Ida

Matias comes to her later, pale as snow. His anger has finally died down, and now he's looking for Sol. A pang of familiarity long forgotten rings deep in Ida's chest.
Matias looks at her, then towards the streets. Past the rooftops, the sun lowers itself into the warm earth to slumber.
"You... You didn't keep him back?" Matias says. His voice sounds rough, weakened by the horrors he dared to tell Sol. Ida brings her knees closer to herself. Lays her cheek on her kneecap.
"I did not," she answers. Matias will not understand. Matias takes and digs his fingers in things he deems his, holding onto them until he dies. Ida is not the same. She holds onto people like streams of water: touching, but never caging.
"What?" Matias exclaims angrily. "How could you just let him go like that? You didn't even fight for him?!"
"I am not letting go of Sol. He needs space. We will reach him soon enough."
Matias does not understand. Ida is not listening to him. He's hurt Sol. Let him learn from his mistake. She's hurt Sol. Let her not learn from her mistake.
"Do not think I am letting go," Ida says. Little flames run down her brown skin. "I simply have a different way to hold on to people."
Matias frowns.
"We will come to him, once he is alone and lonely, once he can forgive us both in a blink." She smiles. "Sol has and always will be too kind to us."
She's waited centuries. A few weeks mean nothing to her.
In the end, they always come back to her.

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