endbook_rogue_2_3_3

Father, mother, brothers and sisters.

Ulpianus, Laurentina, Gladiia.

Past, present, future.

Skadi recalls everything.

Skadi lost everything.

A monster that does not belong among humans, a human who does not belong among Seaborn.

Hiding within the tides, timidly looking at this symbol of beauty.

She wishes to show herself, but is afraid to do so.

Even if the Doctor forgives her, she can never forgive herself.

All she can do is gaze from a distance, ever so slightly filling the void in her heart, before she once again drowns beneath an overwhelming sense of guilt.

Living has become so burdensome, yet death is so far away.

She has become an empty abstraction.

A ballad wells up in Skadi's throat.

She has sung it thousands of times already, each syllable and vocalization long perfected.

But now, it sounds like glass shattering against the ground.

Shattering into thousands of little fragments that can never be put back together again.

Yet she continues to sing, and sing.

Singing is the only instinct she has left.

The song can neither atone for her sins nor soothe her grief.

But she still continues to sing, tears streaming down her face.

Her trembling heart takes away the pitch of her voice.

Tears fall upon the tip of her tongue, the bitterness seeping into her bosom.

Her throat gradually becomes red and swollen, her song periodically interrupted by sobbing.

Yet she still continues to sing, and sing.

She does not need an audience, nor does she expect one.

If singing is the only purpose left in her existence.

Then sing she will.

The Doctor standing along the coast seems to have heard something and turns to look at the ocean.

Save for the sound of waves...

There is nothing there at all.