Ari
The hour comes for Sam to arrive.
Ari waits, counts the time. There are no windows in here, but he has been paying close attention to the shifting of the guards outside, the sound of their steps changing, to the number of his meals.
The hour comes, and he tenses, remembers what Sam had told him.
The hour comes. Goes.
Ari waits in silence.
He hears nothing outside. The guards continue to stand at attention.
The new hour drags on. No one comes.
Still, Ari waits, calm and alert. Listening.
Another hour. Sam doesn’t show up.
Fear builds in his chest. He tries to swallow it down, suppress it, refusing to let it cloud his judgment. Because what if she’s just running late? What if she’s outside right now, delayed by some mysterious reason, yet still ready? What if she comes in now?
So he continues to wait.
Another hour.
He tells himself to be ready.
Outside, he hears the guards shift, new voices, the start of morning.
The fear in his chest spreads, leaking black and cold through his body. He thinks of Sam’s eyes, soft and afraid, unsure if they will see each other again. And as he pictures her, he knows in his heart what has happened. It is so terrible a thought, so dark, that he can hardly bear it. The pain of a transmutation is nothing compared to this.
Still, he waits.
But Sam never shows.
[…]
except you,
always and only you,
my reason and my life.
Love Letter from Merikare to Hypatia, 1982
