Natasha the Halve

I stored the letter.

Then blinked.

Out of habit, really. I have no need to blink often, after all.

It takes a fraction of a second, barely noticeable. The world is replaced by the warm golden light coming from the inside of my eyelids, akin to looking at a source of light and closing the eyes. Instead of red, there is gold. Dull, dark, and comfortable.

Upon opening my eyes, however, the light remained as if to disobey the very law the world works under, the world around me still a warm gold, but mixed with sharp silver.

But the world around me was not the obelisk.

Shorvanna was gone.

The horizon-reaching forest around me had vanished.

Clouds, snow, fog, and cold were now gold and silver, both ceiling and ground.

Stretching far and wide.

Endlessly.

My eyebrows creased in concern.

“Where am I?” my thoughts echoed forth with the crisp sound of voice, cleanly slicing a silence I hadn't noticed.

As if to answer my question, a presence appeared before me. Light, both gold and silver, gathered in a shapeless form.

All-encompassing and boundless.

The mother I always wished to have: unconditional love that provided self-worth, emotional support to confide in during difficult times, guidance to shape values, encouragement to overcome challenges and realise dreams, a role model to pursue and influence aspirations, the stability to cement psychological well-being, and a beacon of empathy and compassion.

Everything Zoya was not.

The father I always wished to have: of words and actions, protective to develop a sense of safety, humorous and playful to make life lighter, a solid net to fall onto in times of uncertainty, emotionally available, and a role model to emulate.

Everything Nikolai could not provide.

All of that, and more, stood at arms reach.

I did not need to appraise the entity to know. It was obvious to me.

My creator.

My parent.

My origin.

Galeia.

Even then. Even when I knew. Even when it was obvious.

I could not move.

Not by foreign influence, enchantment, spell, nor any such magic.

I learned at that moment that I did not know what to do under such circumstances.

The primary fuel for my drive for many years had been an almost constant state of anger instead of the occasional ignition of it to the point I had become psychologically dependent of negative emotion to achieve momentum. I got help for it at a point in my life when I no longer talked to my parents, thus subconsciously trapping them in a cage, and the bars were made of anger and resentment.

Why, then, did I abandon Nikolayevna if not because I was angry at Nikolai?

My brother Vladimir was nearing his eighteen years of age, and would thus be drafted; sent to die by either drone, bullet, or artillery in a conflict not of our choosing, and would probably end up in a video on the internet for others' entertainment.

Nikolai thought it natural and something to be proud of: to die for the country.

I disagreed so I took Vladimir away. From him and from a future he did not deserve.

Galeia offered no such betrayal. It touched me with a warmth and love that begins before birth and continues even after death, echoing unending joy at us having finally met.

It reached my heart, embracing the anger and the pain, bathing it in boundless light.

A knot formed on my throat, and tears began to fall.

Galeia's emotions washed over me in a strong yet gentle tide.

Chest-swelling pride that I had overcome my trial, celebrating my strength and resilience.

Forgiveness for giving up and wishing for death at my lowest point, and with it apologizing for making me go through that.

Immense praise at having greatly hindered the Abyss' advance in Haal to the point of near total termination, even at a great personal cost.

Elation at me having found love in this new life, and how readily I used the tools she granted me.

Gratitude at having accepted the gift the Divine Sentinel offered, and my consent to commune with her.

Myriad emotions mixed and swirled inside me.

The wounds of parental abandonment and absence Zoya and Nikolai had selfishly and irresponsibly inflicted in my heart were not mended, but soothed and accepted instead.

The fear that any motherly figure would eventually abandon me had grown into a rejection that became rudeness in order to avoid it and spare me of that pain.

Unlike mortal women who would fit that criteria, Galeia is not a woman, and therefore warrants no such fear.

My hands found purchase in the entity, fingers clasping at magically bound light.

In that embrace, I wept.

Like a child.

Loudly. Shakily.

Like ten year old me needed to when Zoya left.

Like twelve year old me needed to when my first period came and I dealt with it scared and alone.

Like thirteen year old me needed to when I was lost raising a high-functioning psychopath essentially by myself.

Like seventeen year old me needed to when my first boyfriend broke up with me.

Like twenty year old me needed to when I broke up with my first girlfriend.

Like twenty four year old me needed to when my dad saw no problem in my brother going to war.

I poured it all out, face covered with tears and snot.

Like the child I had no chance of being.

Had Galeia been my parent from the very beginning, my life might have been brighter, warmer, and more cheerful.

The me right now, however, would not exist.

I would not have met Lapia, Alyssa, Yolin, nor Pokora.

Fate would've spun in another fashion entirely. Such is the true power of a parent.

Or, perhaps, as Lapia taught me, under the laws of Eternalism's view of how time unwinds, a Natasha who proudly wears Nikolayevna would have awoken in the Cradle of Life, maybe even mourning a Zoya who knew better, never to see her again.

Then again, as I have come to see, would my lovers entertain an overly cheerful me? I have neither proof nor doubt that they see my so called stoicism as an almost magnetic source of attraction. Those traits of mine some would deem masculine, would be non-existent in a good life, I think.

Would Lapia have met an overzealous Natasha, hellbent on correcting injustices done to women? A Natasha who would, unlike me, value greatly the dignity of passerby fellow women? A Natasha that, perhaps, would have never stopped yapping about her victimhood instead of giving her the introspective silence she instead got? A Natasha so drunk on self-righteousness, she would have dispatched the Harpy at a mere sight?

Would Alyssa, who, in her own words, was smitten by the way I carry myself and my physical strength, be charmed by a more feminine Natasha? A softer Natasha who would match her in that regard? A Natasha that lacked the domineering side she so loves to drown in?

Would Yolin, who so verbally relishes physical roughness from me, be interested in a meek Natasha? A Natasha who, coddled by loving parents, would not understand that physical pain sometimes soothes and even helps temper character? A Natasha who would overstep the tough woman's autonomy and deny her violent whims?

Would Pokora have felt attraction for a softer and kinder Natasha who lacked what she would end up calling daddy? A Natasha who lacked the hardiness she loves to lean on? A Natasha who would have smothered and coddled her pain instead of offered a few words of encouragement as two adults do?

I do not for a second doubt that friendship would be possible... but love? I'm not so sure.

Would my trial even include Hell at all if such was the case?

Would I have been reborn as a Halve at all?

Would I have been reborn?

Would I even have died that young?

Everything would be absurdly different with but a single change to my upbringing.

Such is the tragedy of life and its cost.

Still, it is through hardship that people grow and become better versions of themselves. I know so to be an universal truth. Life is worth living, even when I go off about life's cost and such nihilistic views.

And even while being aware of all that, if I was showered with that abundant parental love, I cried.

I cried until my heart felt lighter.

Galeia supported me all throughout, comforting waves of gold and silver washing over me.

A hand, solid as light could be, brushed my hair with a love only a mother is capable of conveying along a promise to protect only a father is capable of conveying.

Galeia's promise to protect was emotional in nature, and I found myself dying of thirst for it, squeezing tighter.

The light hummed, almost as if a lullaby. Wordlessly, Galeia comforted me.

Slowly, I regain composure.

And with it, came embarrassment.

How long had it been since I cried that hard?

I cried when I was lost at first, sitting on the cart with Lapia after killing mortals for the first time.

I cried when I played the piano for the first time in this world.

I cried when I cut Yolin's fingers clean off her hand, in a panic and while tipsy.

But those had been adult tears. To face new realities and, in a way, steel myself.

This time, though?

I hurried to clean my face of the tears and snot. To regain a little dignity, if anything, in front of my creator.

My face was dry, much to my surprise.

With a shaky inhale of breath, one I didn't biologically, but emotionally need, I looked up.

Light. Vaguely shaped like an individual, yet not all the same.

Warm, inviting, boundless, and beyond Eternal.

Of a beauty no word exists to describe.

“O Mother!” I sighed in Celestial, installing Galeia to motherhood in my heart and soul.

It was, after all, what I needed most.

The humming, so far the only sound coming from Galeia, coalesced into a myriad voices, flowing through all the fabrics to be and from any direction that is.

“Welcome home, Guardian strong,

In my embrace, where you belong,

Now rise once more, with strength renewed,

For this vast realm will look to you,

So go, Protector, to your task,

In every moment, and before any mask,

eternal be your vigil true,

And know, my love will follow you.”

It touched me.

The light that had caressed my head softly was now on my left cheek.

I leaned into it, bubbly giggle escaping through a wide smile.

Then.

I blinked.