Jamethiel.
Sister-kin.
Warm arms, around her waist. Warm voice, telling her where to put her feet, her arms. Water flowing, wind blowing, earth moving, fire leaping. Learning the figures of the Senetha, dancing in concert and in competition, falling together laughing and breathless on the practice mats.
Brushing Jamethiel's hair, long langorous strokes while Jame leaned against her, contented as a cat sunning itself.
Lying sprawled on a bed watching Jamethiel writing a letter, tapping the end of the pen against her teeth.
Feeling that warm, melting sensation in the pit of her stomach when Jame came to her room, that first night. Their first kiss, and how the soft, winding romance of the moment had dissolved into giggles when Jame had stubbed her toe on a chair, causing Jame to hop and swear and blush.
All of those images, frozen in time. In her heart. Seeing Jamethiel dance, their Priestess. Their Mistress. Her beloved. Dancing, the figures skewed, wrong, foul somehow. Blending, rending. Reaving. Souls sucked into a maelstrom with Jamethiel at the center of the storm. No awareness at all of what she was doing, only dreamy concentration, and that was the worst of all.
"JAMETHIEL!" Her voice, screaming. It was the only sound she could hear. Denial, horror beating at her from every side, with the thudding of her heart against her ribs. Curling in on herself, hands flying to her face, her eyes. "Let me not see. Let me not see. Let me not know, oh Jamethiel!" Raw, aching howl. Ivory talons, her claws, sharp as knives, sharp as the White Knife, that ended all dishonor. She rocked on her knees, talons scratching bloody furrows in her face, her eyes a red ruin, screaming.
The pain was nothing compared to the pain of her heart.