Gwynevere ♕ Geula Sinclair (vivatregina) wrote in mythopoeics, @ 2012-06-06 21:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | !mini-log, gwynevere |
nineteen.
When Gwynevere returned from England, she immediately attended to visits. Those who'd tasted the lash of Khaos's torture: Heimdall, Hector, Gawain, Athena, Tristan; outside of the hospitals: Kendra, Elaine, and Cordelia -- whoever among these was amenable, she went to see. So wrapped up was she in these devotions, to both these people and her missed work, that she did not bother to log on to the community very often nor contact anyone using it.
All the while, she tried not to think about the flat plane of her stomach and the accompanying emptiness. She tried not to remember the instant breakdown she'd had upon waking up in her childhood room, hands immediately shooting to caress a life that wasn't there and had never been there -- never would be there. She tried not to recall the condescending scolding of her mother as the woman surveyed the sobbing, hysterical mess Geula had consequently degenerated into or the clueless, well-intentioned attempts of her father as he grasped for whatever means of consolation he could offer for a problem he did not understand.
And she tried not to think of Mordred. She did not know if she wanted to see him (she did), but she made all the excuses not to. That she would not intrude on what his family was going through, a family wherein she was most certainly an unwelcome presence; that she, perhaps, would only be overstepping the tenuously built friendship they shared by approaching him on the basis of a false child, a false marriage, a false life. That she had been his father's wife, he her husband's son by another woman.
But the ultimate excuse and only valid one was that she was afraid, even though only he would understand. Morning upon morning, she would eye the Cheesy Wotsits and the Walkers Worcester Sauce Crisps in the corner of her pantry and wait for a courage that did not come. Then, ignoring the shameful burn of her own cowardice, she would shut the pantry door and think, Tomorrow.