Twilight was faint over the horizon, and yet her feet had not ceased. Short, yes, but ceaseless. Because of the heart that was ceaseless, from grieving over the memories so painful.
It was when she was drowning in the remembrances most, she was mercilessly yanked back into reality.
All of a sudden, her heart was racing.
All of a sudden, her muscles were reacting in anticipation.
All of a sudden her foot slipped from the top of a dune and she was falling.
In the state of oblivion, she had no inkling of where she laid her feet. There were but a few dunes in her path, but her feet had to wander over them. And falling from them.
Tumbling down, she was carried by the sands like a conveyer belt.
Her cry of shock tore through the stark silence of the desert. And the air was no more tranquil, the sands ever more changing.
The fall came to a halt as the sands stilled beneath her.
She cried.
For the fall.
For the grief.
For the pain.
For the helplessness.
For nobody was there for her.
She cried.
Not knowing the tears had been pouring since long before her fall.
For a moment she wished the fall had ended everything. All at once. All forever.
She wished, she should have died, should have followed her husband. And her brothers too. She wanted to immerse into the sands. And to feel no more.
But she lived. Still drew breath, ragged and heavy, yes, but she was alive. The first hit still lingered in her body and relived with every move she made, never fading with the shivers when crying.
But she was alive.
Then, a movement pulled her, tugging on the threads of her heart. Maybe to hold it before it could break apart.
It was not from the sands, or the air. It was from within her. Her Daughter's.
It almost gnawed on her, the thought that if the fall had harmed her daughter in anyway.
But the worry was short lived. For it was overtaken by anger.
Her poor face, both parched and sodden, shifted to a scowl.
The anger turned into fire, ready burn all and every power that willed harm upon her child.
The fire turned into strength, coursing through her every living being, ready to face all that would ever dare snatch what was hers.
She was reformed. Like Daenerys. She was purified of what was frail within her and what remained was all pure and tempered. All strong. All enduring.
As if the sands could sense her new found strength, they became rigid, defying their fluidity, submitting to her touch.
She set her feet with such determination, as if, she had had new blood running through her veins. Like she was entirely skinned anew. Not by flesh but by spirit. Much fierce and the nature knew it.
So as the sun rose from the horizon, its raking rays illuminated her golden mane, proclaiming her the Queen of this Morning. And the sands sighed in response for they knew they are her own.
The sands fell from her clothes and hairs as she rose to her feet, the fire raged inside her was not the red raw one but a refined golden flame.
More sands fell, weaving a carpet unseen behind her as she ascended. For the golden flame has cleansed her. What was weak and greiving and aching, had fell on the sands and died. What rose after it would be never fall.
And when the sun rose in full, the blaze no more scorched her, her arms no longer ached from her burden. Her shoulders no more sunken from guilt and weight.
Her eyes were shining brighter, not from tears, nor from the glare of the sun. But because now the sun failed to burn brighter than her spirit.
"There was ache in those arms
That's why they are strong.
There lingers pain in those feet
That's why they are firm.
For only the most broken
Can be best remade."
The winds danced peacefully yet confidently, brushing her hairs back, straying away the ones sticking to her face.
They seemed to sing a song incoherent. Maybe thanking. Thanking for her to survive. Thanking for the fall to come, because perhaps if the fall had not come, the rise would have never as well.
Anna herself would have never believed, that such a fall will be what she truly needed to rise.
Or perhaps... it was the truth.
It is the Fall Rise follows.
--------------------×--------------------
For those who could understand the allusion I used, very good, for those who could not. No worry.
Daenerys is a character from "A Song of Ice and Fire" series, who is now tired and torn, both physically and emotionally and could no longer bear the pain brought by the life she has been made to live. She comes to the point where she thinks she'd better die than keep going. It was that night when she dreams her Dragon Dream again, with an exception that her brother Viserys is absent this time. And the rest is here...
"Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Viserys was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma, and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her. She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce."
- Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin
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