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@inkhorn

Thank you! I can’t blame you XD

Also I loved your piece! Cahira sounds like quite a character, I can’t wait for her and Frey to interact XD I think he’ll annoy the heck out of her.

Okay time for Frey to meet his future self I guess! Also going to attempt to write this in second-person present because that’s… the weirdest tense I could think of. I’m going to have fun with it XD

~~~~

I don’t recognize you at first. How am I supposed to? I mean, who expects to see themselves leaning against the pillar of a snow white palace?

At first I just blink up at you, uncertainty stealing my words. You stare back at me, and that’s when I start to notice the resemblances.

We have the same golden hair, though yours curls down past your shoulders, pulled back by a few braids that loop back in complicated patterns. I suppose you must have done it yourself. You look to be in your late thirties, though it’s hard to judge. Your short beard might make you look older than you are.

Your warm blue eyes widen as you look me over, from the tips of my heavy leather boots, over my wheelchair, finally coming to rest on my face. We stare at each other, gazes unbroken as the silence.

You’re the first to speak. Your words are slower than mine, but I recognize the tilt of my phrases as you push back your hair and smile, the starts of wrinkles crinkling around your eyes. You have my smile. It hasn’t changed.

“Well, this is bizarre.”

“I’d say.”

My reply is clipped, mostly out of uncertainty. Does this count as talking to myself? Am I dreaming? It could be, but usually my dreams weren’t this clear.

You lean heavily on your cane, another green one tipped with gold, nicer than the one I have now.

“Is this conversation going to last a while, should I sit down?” you ask. Not much has changed there.

“Not if it’s up to me,” I reply, already gripping the rails of my wheelchair.

You tilt your head, brows crinkling in a frown. It feels so wrong to see my expressions on you.

“Don’t you have anything to ask me, anything you want to know? It’s not like you get this chance every day.”

“Should I?” I ask, off-handed. “I’ll find it all out sooner or later.”

“You don’t like surprises.”

“Well, perhaps I don’t want to know then.”

“That bad?”

“Seeing you, it might be.”

“Am I supposed to take that as an insult?” you ask. I seem to have lost some of the flare of annoyance over the years. I would have just directly taken it as such.

“If you like.”

You lean against the pillar of the exit/entrance. Your loose white shirt wrinkles, the motion of the gathered sleeves showing a few paint stains on the cuff.

“You should really wear something over your clothes while painting, you’ll ruin them.” Insults hadn’t worked on you, perhaps superiority would.

You raise your eyebrows.

“I do. Check your cuffs.”

I scowl and resist the urge to obey. I know there’s a yellow mark on the left one from where I distractedly rolled up my sleeves while painting the other day.

“Seeing you makes me remember things,” you say, voice slow and contemplative. When did I get so thoughtful?

“Don’t, they can’t be pleasant. Or is it better than what you’re living now?” I shoot back. Nothing seems to work, I can’t aggravate you. I suppose you know me too well.

You shake your head.

“It’s bittersweet. The past always is. I know you’re doing your best.”

I grip the rails of my wheelchair until my knuckles turn white and an electric prickle of pain trails up my arm. I don’t want to hear that. I want everyone to believe I don’t have to try, that I don’t care. I don’t want to care.

“Are you going to let me through or keep me here chit-chatting?” I ask, my voice cracking. I swallow, trying to force it away. Your statement upset me more than I care to admit.

You shake your head with half a smile.

“I can’t believe I was such a brat. At least I was a cute kid I suppose.”

I sit upright as though I’ve been shot. You have the audacity to shoot three insults directly into my face and smile through them without being affected when I try to do the same?

“At least my hair doesn’t look like a mop,” I shoot back, before I can think about it.

You laugh, and shivers of familiarity cascade down my spine.

“I’m gravely insulted. I think it’s time you carry on your way.” The smile lines around your eyes don’t fade. I bristle. I didn’t intend to be entertaining. I want you to be annoyed.

“Any more sage advice?” I ask, as the veil dissolves between the hall and whatever lies beyond.

You gesture vaguely, a few of your rings catching the light.

“You’re not going to listen to any of it.”

“You know yourself well,” I say, sarcasm dripping off every word. I could technically pass by you, leave this whole incident behind, but I feel like I’m waiting for something, some grand announcement, some warning, some revelation.

I look you over again, trying to spot whatever should have that effect. No wedding ring. Perhaps the first few strands of gray. You have delicate golden chains danging from piercings along your ears, and I resist the urge to say that I like them.

“I feel like I need to say some things, even if you won’t listen,” you say, fiddling with one of your rings.

“I’ll wait,” I say, leaning back in my wheelchair. As though to make my point, I lock my wheels in place and stretch, careful not to move too quickly in case that makes something hurt again.

“Don’t give your heart to something that won’t fill the gaps,” you say, your gaze trailing to the ceiling as though thinking.

I nod, approvingly.

“Very poetic, that’s the kind of sage advice I mean. You sound like an oracle. What’s the next?”

You shoot me a look that’s more amusement than annoyance.

“Try to make some friends.”

“Not worth it, next.”

“Whatever you say. Your friends will find you and you won’t be able to get rid of them.”

“Trust me, I’ll try.”

“I know. Also stop drinking coffee first thing in the morning, you know it makes you anxious.”

I unlock my wheels. It feels like an appropriate closing statement.

“It makes me feel more productive.”

“To be anxious?”

“As you can see, I have life figured out.”

“You’re not going to listen to anything I say, are you?”

“Most likely not. I’d mess up the time-continuum.”

You stand out of my way so I can pass through the gate.

“You have to make your own mistakes I suppose. Trust me, you will. Sooner than you think.”

“Goodbye, ominous self,” I say, over my shoulder. When I look back to catch one last glimpse, you’re gone. Perhaps it’s better that way. I don’t want to think about what you said.

I have no idea what lies ahead, and at this point I don’t know if I want to know.

~~~~~~~~

Ooohhh that was interesting! Frey is so snarky XD I think now he can interact with some of the other characters, who is up for it?