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04-21-2015, 11:00 PM
et la vie amait la mort
She'd been rather terrified of the thought. Having previously caught someone who passed the message about the Wilds that she had been wandering about with Narcisse, the idea was simple.
Or for Narcisse, at least.
Verlaine had wanted to show her son every thing about her culture and her birthplace, to fill his mind to their endless and impossible brims with stories and the language as a whole. Like any other child would be upon learning such things, the kit cared of nothing.
It broke her weak heart, heavy with loneliness for in the past, she had been surrounded by love on every side. Emptiness cracked her walls while she silently cursed herself when he slept, oblivious to all of her death.
In the end, she began to wear her magic as a mask, clinging to the very essence of whatever unknown gift brought it upon her. Personal laws ended up being broken. The world became nonexistant, free-flowing as a liquid. She broke every single law that she could manage to break in a short period of time.
What finally came to end the rebellious spree of a young woman(though Verlaine would claim herself to be too well raised to act in such ways), was that being DEAD while being
The idea of leading rekindled a fire back into her wounded soul. Family title may of been abandoned long ago and meaningless to anyone within this place, but leading, oh, it would be an accomplishment in her life that gave her meaning. The nobility were meant to lead: it was their soul purpose in the world, to govern over the weak so that they may have guidance with religion in hand.
To be a queen sounded like a gift from God, divine right.
Having groomed as far as she could get herself to be, she traveled across land as a ghost, acting as if she was on a mission even through the afterlife. Narcisse was her only hold up, complaining at the aches in his young legs and whining for food, begging for play and attention from his mother. She would give to his needs time and time again before finally discarding her ghostly appearance, gathering the kit up and slinging him onto her spine, forced to carry the small weight of a child who would rather complain than make himself useful.
She gives him up at the borders, fading into herself once more, whispering in quick french that she is only doing this so that she could a lavish appearance, to offer a sighting and acknowledgement of a woman trying to rise to glory from the peasantry. The mountain walls would have to be scaled again to leave her valley of sorrows.
A gathering is already set up by the time she meets them. Wisps funnel from her body and flutter about the bodies, intertwining herself about their bodies as the fingers of star crossed lovers do. Violet eyes paint themselves a dull grey. The light strikes her body and fades her away like a picture from years gone by, but she does nothing to change herself from it.
They all make her feel funny, thinking war can be given away forever. War built societies, goverments, empires. War was the basis of life.
The spotted, who releases his anger out upon all that stand about, is ignored. Nobility had been attacked time and time again, the lower classes rising up to better themselves against the more fortunate.
The same old, same old, as her father would of told her.
When her chance rises from the dawn, she snaps into reality, expelling the magic from her form, replacing a future permanent form with a temporary, living, breathing form. Her throat clears to bring attention down to her short stature.
"I stand here before you as Verlaine, a victomesse of a place none of you probably care to know of. I do not speak your language in the same skill as any of you. I come from a place of a much different society, but I offer myself up as a leader." Her french accent rains hail upon her words, stopping at some internals to translate words in her head. Narcisse sits beside her hooves and naps, indifferent to all that his bonded speaks of.
"But of all of my differences that I'm willing to let be known with pride, there is one thing I am sure of. Society is addicted to war, and while I care nothing of war, war is crucial to every bit of a growing society from armies to treaties. Without war, every single one of you will be bored with yourselves. Even if you agree to neutrality, someone from the outside will always step in.
"Instead of the empty idea of no more war, I would like to strive to improve the comforts of this home for all those within it, and make treaties and alliances in such a way that if we may go to war when it is called upon, we would have the correct advantages that lead us to victory. I will never force the herd into war if it is not needed."
She calms her beating heart, overwhelmed by the speaking with a headache setting in. Pure nationalism beat the idea of her first language into her mind. "I want to establish a solid foundation of nationalism. No strong herd deserves to be known as cowards." Violet eyes burn into the bodies of the two females who had put seemingly put themselves in charge. Pride bursts a hot flame in her chest.
"I want to be a leader because I want to see the true strength of the herd that kindly offered me a home when I was tired and on my knees."
OOC: So. Much. Muse.
I didn't expect her to be like this, but somehow it lit a flame in her.
Verlaine is here to try for diplomatic lead, and Ophelia is more than welcome to use her magic on her.
