Hail to you, Victory Woman. Hail, you who lead his heart and mine with a line soft as silk and strong as steel. Hail to you, Sigyn.
You know exactly how deep, how dark, how fraught and fouled my mind can be. You know what depression looks like, and you know how it fits into the tangle of the madnesses that haunt humans and gods alike. You know how it saps the strength, buries all the good beneath drifting ash. Blessed is your steadfastness, and blessed is your strength.
You know that for my entire congizant life I have been plagued by the realization that I was not wanted- or rather, not wanted the way I am. You know the way my heart shudders at the phrase “not good enough” and wants to stop its own beating at the memories of being left out, overlooked, and left behind by peers and parents.
You know that most days, most hours, all I really want… is to die.
And… you won’t let me do it. Blessed is your strength, and blessed is your compassion, even at its most brutal.
You know the battle is getting desperate, as my fear of the pain between my creeping self and oblivion wanes.
You know that I have found homes for most of my really useful belongings, trust the cat to adjust, the bird to not notice, and mom to find something to do with the goats. You know I’m running out of reasons.
But there you are, standing right in between me and a final sleep.
Blessed is your quietness and your inexorable power.
He asked me once if I would die for him. Sensing a way out of all of this, I acknowledged that I would. But you wouldn’t have it. You asked me, in a voice so gentle it hurt, if I would live for you.
You know that I can refuse you nothing.
Not even this.
Blessed are you, Sigyn, and holy is your name.
Every day, every hour, every moment is a Victory.