The Loneliest Traid

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  • Published: 2 Apr 2017
  • Updated: 13 May 2017
  • Status: Complete
Love and death and war and Gods and blood and magic and dancing and rest and revenge and kings and fate.
Don't worry, within these three stories you'll know yourself,
And I will put you back together again.


63. Remember Me

Samhain dreamt of two dragons caught in flight, one white and one black.  They did not tear into each other, they didn’t stop.  They flew in the air in growing spirals, each one reflecting the other, a mirror image that they shattered in their trails of light and darkness.  Samhain found them beautiful, the way that they held each other in the claws that should hurt, how they kissed with smokey breaths.

    He looked ahead, his world a hole that filled to the knees with grey and gold water.  His family and friends stood before him, dressed in black, no expression he could place.

    “This is my dream?” he said.

    His mother and father nodded, slowly, their eyes closed.  It looked as though they were sleeping to, their hair greyer now.  His mother raised her arms to him, but his friends pushed them back, so uniform, watching Samhain ignore the dragons to look on at his long dead loves that could not help him now.


    Appalla held the dry grass that had raged its way from under her floor boards.  Her fist closed over the dried leaves that made their way onto the balcony, a carpet marking death, leading her to it.

    Daphne sat in the open air, shaking like the trees in wind.  Her face had collapsed on one side, her body far too weak to move more than to allow her eyes to find Appalla, who was gripping at the crown on her head, turning it into brown ash and dust.

    “What did you do to yourself?” he said, hushed, disbelieving.

    When Daphne spoke it came out in hissing clicks and slurs and slips of the tongue, her lips sliding from her face like water on oil, “Eros gave my power, his death is mine.”

    “This can’t happen.”

    “And yet it is,” she smiled as much as she could, joy rising to meet the look of horror in the God’s eyes, “And you did this.”


    The dragons bellowed, monsters turning the day to night and back again.  The water felt sluggish, inviting, and his family was so far, so hard to reach.

    “Don’t fall back asleep, Samhain.” his father said, pulling back his arm before another soul had the chance to.

    “I’m so tired, dad.”

    “Focus, Samhain, where is your friend?”

    He didn’t know actually.  Jinmi was usually here by now, but there was nothing to see but the mortals, and the dragons.  He spun by his waist, but there was nothing in the walls that could show him which way was up and down.  He watched the dragons as they finally noticed him, one dipping its head down until his breath turned Samhain’s skin to a thick layer of sweat and charcoal.  The other, the white one, paid him no mind and continues swimming through the air and bumping against their friend, now irritated that the other had stopped.

    “Where is he, Samhain?”

The dragon nudged his chest, every touch more like fire than scale.  He rubbed along the ivory horns and across his brow that sprouted whiskers like twine.  Plumes of smoke wrapped around him like blankets that hit his lungs hard, and he knew they were sharing the same air of fire and lime.

He turned into a boy not much taller than himself, his hair navy, his cheeks full and dimpled.  He looked soft, and he realised the water was instead the bed he had built him.  The boy did not smile, did not reach out for him.

Samhain watched the white dragon writhe, the comfort of her friend missing now and she cried out for him.

Jinmi looked up with him, and back without a glimmer of remorse or regret.  Although his smile had returned, as it usually was in day, it somewhat cracked, the boy somewhat broken.

“Jinmi…” he did not touch him.  He didn’t want to wake up just yet.

The dragon took Jinmi’s hand.  She was not as Samhain had once imagined.  Her hair was blonde and so long it seemed to create its own halo for her.  Her eyes were as blue as the essence of the ocean and she seemed to hold life within her palm, flowers growing under her skin like scars that she could wield to make her world brighter.  She was amazing, and Samhain had never in his life seen anything like her.

“Tell him, Samhain, please,” she said, as kind as a beggar could be.

“How has he forgotten you?”

She dropped her head, but found it in herself to look at Jinmi, how even when he was nothing more than stone, he was everything to her, “Eros is dead.”

“No.” his blood ran to his heart where it shattered to pieces, “He can’t be.”

“I’m sorry, Samhain, that’s why I sent you the lanterns.  Both himself and Cupid.  I’ve forgotten him too, but it isn’t too late for him.  Please, remind him.”

There are two side to this, as there are most things.  For one, Jinmi is left now with what he knew most missing.  He is trapped in time by this, and will live until his death wondering who he was before the death of his friend.  It is Samhain’s duty as someone who loves him to set him free.

But again, Samhain loves him dearly, and if he was to remember, he would never see Jinmi again, and he would be alone again in the palace he had built in his honour.  He wound return to who he used to be, waiting for no one, living with nightmares as company, forever.

“I’ll tell him.” he said, “I… I’ll let him go.”

She let Jinmi go, his body spiralling into the sky again, a black dragon that could destroy everything around him if he so wanted, but wouldn’t, because he had her.  

Daphne pulled Samhain under her arms, his tears that he hadn’t seen streaking her neck and leaving droplets of water studded on the flowers her body harboured.

“I’m so sorry, Samhain.”

“It’s okay.  I love him, and he loves you.  He was good to me, and it’s time that I am good to him.”

She pulled back, her smile glowing white in the Heaven she knew, and he realised that he must have seemed so ill-lit living within the cell of darkness given to him.  

She wiped away his tears, “He loves you too, you should know that.”


Appalla dragged her back into the house by her crown, thorns that creaked in her skull like thorns finding her brain underneath.  She threw her onto the floor, her arm bent twice and unable to support her weight.

“I made you immortal, and this is what you do?”

“If you made me mortal, why don’t you kill me too?”

“Trust me,” she growled low, pulling Daphne’s ear to her lips, “I’m considering it.”

“Then do it.  I’d rather die than live in this place.”

“But I’d miss you too much, wouldn’t I, sweet?”

Daphne sobbed, her body in half, her lips mumbling silent little begs, “Please… Let me go.”

“Funny.  This is great, between you and not being able to find that wizard-”

“Who?” she managed to say.

“Your precious mortal that you’ve seemed to grow so fond of.”

Daphne looked up at her through tear-clumped eyelashes, the confusion unchanged.

“You don’t remember?”

She didn’t say a thing, who did she have in her life, really?

Appalla laughed, gasping, clapping.  She looked to the sky outside, and counted this blessing, “Eros!  His death… You - You don’t remember your wizard?”

His name was instint, but that was all,“J… Jinmi?”

“Describe him for me.”

She lowered her head.  She couldn’t even explain why he was important to her anymore.

Appalla smiled, running her tongue across her lips, “I had thought he had just given up on you, and I suppose he did.  You were right all along, you really do have no one.”


Love, I am told, is stitched somewhat as life is, in the same design, per se.  Love and life go hand in hand, and death watches both with hungry eyes.  If the God of Wealth dies and your fortune is almost won, you won’t feel contempt towards it.  If the God of War dies when the battle is nearly won, the victor will still rise.  And if your love story is nearly complete, the death of Eros will feel like very little.  Or at least, so I’m told.


    “I owe you my life,” she said, “And so does she.”

    Both dragons breath heated their tower to such an extent that Jinmi, now nearly alone, felt his chest weigh down, concave in.  He gripped at his arms, pulled his skin until old scars broke open.

    “No, darling, lie down,” he mother said, finally by his side.  It was only them, his mother and father, and the dragons that sang a song together that he would never be able to understand.  She let him down on his back, his lungs fluttering, unable to find the air in the room that his parents knew.  The dragons did that to him, choking him, killing him.

    “That’s right, just rest, we’ll be here for you,” they said, laying down beside him.


    “Just breathe, deep breaths  We’ll wait for you.”

    He took a breath in, and out, in, and out.  


    Remember this, if a God dies, he is shown little mercy, no grand afterlife or rebirth.  

    The angel told him this, “If you choose to be a God, you will never see your family again, even when they die.  You will never meet them, you can never speak to them, that will be it.  Are you willing to take that?”

    “They would have done the same.”

    “It’s a lonely life.”

    He smiled, “It is, but for others, I can take that away somewhat.”


    In, and out.  He fell asleep, and never woke up again.


    “Wait,” Appalla said, backing away from the window, suddenly afraid, she looked to Daphne, who was confused, albeit almost unconscious from the force in which she was tossed around the room, like Appalla’s own ragdoll.

    “Why do I still love you?” she said, “If Eros is dead, why haven’t I forgotten you?”


    If a love story is completed, you will not forget your love.  

    And Appalla was so sure that their love was immortal.

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