this empty broken heart

It wasn't uncommon for Flashlight to wander the territory by herself, once her duties and responsibilities as a warrior had been attended to. She'd often settle by a stream or the river, hoping to bring back some extra fish as well as relish in the feeling of peace that the water seemed to bring her. Other times, her paws would bring her here.

The ice was melted, now, returning water to the pools. It was a blessing and a shame, when she'd quite enjoyed the freedom of sliding about without caring for appearances. In lieu of that experience, one she was sure she would miss countless times before the waters were iced over once more, she settled at the edge of one of the pools, watching it with curiosity.

Her own face stared back, as beautiful as it had always been, but the expression was something darker; it almost looked like she was lost, in some way.

Flashlight prided herself on striving for perfection, on working as hard as she possibly could - early to rise, late to sleep, each and every day. She prided herself on her skills as a RiverClan warrior, swimming and diving with practiced ease, whether she was chasing the sparkling scales of a fish or something else entirely. Most of all, though, she prided herself on knowing who she was and what she wanted.

Of late, though, that hadn't been true. She was lying to the world, lying to herself, and she hated every moment of it.

It wasn't all to do with the loss of Shrikefrost, though that certainly hadn't helped. No, she still had family, those she loved that loved her in return - she never could forget Loonwhisper or her mother or her kits, not for a second, no matter what happened, and they all mattered just as much. No, it was all a mess of things that had brought her here.

There were bright spots - her kits, her warrior ceremony, moments spent in this very spot - but they were few.

The loss of freedom that came with Asylum had been the first sign, a catalyst of some kind. Then Shrikefrost's death, and that lying rat's attempt to cover up what she had done. No, they hadn't been kind to her, but could they honestly be expected to? The freedom promised to them by warriorhood stolen from under their paws while they weren't looking, that feeling of being so thoroughly powerless...

She'd been hidden away on holy ground, left to suffer in her own silence, kept just barely alive - and for what, their own sick amusement? Something to laugh at, perhaps, to make more of a mockery than they already had.

Against all odds, thanks to a miraculous rescue, she had survived. She had faced down her captors, her tormentors, and she had come out the other side. Battered and bruised, more than a little bit broken, but decidedly alive.

Even if she didn't always feel like it.

The sun shone brighter, most days. The lingering chill was beginning to fade, promising warmer weather. Her daughter had reached apprentice age, and been entrusted to herself as a capable mentor.

And yet, some days, it seemed darker than ever. Every step heavier than it had any right to be, days where she wondered why she bothered to carry on at all, when it would only ever lead to more suffering. On days like that, it was like she was swimming against a current that was far too strong, threatening to drown her completely if she faltered for a moment.

On the surface, nothing changed. She still watched her Clanmates with mild interest, she still handled Bubblepaw's training, she still snapped at those around her without a second thought - if anything, she snapped harder and pushed further. But all the same, the weight of every action, that sense of absolute misery that washed over her, refused to go away. It was her passion that was gone, the drive she felt to do these things because she wanted to - instead, she did it because it was expected, just another part for her to play.

Life carried on just the same as it always had, and she was left to face this battle on her own. To pretend that nothing was wrong, because - because she'd faltered once, and it hadn't been the end of things, but it was a moment of weakness after the torture that was the Asylum prison. Because she couldn't let that happen again.

Why did it matter, then...?

It didn't matter why it was so important. It just was.

Realizing she'd been staring at her own reflection without really seeing it at all, she turned her head with a deep, frustrated sigh; and as the day carried on, she would remain there for some time, until well after the sun had set, contemplating things she couldn't quite understand in complete silence.