Thief of Regrets

[Gemethyst]

Regrets. They were those moments that milk the spine out of a person; they were iniquitous and unpleasant. They were a soft torture that curled around the emotions and taunted with cruel whispers of what ?should have been?.  What ?could have been?.  They settled in the mind and held the high ground, crowing in silent angst at the soul of a girl and they mocked at the choices that had been made. Regrets.

Sure, they happened to everyone, those bittersweet memories, when one thought a wise decision was being made.  But then comes the figuring out afterwards?or sometimes just as soon as one begins to act. Or not act, as the case may be.  How regrets colored the days lived beyond the times where they?d been created!  Years could go by, or sometimes simply minutes, and every one of those memories were shaped and twisted by the regret that flavored them, stained them.  One could never get those minutes back.  One could never undo the thing regretted.

So mused the thief in her current brooding spot, the corner of a rooftop that looked out upon Rhydin?s more unpredictable and dangerous area, the West End.  The bemused smile that curved heart-shaped lips was the smile that regret had written on her heart some 7 years or so back.  There was something about it, though.  Something that made it a brighter smile, a happier smile.  It seemed that maybe, just maybe, one could call back a regret and relive the time of its making.  Some few times, now and then, a girl was given a Gift, all unexpected and undeserved.  

The thief was taking back a regret. At least in part. She had vague hopes that all three sides of the Triangle that Never Became might yet be Made. The Coyote Crow had returned and he and his Ribbons had graced the Impure.   Perhaps one dark night the Wielder of the Cue Stick of Doom would also return.

With a merry laugh and her heart lifted, she made her way back into shadow and the rooftops of Rhydin.

[Gemethyst]

That rooftop.  

There she was again, but it was a place the thief returned to over and over, for it was one of those Places, one where one's thoughts seemed to click and roll over, to gain life and breathe, where the mind seemed to soar and dive, lifting high on the wings of hope or sliding back down into the coils of the heart and mind that hid and sheltered the essence of those dreams.

It was a Place where thoughts and dreams took on substance or shredded to nothingness in the cold light of the moon or the hot glare of the sun. There was no pretending up here, not in this spot.  

And so here she came, here she settled, as the tensions of the night eased off her, the line of taut shoulders and the strain of beautifully controlled breathing slipping away like an old friend into the shadows the fled before the light of the coming day.

The night's job was done, and she simply watched the sun rise while her mind echoed and flew, dancing along with the sunbeams inching and spreading slowly over the rooftops. The detritus of regrets spooled away into the realm of Things Unattained, and the promise of new chances flirted and flowed through the corridors of her heart and mind.

Light glimmered, flickered at her, which caused her to turn her head towards it. Nothing but a bit of glass in the window next to her that had captured and reflected the sun's rays.  Her reflection peered back at her, letting her catch sight of the tattoo that Jack had inked onto and around her left ear.  She took a moment to study it, to love it anew.

The graceful lines of her delicate Elven ear stretched back and up, like a knife of flesh, pearl pale and lovelyl in its natural form, now bearing a "trompe l'oiel" sort of design.  It was (somehow) an almost 3-D image of the Crow peeking from behind  her ear, one wing curled and gently holding the top and the other curling around and supporting the bottom. It looked as if the Crow were perched there behind her ear, whispering...whispering.  It was beautiful work. Her lips flashed in that slow, bemused smile that he so often won from her, though she was unaware of it curving her lips most times.


That was one regret that had been firmly eradicated. He was part of her now, and she of him, an irrevocable joining that had crafted and birthed new life, new dreams and hopes.  He and the others in their tight little circle had written themselves onto her heart, had forged their love into the deepest soul of her.  They and her children, all three of those, were her breath, her life. They knew her secrets. They knew her.

A spiral of happiness curled around and inside her, from feet to crown and back again, like a susurrant song that whispered along the halls of her very blood and bones.

The Thief of Regrets had less of those, now.  
Life was good sometimes.
So very good.