your enchanting ghost | asoiaf, oberyn & elia
Sometimes he sees her, at the edge of his vision, just as she was before everything changed. Elia, who was forever smiling. Elia, who was always in love. Elia, whose heart was too big for her frail body.
Elia who died. And died alone.
He doesn’t dare blink when it happens, for fear she might vanish, so he sits still, eyes watering, taking in the sight of his beloved sister. She’s always an arm’s length away, just close enough to touch, but he never reaches out because he doesn’t want to feel the rush of wind that proves he’s going mad; mad with longing, mad with anger, mad with regret.
The apparition never lasts and she’s gone before he has time to drink her in, to commit her to memory and never let go. When that happens - when a curtain flutters or the sun shines too bright and he sees shadows in the place where she stood - panic overwhelms him and he shuts his eyes, desperately trying to remember her face. It takes a moment but she’s there; cheering him on in his first tourney, laughing as they spin together in dance, squeezing his hand once, tightly, before she walks into the sept and his heart breaks all over again.
He has never told anyone - and he never will - but he lives for those small moments; those glimpses into what used to be and what was lost. But still, he stands up and stands tall, breathing in the life that Elia was denied, his hand steady, gripping the spear coated in poison. It’s time.