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She expected a comment similar to the ones she'd received earlier, perhaps something along the lines of how enjoyable it was to rip the wings from pegasi or the hearts from equines. She wouldn't have been surprised to have found him attacking her, either, striking at her for the crime of asking awkward questions, for asking him why he did what he did. The woman was not an expert on the psychology of killers, but she did have a certain amount of experience of being on the receiving end of needless beatings. She had often wondered how her mother justified the way she treated her young, handicapped daughter; how had she slept at night, knowing Nyx was shivering beneath a bush somewhere without supper after failing that day's test? How had she lived with herself when she used her child as a punching bag to take out all her anger and hatred at the world? How had she continued the treatment day after day, month after month, without ever questioning why she was doing it? Likely the same way Mauja and d'Artagnan lived with themselves after murdering somebody for being different. By switching it off and hiding behind a wall of stony indifference. Nyx could never live like that. She was not an emotional creature, and hid her soul behind carefully erected walls of iron, but she was unable to remove the haggling feeling of guilt whenever she did something wrong. When she said something she regretted in an argument, she would apologise afterwards. When she got a bit carried away during a spar and caused more damage than intended, she beat herself up about it for days and weeks following. And when she killed, she loathed herself; allowed herself to be devoured with guilt and entered a deep depression that lasted until she could smother her emotions and get on with life. But she readily accepted others weren't like that - they could kill without a second thought, without ever thinking twice. They did not need a reason, or used racism as reason enough; whether Nyx was weaker or stronger than these individuals, she could never quite decide. Then he spoke, and the soldier was jerked from her own reverie. I don't. She kept her expression stoic, hoping her silence would coax more of an explanation from him. She was astonished as he admitted himself that his racism was blind and irrational, but that he did it anyway, and the silver mare was quiet for quite a few moments as she processed that new information. "A crime of passion," she murmured, more to herself than to him. Perhaps she shouldn't have called it a crime, but that was what it was to her. Cold blooded murder, without rhyme or reason. "I came from a land where racism was in the blood of everybody who lived there. It seemed like every day there was a new war - wing against horn, horn against dragon. I never understood why." She had no idea why she was saying that, but the words fell from her unbidden. She was near enough admitting that she disagreed with racism - as if it wasn't blindingly obvious already - and knew such a comment could endanger her, but for now she decided honesty was the best policy. Her eyes, which had shifted to gaze off into the middle distance, returned to the stallion, curiosity still rife in their pupils. "When was the last time?" You murdered someone for being hornless? Oh, she was really pushing it now, like teasing a hungry wolf - but she knew she was unlikely to get honesty from Mauja ever again should they meet, and was keen to seize her advantage. |
Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.
