Natasha. You, who found me. Who offered me my very first sip of water. Who found the tune where my melody, lost in this alien world, could settle. You, who I protected. Who I failed to protect.
A hundred years went by like dust clouds in the wind, my feet tracing ephemeral steps through earth, water, wind and fire. Harmonica in hand, not a day passed where I failed to flute your melody, so much so that it became more me than I could ever hope to be. At every corner my shadow met me with a sneer, leering at me from the darkness that stretched from the tips of my boots, surging farther than I could fathom. The orb in me was without lustre. A Matryoshka doll, I was empty.
When I met her for the first time, the taste of her soup told me that she was you. My selfishness made me believe it, and my weakness made me obsessed with atoning for my only sin. It was that same weakness that allowed me to repeat the same mistake. The darkness refused to leave. The curse, as it always had, remained.
But this time, there was a light waiting for me within the darkness. It was hers. And, hearing your melody from her lips, I finally understood that she wasn’t you. That day, a hundred years ago, you hadn’t died. It was then I realised there had never been a curse at all. I had never lost anything.
Everything I had ever had was inside my orb of origin.