Through, Not From

Through, Not From

A fragment

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The light still comes when I call it. That much has not changed.
 
What has changed is the cost. It comes jagged now, and it wounds the vessel it passes through, a thing it never did before. I do not yet know why. I have lost the focuses I carried from the Fey lands, the small anchors that tied me to home, and it may be nothing more than their absence: a channel gone raw for want of the things that used to steady it.
 
Or it may go deeper than that. It may be the weave itself that is torn, and not only for me. I cannot see the edges of this affliction. I do not know how far it reaches, whether others feel it as I do, or whether I am simply the first to notice the ground shifting. I will not pretend to knowledge I have not earned. To name a thing wrongly is worse than to leave it unnamed.
 
So I hold the question open, and I keep channeling, and I let it cost me, because whatever the cause, the light is not mine to withhold.
 
I am not without Them. I am never without Them. I am only the vessel learning to hold more than it was built to hold.
 
And when the honor is laid at my feet, as though the mercy had been mine, I will answer as I always answer:
 
"The honor goes to Freyja and Titania. I am only the conduit they answered through."

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Your humble servant,
Lysi'ander El'rorion Vae'Khyll