Severed
What Tiarnan saw through Keeva's shared memories, of what she felt on the Avalon when her connection to Lancelot was broken.
Written from Keeva's point of view.
Running as fast as you can into the engine room, you're overwhelmed with an assortment of emotions as you try and take in everything you're seeing at once. First, you see Tara crumpled on the floor, a sight that fills you with alarm. Concern. Regret. You don't know her well and now you may never have the chance to. You hope she'll be okay, that you and the rest of your friends made it in time, that it's not already too late. Your gaze then lands on three tall figures, two of whom you don't immediately recognize, but the other does seem vaguely familiar to you from somewhere. When he speaks, addressing your group, that's when you realize: you've heard this voice before, years ago now, when you and Lancelot had formed your pact. Those faint murmurings and ever watchful eyes standing off to the side of the throne room with a handful of others. He's one of the Summer Nobles.
Hate, sudden and burning hot and bright within you now that the connection is realized. Hate at what they took from you, at the pain they've caused. Hate at what he represents.
Everything happens so fast. He speaks, moves, then there is an abrupt tug that grabs your attention, a snap of something within you breaking as the Summer Noble’s spell jolts through you. A moment later Lancelot disappears, both from your side, as well as from deep within your soul.
Within you, your frantic cries made to your eidolon are met with silence.
You are vaguely aware there is chaos all around you, but it feels distant, as if everything has gone slow. Every action and word you speak is muted and feels so far away. Hollow. Empty.
The effects of the spell become known to you. This is an emptiness you’ve experienced only once before, the same wrongness that came when your connection to Niall had been broken. There is nothing that can compare to this, a feeling that half of your soul has been suddenly and completely severed from you. There is a closeness and comfort and safety that is missing and it feels crushing. You try and grasp for the end of the broken thread within you that once tied Lancelot’s soul to your own, but there is nothing there. An integral piece of you is gone.
You may never get that part of your soul back, you realize, and panic grips you so tightly you feel you may fall apart completely. There is nothing that can replace him, and the thought that you may feel this loss for the rest of your life terrifies you to your core.
Killing you outright would have been a kinder fate.