don't own the characters. I apologise
if the prose is awful; blame my 232463 research papers.
She has all but forgotten the scent of a Dol Amroth summer, the blazing of torpid hours into days without end; only she doth linger, thoughts entwined with the past she loved not well before. But now, in winter, ages gone with gold do shine; her own is merely gilt.
She has not forgotten the straining of life from its corporal tethers, from whence it sought the sighing sea that bore her hence to lands uncharted. The walled city – interminable prison! – holds those who would not know the longing, the awakening of years lost in unbroken hours, remaining ever steadfast against the reality that would only raze her. But she knows, and it has.
He knows, he sees. Yet he does naught but ponder, as she, and, in silence, glances ever upward to the stars that reign, if but for a moment, his senses. He loves not her shadow, but tonight, she lives, stark eyes alight. Tonight, she is Finduilas, sprite-child, alive somehow in sorrow.
She sighs, turns to leave the City's walls behind, if only at the threshold. He can only wait, only repent of neglect, as she doth fade-- a patterned nymph in the curtains, sea-weary, life-weary.