Light A Life
Freya travels the world and carries her world and its occupants with her. There is no escaping the memories which follow her wherever she goes, whether she tries or no. Her salve and service to them is her penance; the ritual, now familiar in its repetition. Where and when she can, she strikes a match; places flame to wick, to watch it burn; black at its centre, amidst the incandescence, so bright it hurts the eye to watch it closely, for too long. She keeps her silence, in the cool dim of the church, whilst civilisation carries on without her, unheeding, uncaring; unknowing, in those mere moments. She will catch them up in due course. There is time enough - and time owes her her time out, every once in a while; such is their unspoken bargain with one another. She watches as the wax disintegrates; the wick to nothing.
Another VisDare piece. The word prompt this week was "festival". Guess we'll have to of Freya as having her own private, slightly sombre festival/celebration of times past when she lights her candle to those who have gone before her here...