The Indifference of an Imaginative Witch solo finished

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The Indifference of an Imaginative Witch

The whisper of an old page turning on a delightful book has always been one of Robin's favorite sounds. There is a feeling of intense anticipation as her eyes scan every inked line, skipping from one part of the page to the next so often she has to use her hand to cover the lines to prohibit any reading ahead. The thrill of taking in information as the author intended only tips her further into the blessed thrill of adrenaline she seeks in an adventure - off and on the page. Robin was the type of person to dread any ending of any sort in a story - no matter what, she was never quite satisfied with things that brought her joy coming to a close. Maybe it's the weight of expectation that so often can spoil a finale, so she tries to focus more on the path as a whole. What matters if a special character she's attached herself to dies at an ending? So long as the journey to that death was worthwhile, Robin felt contented to say she felt a certain indifference to how a story resolved. Because every character she feels love for continues to live on in her mind, living ceaselessly and without the agonizing end their author had drawn out for them. Maybe this was a coping mechanism; perhaps it was denial. The thought of something so beautifully written coming to a close was always the most challenging part to accept.

Maybe that's why when Robin turned the final page to that precious book she had been cradling in her hands for hours, the noise of the crisp paper crinkling paused as her eyes read the horrid sentences she'd been dreading. A choice that an author made - a single choice that had taken this building explosion of light shining and pounding in her ribs and diffused it into still darkness in just a few words.

Immediately snapping the book shut, Robin clenched the paperback book to her chest, then ripped it away from her chest as if burned. Painstakingly setting it on the ground, she curled up her body in the warm armchair, the side of her body being heated by the glow of the fireplace at the end of the cavernous library. A ritual of hers - homework in the library after class followed by a cooldown in her favorite of places. Nose stuffed in her paperback by the light of the fire, she always found the joy of her own company to be quite lovely. Never too loud, never too quiet.

At that moment, Robin cursed her love of books. Eyes wet and clamped shut, fists tight and defiant, Robin huffed frustratedly at the book's author, who had decided killing off her beloved hero could ever have been a good idea. She needed to feel the pain of her character's canonical death - feel what the author wanted to try and convey through her story, and then forget all about it. For her sake, the only ending she would remember would be the one that she played out in her mind in the solitude of the night or in the waning hours of History of Magic when her mind wandered to places galore. Her Rillon would get the girl, live happily ever after, and heal.

Sure, the pain from this ending would hurt for a while, but she knew it wouldn't last. Her imagination would soon take over and cloud the memory of what she'd just read as easily as it is difficult to differentiate a memory from a dream.

Rillon - he who was once a soldier to the royal line, outcast and compelled to raise a dying dragon by the name of Angnath, whom he slowly nursed to health and raised to be the fiercest warrior of an age. On a quest with the bastard Prince Corwin and the brave cartographer, Asha with the power to read glimpses of the future, the four set out on a quest to restore magic and order to the world and settle the war between the rebellious beast-folk of the realm and the humans of the Vannish kingdom. Isha, the cartographer, constantly courted by Corwin, only had eyes for the dragon-rider Rillon. The Mage and the Warrior, a tale as old as time, seemed to end in tragedy she hadn't been expecting. The words on the last page were the final words of Rillon of Henshire as he sacrificed his life to restore magic and protect the life of his beloved dragon and the future of the woman he had never let himself love. It didn't take long for Robin to come up with many reasons that this ending was not to her liking. Robin wasn't always one for a happy ending. She understood the importance of death - of sacrifice. If anything, she admired Rillon for walking so willingly into his own demise. But was it so wrong to hope? Desire was an emotion she had no practice denying without effort.

Robin had felt a connection to Rillon from the very start of the book. As the main character, he represented everything in life that she had ever wanted. He was incredibly powerful - he was a top ranking soldier, second only to one - the king. Alluring to her need to control and assert her powers over those who would want to knock her down a step, she couldn't help but feel awestruck. She wanted to be in control, and power was the only sound way to do it. Rillon was so honorable it hurt. He was a gods-damned dragon rider - he raised little Angnath from birth despite being told that the dragon would die by multiple healers. He never gave up on that dragon and, because of it, was able to save all of his loved ones from a terrible fate under the evil rulers of the castle. Robin always wanted to be good. It didn't always come easy. She could never uphold the values of justice in the way that Rillon effortlessly presented them. Not only was he deadly and good... he was human. He failed. Over and over again, her hero failed. He couldn't find the right words to get the girl. He couldn't save his brother, also a soldier, from a fate that could have been prevented. He lost. Time and time again. But he never - not once refused to get back up. Until the very end, at least. Robin would never forgive Ellis Graymoor for butchering her favorite character.

Robin carried her favorite dragon rider throughout her days, even in the smallest of ways. Such as drawing the same runes on her notes that Rillon and Isha had carved into the trees in the Forest of Lan when performing the healing ritual for Angnath. By knocking twice upon doors before entering, just as Rillon knocked twice before entering a sacred temple of the deities whom the realms magic originated from. Even carrying her bag on her left shoulder, wand tucked in her left boot because Rillon kept his sword sheathed on the left side of his waist.

She also carried him around with her intimately in her heart in ways that count more than she could imagine. His undying loyalty - the way he stuck by his dragon's side despite the inherent danger and constant hopelessness. He loved Isha from afar and respected Corwin for loving her and protecting them even when they were unaware he was. The way he laid down his life in order to save the people who abandoned him in his time of need and shunned him for having hope. Robin carried that, too. Maybe she wasn't good at making friends - perhaps she was distrusting, offputting, and a little irritating at times - but she was loyal. Just like Rillon of Henshire, her beloved character will never truly die so long as she carries him in her heart.

These are all things Robin would learn in time. At that particular moment, she was feeling rather dreadful and decided that her time in the library had come to an end. This was the kind of ending you read in the warm comforts of your bed, wand tipped with Lumos and your cat laying loafed and weighted on your chest. This is the kind of book that you look back on and feel the weight of the journey in the joy you feel, but the sorrow at the ending that didn't have a happy ending. But that's the way that life goes, Robin supposed.

Sitting up slowly, Robin rubbed the wetness from her eyes and took a deep breath. Grabbing the book from the floor, she stuffed it in her bag and pulled it onto her left shoulder, trudging toward the fireplace. Something about the crackling barrage of heat and energy revitalized Robin, giving her the strength to make the trek up to the Ravenclaw tower for the night. The light cast a daunting shadow behind her, causing her to close her eyes and breathe, reminding herself that the only emotions that cause distress are the ones you give power to. With that in mind, Robin left the library, brain whirring with the thoughts of Tabby waiting on her poster bed, tail flicking and ready for cuddles. Robin smiled to herself, finally feeling like she was on her way toward her very own dragon of the night, prepared to make peace with the book so she could just as soon reimagine it to her heart's desire.