Deanna Leimert was not a simple woman, thank you very much.
She was many things, but simple was not one of them.
But oh, she knew she didn’t look like much to random passersby. Deanna didn’t mind that, though, because she had learned to ignore what other folks thought of her a long time ago. Or at least, that’s what she let other people think. What was important, was whatever task was at hand.
There was always work to be done - kids to raise, mouths to feed, neighbors to check up on, knitting to finish, and a husband to wait up for.
Until there wasn’t anything. Until there was a flash of claws or teeth or whatever had done her in - and nothing. There was always something until there was nothing but a snowflake dissolving into the ocean.
Deanna supposed that wasn’t nothing, but it wasn’t anything either - it wasn’t even everything. It just was. Deanna wasn’t even Deanna there, and hadn’t that been a relief she didn’t know she needed?
How her husband found out, Deanna never asked, and probably never would. Don’t get her wrong, she had a lot of questions.
Why bother with a promise? Why did you move on? Was it easy? Why wait 200 years? Why did you leave the kids behind? Why did you leave me behind? Wasn’t I enough for you? Why am I never enough?
But that was too heavy for “fresh off a resurrection” talk. And it was too heavy for “surprise I have another family” talk. And it was just a little too off the mark for “I’m leaving you behind again” talk. It was always too heavy, too much like a drop of liquid lead, forever adhered to the back of Deanna’s throat because she could never let her anger reach melting point (327 degrees Celsius, in case you were wondering). Because Deanna didn’t let her anger rule her. Or at least, that’s what she let other people think. And maybe herself, too.
So she wandered into Uthodurn and tried not to think about a certain long gone gnome with a knit cap, or her husband, or her family, or the way the world had shifted and eroded without her. Deanna stubbornly ignored the phantom limb sensation of being freshly separated from a whole and then set adrift in a completely separate ocean - alone.
At least in the other place, she knew she hadn’t been alone.
She had her knitting supplies, a new body, a new chance at life, and the symbol of the Dawn Father.
She didn’t have her family. She hasn’t felt grief in so long, Deanna’s not sure if that’s what this weight behind her ribs is. It might just be her heart, but it’s been a long time since she had one that only belonged to her.
The cleric told Deanna that her soul had been willing and able, and she has a brief recollection of acknowledgement. But that consent was starting to feel a little uninformed. If she had known her husband wouldn’t still be Deanna’s, or how long she had been away, Deanna might have made a different choice.
But she was Deanna Leimert and she was not a simple woman.
It was hard to remember if Leimert was her name or her husband’s, but at this point it felt so integral to her identity, Deanna didn’t care anymore. She was now a cleric to the Dawn Father, an attempt to pay the favor forward. A desperate grab at the only anchor she hadn’t lost yet in this new life.
Then there was FRIDA, and a playback of Deanna’s laughter, and it sounded...genuine. Deanna forgot she knew how to laugh like that. FRIDA said laughter was a peek at someone’s soul, and Deanna thought they might be right. To Deanna, her laughter sounded like the other place, like a snowflake on the ocean, like the barely there whisper of grey water against itself for eternity. Her phantom limbs didn’t ache so much with FRIDA and laughter around.
Deanna felt lighter, again. She pushed the heavy talk to the side because what did she have that she might be ungrateful for? There was nothing to complain about! Or at least, that’s what she let other people think. Everyone except FRIDA, who apparently read her like an open book.
Deanna was good, she was great, even! She had her knitting, her stew, FRIDA, and a whole new life ahead of her.
Things were perfect.
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