[15] Tale of Neshka: Tomorrow came to late

⟬ 𝑮 𝒓 𝒐 𝒘 𝒍 ⟭

medieval folk-rock, spoken-word folk

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This is the backstory of my tabletop RPG character. In it, Neshka recounts her tragic past in the world of Pathfinder.

Part 15: Tomorrow came to late

[Intro – spoken, intimate]
[Soft lute, gentle cello]

After that night,
things went back to normal.

At least,
as far as Merisiel was concerned.

She never mentioned the barn.
Or the morning after.
Or the way we'd fallen asleep together.

She was simply Merisiel.

And I...

I tried to be Neshka.

[Short pause]

For a while,
I thought I could manage that.

[Music begins – flowing acoustic folk, lute, guitar and subtle fiddle]

[Verse 1 – sung, gentle and melodic]

We followed roads through fields and towns,
found work, found trouble, moved along.
She made friends in every tavern,
and I learned to tolerate her songs.

We argued over where to sleep,
over maps and money spent.
And every time I thought I'd ask her,
the right words came and went.

I'd start a sentence, lose my nerve,
then find a reason to delay.
There was always something else to do,
another road, another day.

[Verse 2 – spoken, quietly reflective]

At night, I'd rehearse what I might say.

Nothing grand.
Nothing foolish.
Just the truth, for once, laid bare.

I'd tell her that I'd thought about her,
that the morning hadn't left my mind.
That somewhere between the night and dawn,
I'd wanted more than friendship.

[Small pause]

But then she'd turn and smile at me,
and every word would disappear.

So I'd make some stupid joke instead
and pretend I'd brought her near.

[Chorus I – sung, warm and wistful]

I kept waiting for a moment,
for a sign, a little space.
A quiet room, an empty road,
a look upon her face.

Tomorrow, then.
Perhaps next week.
When I could find the words.

I thought I had all the time I needed.
I never thought I'd lose my turn.

[Verse 3 – spoken, intimate; music sparse]

Then one evening, I decided.

No more waiting.
No more doubt.

We'd finished supper at the inn.
The others had all wandered out.

She sat beside me by the fire,
her boots stretched toward the flame.

I watched her fingers turn a cup
and softly tried her name.

"Merisiel?"

She looked at me.

For once, I didn't look away.

There was so much I wanted to tell her.
I thought I'd finally found a way.

Then she smiled.

"I've got plans tonight.
There's someone I want to meet."

She stood before I could reply,
already reaching for her things.

"I'll tell you all about it later."

And then she was gone.

[Brief pause – only a soft cello note]

I sat there by the dying fire,
the words still in my mouth.

I could have called her back.

I didn't.

[Verse 4 – sung, restrained; guitar and cello]

She came back later than I'd expected,
with a strange new light in her eyes.
The next morning, over breakfast,
she told me about her night.

A human cleric.
Her name was Kyra.
Still learning her craft, she said.

Quiet, thoughtful, clever, kind.
Merisiel remembered every word.

I'd never heard her talk that way
about someone she'd just met.
And when she asked if I'd like to meet her,
I smiled and said, "Of course."

[Music warms; a little fiddle enters]

What else could I say?

[Spoken, dryly amused]

Kyra was nothing like I'd feared.
Not that I'd admitted to fearing anything.

She listened when I spoke.
She treated Bahl like he was simply there.

She had a thoughtful smile, a gentle way.

And Merisiel looked happier
than I'd seen her in a long while.

I liked her immediately.

[Short pause]

That was inconvenient.

[Verse 5 – sung, lively medieval folk-rock]

Soon Kyra joined our evenings,
our drinks, our endless games.
Merisiel had found a new audience
for her increasingly questionable claims.

Kyra would challenge her,
Merisiel would grin.
I'd watch them argue,
then happily join in.

We talked until the candles died,
sometimes well beyond.
It was easy to like Kyra.
There was nothing wrong.

[Chorus II – sung, warm but bittersweet]

Three chairs around a table,
three voices in the night.
The fire was warm, the ale was cheap,
and everything seemed right.

I laughed with them.
I meant it, too.
I wouldn't trade those nights away.

But sometimes, when they smiled at each other,
I wished I'd spoken yesterday.

[Verse 6 – spoken, quiet; music recedes]

I couldn't blame Kyra.
I couldn't blame Merisiel.

There had been no promises.
No truth I'd ever dared to tell.

She'd never known what that night meant.
I'd never given her a reason to.

Perhaps she'd never thought of it again.
Perhaps I was the only fool who knew.

I wondered if she'd ever seen me
as anything beyond a friend.

I wondered if the chance had passed
before I'd understood what it meant.

[Long pause]

And the cruelest part was this:

Nothing had really changed.

She was still Merisiel.
I was still Neshka.

[Soft breath]

Only now,
I had something to lose.

[Final Chorus – sung, full but restrained]

So we kept walking,
the way we always did.
Three friends beneath the evening sky,
with nowhere else to be.

I laughed with them.
I meant it, too.
I wouldn't trade those nights away.

But somewhere in the space between
the words I couldn't say,
I'd waited for tomorrow.

And tomorrow came too late.

[Outro]

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This is the backstory of my tabletop RPG character. In it, Neshka recounts her tragic past in the world of Pathfinder. Part 15: Tomorrow came to late [Intro – spoken, intimate] [Soft lute, gentle cello] After that night, things went back to normal. At least, as far as Merisiel was concerned. She never mentioned the barn. Or the morning after. Or the way we'd fallen asleep together. She was simply Merisiel. And I... I tried to be Neshka. [Short pause] For a while, I thought I could manage that. [Music begins – flowing acoustic folk, lute, guitar and subtle fiddle] [Verse 1 – sung, gentle and melodic] We followed roads through fields and towns, found work, found trouble, moved along. She made friends in every tavern, and I learned to tolerate her songs. We argued over where to sleep, over maps and money spent. And every time I thought I'd ask her, the right words came and went. I'd start a sentence, lose my nerve, then find a reason to delay. There was always something else to do, another road, another day. [Verse 2 – spoken, quietly reflective] At night, I'd rehearse what I might say. Nothing grand. Nothing foolish. Just the truth, for once, laid bare. I'd tell her that I'd thought about her, that the morning hadn't left my mind. That somewhere between the night and dawn, I'd wanted more than friendship. [Small pause] But then she'd turn and smile at me, and every word would disappear. So I'd make some stupid joke instead and pretend I'd brought her near. [Chorus I – sung, warm and wistful] I kept waiting for a moment, for a sign, a little space. A quiet room, an empty road, a look upon her face. Tomorrow, then. Perhaps next week. When I could find the words. I thought I had all the time I needed. I never thought I'd lose my turn. [Verse 3 – spoken, intimate; music sparse] Then one evening, I decided. No more waiting. No more doubt. We'd finished supper at the inn. The others had all wandered out. She sat beside me by the fire, her boots stretched toward the flame. I watched her fingers turn a cup and softly tried her name. "Merisiel?" She looked at me. For once, I didn't look away. There was so much I wanted to tell her. I thought I'd finally found a way. Then she smiled. "I've got plans tonight. There's someone I want to meet." She stood before I could reply, already reaching for her things. "I'll tell you all about it later." And then she was gone. [Brief pause – only a soft cello note] I sat there by the dying fire, the words still in my mouth. I could have called her back. I didn't. [Verse 4 – sung, restrained; guitar and cello] She came back later than I'd expected, with a strange new light in her eyes. The next morning, over breakfast, she told me about her night. A human cleric. Her name was Kyra. Still learning her craft, she said. Quiet, thoughtful, clever, kind. Merisiel remembered every word. I'd never heard her talk that way about someone she'd just met. And when she asked if I'd like to meet her, I smiled and said, "Of course." [Music warms; a little fiddle enters] What else could I say? [Spoken, dryly amused] Kyra was nothing like I'd feared. Not that I'd admitted to fearing anything. She listened when I spoke. She treated Bahl like he was simply there. She had a thoughtful smile, a gentle way. And Merisiel looked happier than I'd seen her in a long while. I liked her immediately. [Short pause] That was inconvenient. [Verse 5 – sung, lively medieval folk-rock] Soon Kyra joined our evenings, our drinks, our endless games. Merisiel had found a new audience for her increasingly questionable claims. Kyra would challenge her, Merisiel would grin. I'd watch them argue, then happily join in. We talked until the candles died, sometimes well beyond. It was easy to like Kyra. There was nothing wrong. [Chorus II – sung, warm but bittersweet] Three chairs around a table, three voices in the night. The fire was warm, the ale was cheap, and everything seemed right. I laughed with them. I meant it, too. I wouldn't trade those nights away. But sometimes, when they smiled at each other, I wished I'd spoken yesterday. [Verse 6 – spoken, quiet; music recedes] I couldn't blame Kyra. I couldn't blame Merisiel. There had been no promises. No truth I'd ever dared to tell. She'd never known what that night meant. I'd never given her a reason to. Perhaps she'd never thought of it again. Perhaps I was the only fool who knew. I wondered if she'd ever seen me as anything beyond a friend. I wondered if the chance had passed before I'd understood what it meant. [Long pause] And the cruelest part was this: Nothing had really changed. She was still Merisiel. I was still Neshka. [Soft breath] Only now, I had something to lose. [Final Chorus – sung, full but restrained] So we kept walking, the way we always did. Three friends beneath the evening sky, with nowhere else to be. I laughed with them. I meant it, too. I wouldn't trade those nights away. But somewhere in the space between the words I couldn't say, I'd waited for tomorrow. And tomorrow came too late. [Outro]

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