I am at a loss for words. So much has happened so quickly. I feel as though I am stumbling around. They see me. They know what I am going through. And they bid me speak. But how does one put this into the narrow confines of words? Written words, no less.
World-Breaker laughs. It is a beautiful laugh. He simply laughs as I flail about in this queer mixture of terror and elation. I find myself filled with joy for his laughter and shame for my terror and elation. I am so confused, but he just laughs. I would ask him for answers, but he has made clear to me that not all things have answers and not all answers are for me. So I struggle and find myself timid over some of the oddest things.
Ingvi... Ah, Freyr, your laugh is equally lovely. If his laughter is the snapping of a bonfire on a chilly night, full of merry brightness, then yours is the warmth that beckons me to draw closer and set aside the cares of the day. But, you also have been reluctant to answer the questions that arise. You simply smile and tell me that I already know what they are. I am so twisted up that I find myself struggling to tell what direction I am facing. And you just chuckle as I reel and try to find my bearings.
The world about me grows more distressing, but it seems a paltry thing compared to the prospect of utterly abandoning past identities. But, I am not allowed my masks. If World-Breaker is not taking them from my hands and shattering them upon the ground, you are slipping them off my face and pushing me before a mirror to see what I truly look like. And it bleeds into everything.
I can not shunt aside this gnawing terror that I am inheirently wrong on the basis of the fact that I continue to draw breath. And you laugh at this as it is pure nonsense. Where you had been angry, now, you laugh. You both tell me that I am clinging to vestiges of who I was as you chuckle.
And yet, here I am, looking at myself asking is this who I am? A part of me says I should simply let myself fall into this place of respite and comfort. Another part of me quails saying that some one, somewhere is going to punish me for not keeping the masks and clever denials all at hand. But yet, you take my hands and draw me farther along this path.
How is it that I am liberated when I place myself into your hands? How is it that I am stronger when I let myself fall apart under your watchful eyes? How is it that you all know exactly what is happening within me when I say nothing of it? Am I so easy to read?
You tell me that I am more than what I have felt and insisted I am. Now, as you hold up this mirror, I am terrified by what I see. I don't even know why I am so frightened.
And yet, as you both laugh, he sees me. He sees deep into who I am. And he embraces me, and it feels like fire whipping through me. Flame and heat coming together to scald me even as it warms that ice inside me.
What is it that I have become? Why do I fear freedom?