A cold light burns beneath the zee.

[wintersday]

A cold light burns beneath the zee. A cold wind holds the memory of hunger. On the rising howl of its voice, you hear a name not spoken since your Navigator stepped ashore to meet his fate. He tried to dispense with it along with the rest of himself, but you’ve held on to it. You keep it close. When the rest is gone, he’ll be remembered.

That thought is what catches you, on the brink of diving for the light. He gave you a choice, in the end.

(You had no choice, but who ever does?)

You loved him.

You betrayed him.

You understood him.