1881-11-25 - Tak

Life, Trauma/ Loss

The chill of the late November air seemed to seep into my very bones as I made my way to Tak's abode, nestled amidst the whispering pines that stood as silent sentinels in the twilight. My breath formed ghostly plumes in the air, each a fleeting testament to the turmoil churning within me.

As I approached, the sight of Tak's house, usually a haven of warmth and light, now loomed like a shadowed fortress. The windows, once portals to a world of laughter and camaraderie, were dark, the joy that once radiated from within now extinguished.

With a heart heavy as lead, I stepped inside. The air was thick with the scent of pine and a faint trace of burning embers from the fireplace that crackled in a futile attempt to ward off the encroaching cold.

There, in the dim glow of the hearth, sat my brother Tak. His form was slumped, a mere shadow of the vibrant god he once was. His eyes, those pools of deep emotion, were now vacant, staring into the abyss of his own shattered world.

I approached him tentatively, my footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. "Tak," I whispered, my voice barely a breath, yet it seemed to echo in the silent expanse of the room.

He didn't respond, didn't even acknowledge my presence. His gaze remained fixed on a piece of parchment that lay before him on the low table. It was then that I saw it – the poem, a raw outpouring of his tortured soul.

The words were like a dirge, each line a lamentation of love lost and a heart irreparably broken. He spoke of his love for Henry, a mortal whose life was a fleeting candle in the eternal night of our existence. His words painted a tapestry of passion and despair, a love so profound it threatened to tear the very fabric of his being.

I read each line, feeling the weight of his pain, the depth of his loss. Tak had always been the embodiment of sensation, of the here and now. But this, this was different. This was a love that transcended time, a bond that defied the very laws of nature.

It pained me to see him like this, to witness a god brought to his knees, not by an enemy or a rival deity, but by the cruel, unyielding hand of fate. Tak had always been impulsive, driven by his desires, but this was a different kind of suffering. It was as if he had poured an eternity of love and devotion into a single, fragile human soul, only to have it ripped away from him.

The guilt he harbored was palpable, a thick cloak that smothered his once vibrant spirit. He blamed himself for Henry's death, tormented by the 'what ifs' and 'if onlys'. If he had not pushed him away, if he had defied the laws that bound us, would things have been different?

I sat beside him, offering my silent support. Words seemed meaningless in the face of such profound grief. But I knew I had to be there for him, to anchor him to this world when every part of him longed to join Henry in the next.

As the hours passed, the fire dwindled to glowing embers, casting eerie shadows across the room. Tak remained motionless, lost in his own world of sorrow. I reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension coiled within him.

"Tak," I said softly, "you are not alone in this. We will see you through this darkness."

He finally looked at me, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. In that moment, I saw the vulnerability of a god, the fragility of immortality.

"We must gather the family," I declared, a newfound resolve strengthening my voice. "We will stand by you, every step of the way. You will not face this alone."

As I left his house that night, the stars seemed dimmer, the world a shade less bright. But I carried with me a determination, a promise to my brother. We would bring him back from the brink, no matter what it took.

I returned to my own abode, my mind racing with plans. I would call upon Asherah, our closest kin to a mother. Perhaps she could intercede with the higher powers, appeal to Yahweh himself. It was a long shot, but we were desperate.

As I penned these words, the dawn began to break, casting a pale light through my window. A new day was upon us, bringing with it the uncertainty of the future and the unyielding weight of our task.

But we would face it together, as a family, as gods bound by love and duty. For in the end, that was all we had – each other.