of time to speak to him again." hand moved to brush chestnut strands away from sticking to her tear stained cheeks. "and yet, selfishly, i want more time. i can only imagine i am not the only one who feels such a way." she shifted slightly to look at the other woman, now. "did you know him well?"

❂

for a woman who was the epitome of the radiance of the moon itself, zahra sand was able to hold her rays in a way that was enough to cause one's entire body to tremble, before letting tears roll down wide, doe-like orbs. the sort of constraint that meant one's entire body reacted before the eyes, regardless of how much they swam; and yet, she held a great respect for maintaining her composure before rashid jordayne's royal widow.

it were notable that there was more to the story that myriam was not entirely aware of, considering the outpour that came in the moon's eclipse was more than the initial shock and tears most courtiers felt upon hearing of the murder of the justiciar of dorne. "if there is any whose soul will reach enlightenment, it is him." was that not what any dornish soul would want? the escape of their soul from the cycle of samsara, and to be reunited with the gods?

if there was any that lived as his role before it were even in existence, it was and always would be him. many looked up to him, despite the fact he stood by their side rather than stood above: the sort of man any young woman prayed she would be married to someday. such goodness, being ripped away, was enough to cause air to even get stuck in her own throat: let alone those who knew him far better than in a professional capacity. it took one look at zahra to see that she had.

she mourned for rashid jordayne the way the courtiers would have expected her to mourn for mors martell. what myriam mourned for, however, was her own life; her own fate, as a royal widow. "neither do i." myriam spoke in agreement; she too, did not understand it.

there had always been something that drew myriam to the other; the sun and the moon, the moon and the sun; and yet, as she turned to look upon her figure climbing up sunspear's throned steps in a manner which made it seem as though she were dragging her feet, she extended her arms as though she were expecting the woman to collapse. how it felt as though she were looking in a reflection of some sort, though myriam did not know what it was she would be mourning for in such a way - or perhaps she did, and did not want to address, or even think on it.

"because he would have wanted it to be so." it was then myriam reached out, each of her movements as maternal and warm as the sun's rays: she scooted closer, moving her dupatta from her side to allow zahra to rest against. sometimes, collapsing was what was needed. grief was physically exhausting in itself. she used her dupatta to wrap around the frame of zahra sand, one that had the scent of myriam within it: sandalwood, citrus.

"did you speak with him, pyari?" myriam asked, her voice soft.