This is the first of a three part series by our prolific guest author Ancilla Liberatio.

“I am more than a person, I’m a soul and so are you, our path is eternal but it isn’t identical, we may meet again but we will never be us again, mourn my loss my damaged angel, as I shall mourn yours.”

There it was, etched upon on my mirror in scarlet, a temporary souvenir from a night that had done permanent damage whilst liberating me from all my angst. A night that destroyed me and created me, a night I ache for and dread. A dawn that wouldn’t get here soon enough and the engulfing darkness I was holding on to for dear life.

Fresh in the throes of the loss of ‘love’ and of life for the first time ever, I was in a tender place. The pain I was so desperately fighting, the rationality I adhered by to ensure I never succumbed to what I believed was human weakness- emotion- were all at stake. I wasn’t about to subjugate myself to the pain, I couldn’t. I had to be the pillar of strength that held it all together, the binding agent, and the picture of a rock. Stoic.

So, I was at a cafe, up in the mountains, on a cold evening, sitting alone and reading. I saw her, watching me and smiling. Being quite fond of communicating with strangers, I smiled back but more as a pretext to observe her. Black, wavy hair, dark eyes that despite all odds sparkled. The smile, not just depictive of amicability but amusement, besides being the place where she hid her pain instead of those overrated eyes. Objectively, she was rather shabbily dressed: old, deeply faded clothes of no aesthetic value, mismatched even. Yet the comfort which so obviously showed in her demeanor rendered her attire rather exquisite. She reminded me of Him. I could see the same life in her, the same recklessness, the same impulsiveness, the same hedonism, the same command… Yet, she wasn’t Him at all.

She approached, I didn’t look away, but I looked down, she was barefooted, and walking with precise deliberation yet in Her head, she seemed to be floating towards me. She asked no permission to sit down and join me, I hadn’t expected her to. Her name was Savera, the morning, yet she was the night keeper guiding me to dusk, she was the beholder of darkness, she was the custodian of abject euphoric blackness, the bringer of eventide, even if she was dressed in white.

We talked, Oh yes, how we talked.. She held my hand and extracted the words, then cast a spell and I helped her incant it. I was mesmerized but it wasn’t enough, not yet…