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08-22-2014, 02:37 PM
take a look in the mirror - see the truth in your face How many times had she put it all back together again? It was an ugly thought, one that she chased away every time it bleated its weak cries. The child within her that had first made the thing was so far faded and lost within the dreams that had been cast to the wind that even in her must vulnerable moments she had only surfaced for the briefest of times. It was that child who had looked to Midas as her savior, when he was the portrait of the men who had wronged her in her innocence; it was that child that loved Psyche, even when the emotion could send all her carefully constructed towers down. And it was that child that hides behind the dancing gold of her eyes, that draws her into games and intrigue that are the only thing that the Lady has that are even slightly reminiscent of the play that she had lost to her desperate need for vengeance, the life lost in the darkness that had consumed her. That child clings to this face of her past, because it is a face that remembers her from before she had settled so comfortably into her ruthlessness, a time when she might have been saved from the wickedness of her current path. All innocence mourns its departure. The words that fall from Giselle’s lips pull to mind conversations held with hushed tones and in assumed privacy, shared between two friends as they set out with their proud and naïve banners furling in the wind; the lineage shared by the three siblings that had each parted onto their own paths held a common rusty link, and she can almost hear his name even though her lost friend does not speak it in the blame placed on Psyche’s failures. It makes her smile falter and curl into an ugly shape, that man who had turned away his daughters for the son who would ultimately be the greatest disgrace to him. It was a pity that men were allowed to rule, she thinks as she stares with her dark expression towards Giselle, always seeking to praise and lift on high their useless, addle minded sons when it was his daughters who held the true strength. Not to insult her own child – a boy she would raise to be a true man, not the sexist piece of shit that had reared both her darling Empress and the wicked damsel before her. "Giselle -" she begins, but closes her lips and furrows her brow, wondering if she should just drop it like she’s been asked rather than digging and prying like she was known to do, whispering in her decision: "another time." Shaking her head slowly, she turns towards the Basin, giving in to the thought that it is best to remain silent; her memories of the other sister’s temper were vivid, and she was loathe to start a fight with a friend she had only just found again. Thankfully, she carries the conversation ahead and away from the ugliness of the Basin’s losses and Illynx’s broken heart, her ears tilting towards the sound of her voice and a smile finding purchase again on her face as they head north. Her words are comforting in more ways than most know – beneath her polished exterior and gleaming grins was a girl who often dwelled in the fanciful and matters of fate. Perhaps it was so – they had been led to each other by the tender touches of the Gods. "I work to ease the fears of the other herd lands," she opens with, not sure how well Giselle will take the news so long as she doesn’t know of the full details that had been born from Mauja and Psyche’s careless control over their wolves – the wars were only the final straw, and more easily forgiven than the deaths caused outside open and honorable combat, "the former rulers left quite the list of atrocities out in the open. They are endlessly suspicious, as one would expect them to be, and I’d have been happy to let them stay that way had a threat not reared its head and glistening fangs." Continuing her explanation as she walks, her tail lazily sways across the earth behind her, catching red and gold leaves in its length which are occasionally flicked into the air with a slow swish of her dark banner. "Our General and one of our ranked spies vanished in the same week. Torleik was fine, as I’d expect a soldier to be, but Arah and her twins were quite sorely beaten," her eyes flash with undulating hatred in the memory, the name of the despicable earth rat that had done it to them crawling through her mind like the crux word of a black curse, heavy and ugly as a bloated corpse dangling from a tree, "in their pitiful state they were forced to travel from the western outskirts of the meadows to the Basin, and nearly died for their efforts to return home to the healers they so desperately needed." She sighs, feeling that same ugly emotion stirring in her chest that she had felt the first day she’d realized that hatred couldn’t stand between the other herds and her own – not if it meant that those she called family and kin would suffer so deeply for their selfish desires to rule the world and kill at will. If it would better their chances for aid when it was needed, she would put aside her disgust and hatred to help them – the Plague’s opinions be damned. She was their Lady, first and foremost; it was a mistake Psyche had made one too many times, to chose her dark coven over the herd, and Illynx had watched and learned and would repeat none of those same mistakes. "The only logical way to alleviate this problem was to extend friendship and warn others of the despicable Regime, which I did within days of Arah’s recovery," she glances over at Giselle, hoping she understands, portraying that she’d had little choice in the matter in the soft expression lingering on her face, "we now hold ties with the World’s Edge, at least economical ones, as ironic as that may be. Mirage fell in with the darkness, and her replacements are much less… draconic." She laughs at the thought of Kahlua the Sunshower and her kind golden king, how weak and timid that the river walker seems in comparison to the dark mistress that had reigned over the Qian with an iron ferocity that had kept even the most savage of her kin wary. "I don’t think Psyche was much of a juggler," she jests with a cheeky smile and light laugh, "but I like to think I’m not to terrible at it. One must keep the sheep fat and the wolves from growing restless, and it is no easy balance when the sheep are all so timid and the wolves so untamed." |
