http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=371vK0_7eEo

It would be, so easy.

The witch stood on the roof of the Blushing Hingle, looking over the side of the building at the ground below. The rain had stopped a short while ago, or maybe a long time ago. A gust of wind, signaling yet another impending storm, pushed at her, whipping black and red locks around her face and causing her to wobble on unsteady legs. Sarinah reached up to push the hair out of her face, rocking back slightly. In her other hand a half empty bottle of whiskey hung loosely, threatening to escape and crash to the rooftop. Her eyes were red and puffy, but it seemed that for the moment, she was all cried out. Numbly, the dancer lifted the whiskey bottle, taking a swig.

Stumbling from another gust of wind, she stepped back, dropping the bottle with a crash. Shaking herself, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. What was wrong with her?

What was wrong with her?

Turning, she made her way through the open attic hatch and dropped down into the room, pulling it shut as she stumbled past boxes and cobwebs as she left. Reaching the second hatch that led to their bedroom, she all but fell through, landing on her backside with a thump. Swearing, she got to her feet woosily, angrily tearing at skirts wrapping her up and getting in the way. Avoiding looking at the huge empty bed, she left the room, barely caring what she ran into or knocked over on the way though. Falling through the open door into the hallway, she crashed into the opposite side before moving fowards. Making her way to the top of the stairs, she stopped, staring down them.

Tumble.

The passive had left, just left. His words stung her, cut her to the bone, even if she'd maintained a cool face. He'd been so strange since the night of the drunk stranger. It was hard to get a minute to ask him about it, because everytime she'd approached him, Tristaan had found something more pressing to do. Sanding. Painting. The voice, the mannerisms. Everything was wrong. Her vision blurred as she thought about it. Where was the caring, kind man she'd met in Vienda. Where was the hero that had saved her from herself?

Why was it happening again?

Holding onto the banister, Sarinah took a heavy step, then another. She walked at a slow pace, taking one stair at a time. Occasionally, she stopped, wobbling again. How could she survive alone? Without him? Her heart felt like it was torn out and burned. Taking another step, she missed her mark, and with a gasp, slipped down the last quarter of the stairs. Rolling forwards at the floor, she sprawled on the wood, staying where she was for a minute, heart racing. It took a while to realise nothing was broken, and she was alive. Pushing herself up slowly, she tasted blood, having bitten her tongue. Touching her fingers to her lip, she sat back, leaning against the banister. A sudden sob caught in her throat, and she sat against the banister, crying in the dark. It felt as if she would die from the pain inside, turning in on herself. Taking a moment, she finally got control of herself, shakily standing with aid of the stairs.

Wobbling on her feet, the witch made her way to the nearest table, sitting down heavily. Resting her elbows on the hardwood, she placed her head in her hands. The pain swelled up inside, fighting against her. Winning.

It would be, just that easy.

Taking a shuddering breath, Sarinah let herself cry, heartbroken sobs breaking the silence of the dark, empty room, echoing in a stark reminder of how alone she was. She was all alone.

Again.