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07-28-2013, 02:44 PM
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CIRCE Listening to her Dark Lady’s rebuttal to her earlier claim, a genuine chuckle escaped Circe’s lips, free from some of the scorn and bitterness that had coated her mirth just moments earlier. Ktulu’s words reminded her of the memory of a blue-pelted Pegasus mare she had witnessed during a trip with Ophelia, a trek to spread the word of the pitiful Assassin threat that barely rated for the term. “I’ve met one of those weak spirits,” the shadowmere reminisced, an ease returning to her voice, soft and subtle as it was, “She accused us and compared us to the scrawny group of cutthroats we dealt with recently. In your sister’s face, I might add. I was quick to rectify the misconception that we were cowardly.” Her blood still burned at the memory, and deep down the shadowmere yearned that she could’ve given a physical reprimand for the thoughtless words of the soldier mare—but all at once her passion began to die, and in its dying ashes her pain threatened to overwhelm her once again. She snorted softly, a wistful sigh in the falling darkness. The sorceress mulled over her words to the soldier she had given so long ago, an entire world away from the abyss she had found herself slipping toward. “We are not cowards,” Circe said, a mere whisper of whisper, and she pondered the meaning of that simple phrase; what it meant to have courage. To have the vigor of facing your enemy and striking them down, regardless of what otherworldly fear you might possess, was one sort of courage Circe knew she could boast of possessing; to know what you want and have the gut to take it, accomplish it, and realize it was a kind of courage she prided herself in having. But the courage of admitting what she considered the most absurd of hurts was one she hadn’t considered up until this moment. The heart to say and accept what her mind, her body, her very marrow refused with all her might: Callisto is gone, and I am still alive. There is no compromise. Circe gasped some, trying to get her weeping under control—and finding that it was easier than it had been in a long time to stifle her tears and suppress her sobs. She supposed that she was not running from the pain anymore; that she had faced it, and suffered the knotted core of it without destruction. Now all she had to do was heal. “….I’m sorry,” Circe said again to her Dark Lady, dipping her head and rubbing her face onto the side of her foreleg, wiping the tracks of salty tears that had etched themselves onto her cheeks, “I did not mean to fall to pieces in front of you like that. It may not be a strict display of spinelessness but…” she chuckled some, giving a sort of helpless shrug, “…I know it doesn’t quite inspire confidence much, does it?” |
