'If Only' and 'Why'

Myranda sat up with vigilance as she watched her pack sleep soundly - especially Metas, who had been forced to lay down until he fell asleep.

It felt like it took hours to rub his back for him to fall asleep - but it had been worth it when he snored next to her. He needed sleep more than anyone, and she couldn't help but smile at his handsome face and reach out to move some of his rough black hair out of his face and behind his ear.

'You watched over me; now I will watch over you, my strong and worthy Alpha,' she thought sweetly and then spied some remnant of leaves or dirt stuck in his growing beard, and plucked it out with a tiny chuckle.

'You work too hard. I wish you would let me take more of the burden off your shoulders...' Myranda continued to think to herself as she looked over her sleeping pack.

In the time they had spent together, she had truly started to feel as though every wolf in this cave was apart of something grand together, even herself for once. She was a baker. That's it. That was all she had prepared for.

Now, she was heading a revolution at the side of the leader of said uprising - and it had been a lightning fast transformation in her life. The adjustment had been tough, and she was sorta-kinda starting to doubt her position again.

If only Syrana were here...she would make it all better with some kind of advice. Her eyes watered as she thought of the sister she was so fond of - her mother figure. The fact that she would never come back made her mouth flood with a salty-brine as her tears fell down her face.

How could she feel secure and worthy when she couldn't even save her own sister? The flourishing feeling that had felt so strong was now wilting as the loss of her sibling blanketed her.

They always say 'think of good times' when trying to comfort someone - or something like, 'they'll always be by your side and in your heart' type of platitudes that didn't feel real. They were just words others say when trying very hard to bring some peace to the ones they loved.

...but none of those things were making her feel better. It just made her feel worse. How was she supposed to have known that last hug they shared was -the- last hug? How was she supposed to have prepared for that without warning? It hurt so badly, and she felt so guilty, like she had done something wrong to not cherished the moment with her sister as much as she could have.

Now the memories were like precious artifacts she wanted to save and think about over and over again so she didn't forget every last detail. If only she could wrap them in silk to preserve them, or take them from her memory and display them when she wanted to.

If only she had written down Syrana's wisdom and words to remind her to be strong and good and kind....If only she had listened in the first place, and not been the actual brat that she was? Syrana always used the term endearingly, but right now it felt fitting.

If only....

If only....

If only....

There was nothing that could be done now, other than to try to not give up - and press on even when it felt like the world was against them. It made it hard to focus on her tasks when she was grieving her sister, and now terrified to lose her brother.

Yes, Metas would be there for her for support - and yes, she would have other ways to be loved..but nothing could ever fill the hole a lost sibling leaves behind.

Thanks to (and unfortunately because of) her childhood, she had mastered the art of 'quiet crying'. Her parents had detested the sound, and if she was ever caught doing it - they'd gaslight her into thinking she was being too dramatic, or just punish her with pain to give her a 'real reason to cry'.

So even now, in the comfort of all the souls who loved her and would happily wake up to hug her, Myranda just couldn't wake someone for what she needed. There were too many bad memories and experiences from crying that it was like a secret now.

As her chin rested on her forearms with her knees tucked tight to her chest, Myranda blinked slowly so that the heavy teardrops would fall in line down her face. Once her eyes were clear, she'd stare at the flowing water until they filled up so much that it blurred her vision, and only then would she blink again.

It helped her keep quiet, she wasn't sure why. The second her head tilted down to hide her face, she would bawl. Maybe it was a saving face thing? Maybe it was because she had something to focus on? What did it matter if it worked, though; all that mattered was that it was effective.

There were so many regrets that she vowed to learn from as she thought about not only the loss of her sister, but the loss of being able to really say goodbye to her. No final exchanged words, or thoughts - no smile and hands-clenched with each other's as though their sisterly love could help her live... Nothing like any of the books she read. The ones where the characters get to die in each other's arms or something - that. It was nothing like that.

It was just silent, cold, and terrifying. It was piercing right to the core of her soul. Myranda was also disappointed that she didn't really even feel as though she grew at all from the loss. They were still in the same position. She was still the same person.

...So why did Syrana have to die? Why couldn't have been herself instead?

Why?

Why?

Why?

It was the only question that could never ever be answered when death robbed the world of a bright soul who did nothing wrong. It didn't make sense - and it would never make sense.

No scenario, no dream, no terrifying thought or even elated ones would ever answer 'why', because life was not some pre-determined path. Every choice affects the next. The only thing who could ever answer 'why' something happened, was just the universe itself.

What do you ask a master-less, infinite space why something happened? What could they even answer?

That's probably why no one ever got an answer to loss of loved ones - there was nothing to say. The only ones who could make a good outcome from a sad event were those who were living the path and walking it themselves.

So Myranda would have to answer the 'why' by making it a good answer, one she could reflect on and try to make sense of the senseless.

A fill in the blank answer that she had to write with her own actions. How would this shape her from this moment on?

'I can let this kill me...' she started in her mind, 'or I can let it define me, I suppose' she thought further. 'Or... just like Syrana, I can rise as a phoenix, too from the ashes of our old lives and find a beautiful flame in the dark to hold onto.'

There were many things that she could do to make Syrana's death more than just a horrible event. Instead of a wasteland, Myranda could start a garden in which all lovely things grew from due to her sister just being who she was.

In a way, that was special on its own; to be so powerful from just being. To empower without trying - that was one of the best things one could do with their time on the mortal plane.

How fantastic and fitting that Syrana was one of those amazing souls who did just that.