[WRITING] The Void Between
The suitor stood beneath the twin moons, waiting. She had invited them both—the Princess of Light, whose presence softened the sun itself, and the Princess of Darkness, who carried the hush of midnight in her step. It had been a foolish thought, she knew, to call them together. But her heart, divided and aching, could not choose between them. And so she had hoped—hoped that perhaps, together, they might form something greater than longing.
The Princess of Light arrived first, her glow casting long shadows. The suitor felt small beneath her gaze, warm yet distant, like the last light before dusk.
Then came the Princess of Darkness, trailing the scent of rain-soaked earth, her eyes glinting like the void between stars. She looked at the Princess of Light—and something shifted.
The suitor saw it at once.
The way Darkness watched Light, not as a rival nor as a reflection, but as something unreachable. The way her breath caught, the way she hesitated, as if afraid of breaking the fragile balance between them.
Light, in turn, barely seemed to notice. She smiled, kind as ever, but distant. When Darkness reached toward her—hesitant, uncertain—Light only tilted away. The space between them was an ocean, and Darkness was drowning alone.
The suitor’s stomach twisted.
She had meant to bring them together, to craft a moment where they might all belong, but now—Darkness was unraveling. Light was retreating. And she, standing between them, had become the very force pulling them apart.
Darkness moved first. A desperate step, a hand outstretched, a plea unspoken. Light flinched, the warmth in her gaze turning to something colder, something wary. And then, in an instant—
A storm.
Darkness recoiled, her hands trembling at the rejection, shame bleeding into fury. Her voice, sharp and broken, cracked the night. Light’s radiance flared, shielding herself from the hurt she could not return. The air between them tore apart, and the suitor—helpless, small, guilty—was caught in the middle.
She felt it—the clash of warmth and shadow, the force of their parting as they ripped away from each other, as the moment shattered into something irreparable.
Darkness turned away first, vanishing into the night without a word. Light lingered, watching her go, before stepping into the dawn. Neither looked back.
The suitor stood alone beneath the twin moons, cold with the knowledge that she had lost them both. Not to each other. Not to hate.
But to the emptiness she had unwittingly created.
...
The bed was too big.
She had never thought of it that way before, but now, lying in the dark, it stretched endlessly around her, vast and hollow. The sheets on either side of her were undisturbed, untouched, and colder than they had ever been.
She turned onto her side, then onto her back, but no position felt right. No warmth lingered beside her. No hand reached for hers in the quiet.
She had dreamed, once, of sharing this space—of soft laughter in the dark, of whispered confessions against her skin. She had imagined Light here, her presence like the last golden thread of sunset clinging to the horizon. Or Darkness, the weight of her gaze settling against her shoulder, steady and certain.
But neither had stayed.
Neither had ever truly been hers.
She exhaled, pressing her palm to the empty space beside her, as if she might still find warmth there. As if the imprint of someone could be coaxed back into existence by longing alone.
It was foolish.
She had been foolish.
The night felt heavier than before. The darkness of the room was not the kind she had once longed for—safe, comforting, full of quiet breaths shared between two people who might understand her. No, this darkness was hollow. A silence that stretched wider than the bed itself.
And she was alone in it.