My Gender Journey Personified

 I walk across the room, the floor polished by the heavens starlight itself washing over it every night. Imbued with the shimmer of the air and the glint of hope from distant worlds staring up at us from their own dreams and aspirations.

There are pillars to a ceiling, white gleaming marble with an iridescent shimmer with the flow of energy flowing down around it. Every footstep placed made no echo as if the pillars themselves were reaching out to hug the air to keep all calm, yet not casting a glow around.

The walls were not walls, they were mirrors made of the reflection you see when you look close in one’s eye. An unease to look anywhere but down at your feet as you walk. If you tried to look forward too much, it looked as if it would boil and reach out. Looking up isn’t an option either, the ceiling was made of black cloth that foamed and contorted if you looked at it as if preparing to strike. I would keep looking at my feet. It never seemed like I was moving forward, or backward or left or right, just walking. 

I found an arrow on the ground, The shaft made of ash, The fletching from a hawk and the head of Orichalcum. Picking it up it was almost like it wanted to follow, the slightest push, tug, shake gave it enormous momentum. It was hard to hold, any sudden movements and it would jerk in that direction. Every movement had to be intentional as I walk, wherever I’m walking.

Over time, an indeterminable amount of time I found another. But this time it was the opposite, it didn’t feel heavy, but like it was always moving through jelly. I tried to hold both in the same hand, trying to negate the effects of the other. But my hand would keep bleeding so I would alternate and just walk slower.

Over an even more indeterminable amount of time. My eyes were blurred, tear filled. My hands red, no desire to let go, no reason to keep holding on though. Just a starlight shimmer you feel like if you stare at through the floor long enough you may unlock the heartbeat of the cosmos.

But I tripped. No time to gasp, cry, yell; but only a split moment to just, accept.

So I fell to the floor.

Before my knee hit the floor a hand came out and held my knee, stopping my fall to the floor but into the billowing white fabric encompassing me.In pain inside and out, confused of the suddenity of it all; took their time to adjust to their eyes to look up.

 Two arms, bound in cloth and leather was letting me go kneeling on the ground and stepping back. Her hands were worn, but the touch was fresh. Her gown was there but not there, a tidy form that seemed to wrap itself around here as she sat down. Her clothes had seen battle but were fresh, woven into the patterns of the cosmos as if sewing herself into reality. Her cloak settled behind her, revealing a pair of wings, but not angelic, these were battle worn as if they’d been through a tempest storm and with the same energy of these pillars. Still trying to figure out what I’m seeing, a flash of green and red was a hawk at her side sitting on a pole. The same feathers seen on the arrows. Beside this lady was a shield and a bow, these arrows must belong to her.

So I reached out my hands holding them both together, she seemed a million miles away but cloth enough I can reach out without bending. But my hands were empty. I look up and see she was holding them, her hands were bleeding, I look down and mine were not. So I look at her. 

You could see written on her face, a stoic defender who’s seen the battles of war but with enough warmth coming off her skin that she can put aside what she has to help me. But the eyes, blue, piercing, like my own how I look in the mirror when no one is around. It dawned on me that this was one and the same, dótti, valkyrja. A chooser of the slain, willing to help no matter what, she saw my battle and chose to save me, because we are one and the same.

So I turn around on my seat.

And stare at the fog, at the ready. 

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