[private] will never be pretty

[Straia]

sometimes we want what we want --
    -- even if we know it’s going to kill us.

She waits. Greta will come, of that there is no doubt. The only thing Straia does not know is what the girl will want. Eight has never been kind enough to grant her the freedom of choice, something that Straia believes every child should be given. Children were not merely useful tools to be used and disposed of at will. They were lives that could be shaped into something far greater.

Though it is not boring waiting. There is much for Straia to do in the wake of the attack. She cannot bring herself to call it a war for it was no such thing. It was children playing at war while Ghaul was off doing...honestly, she doesn’t really know. Other than to bring chaos, a goal she had once had herself, she does not know the point of his actions. Even her chaos had had a point. She’d put the Chamber back on the map, made it something to be feared again.

Now she wanted something greater still, not that this was surprising. But Pangea was left dead and empty, or near enough, in the aftermath. Some of her job would simply be to rebuild, so in a Beqanna with so many lands there was only so much anyone could do. It was on the list of problems she would like to remedy in this Beqanna…

Today, she simply works on restoring the flooded land, continuing to decrease the waters, removing ice. She had used a lot of magic in the beginning simply to make it safe again, and now she makes it...well, not pretty, but better. Pangea would never be pretty, really.

-- straia

the raven queen

@[greta]

[greta]

GRETA

I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; shook it like a dog with a bone until it knew the fear of good love.

" Do you remember? "

She has nothing, and no one. There is nothing quite tying her to Beqanna, and everything that is pulling her back into the black abyss of Eight’s glass dome. There is a constant fear that edges on the horizon - the idea that she will hear his voice beckoning her back, commanding her to be shut away again. And what is there here to keep her fighting from his order? What could possibly help her grit her teeth, bite her lips until there is copper blood, and dig her hooves into the soft earth saying no, no, no - I will not go?

There is just one thing now - now that Ghaul has turned to rock and ash and death - and that is the corvid queen. That aged and wondrous soul she had met what feels so long ago. The one she had followed to the edge of battle with the urge to answer her query. The one she hardly knows, but feels drawn to like a red string. Why? She does not know. Perhaps it is her father, raging inside of her, keening towards the Raven queen as he once had. Perhaps it is simply feeling so lost, and needing some kind of force to drag her back to earth.

The mare had told her to go back to safety, to leave the scorched land they stood upon and seek refuge - a command to find her later. And so Greta left, her obedience forever keeping her in check. It did not feel like a harsh command, it was soft and gentle and tucked itself quietly in the corner of Greta’s mind. But it was there none the less.

The land was still sodden, but not soaked. Greta had watched the days pass, roaming the land to look for the new queen. Come and find me, she had said - and so Greta sought. She called into the caverns, she walked the path of the rivers, she climbed the achingly high mountains. And finally - Greta found her, fiercely at work, tendrils of magic seeping from her skin and into the land around them. She stayed a safe distance away, not wanting to distract the woman from her work, waiting for a moment when she would be least likely to interrupt.

“I found you. I was looking. You told me to look and I tried so very hard to. And now I have found you.”

@[Straia]

[Straia]

sometimes we want what we want --
    -- even if we know it’s going to kill us.

Today, it seems, would be the day. She is engrossed in her work, but still, she feels the tingle of her magic as Greta comes to find her, and she is expecting the voice when she finally hears the girl. Not truly a child, though Straia cannot help but see her as such. Eight, it would seem, had never given his daughter the space to grow up, to become more.

Straia turns her attention to Greta, a warm smile on her lips, her amber eyes cool and calculating as always, but there is a warmth there too. Straia may be capable of much, but that did not mean she was without a heart. ”You did well, Greta,” she says in that smoky voice of hers, nodding at the girl. ”I am glad you have come.”

Not that Straia doubted that she would, but still, she does mean it. She is glad Greta is here, for Straia wants to offer her what Eight never did. Freedom. ”I have a question for you, and I want you to answer honestly. There is no right or wrong answer, understand?” She pauses, making sure this part is clear before she continues. ”It seems to me that you have lived under the grip of your father for far too long. I would free you, if you wish it. I do not expect you to follow me in exchange either. You will be allowed to choose your own path.”

-- straia

the raven queen

@[greta]

[greta]

GRETA

I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; shook it like a dog with a bone until it knew the fear of good love.

" Do you remember? "

The queen has done nothing but work, it seems. Her relentless desire to build Pangea back from the dust, to create it into (perhaps?) something new? What did she have in her dark mind? What was she toiling towards after her appearance in the darkness of the battle?
The queen turns with a smile one might give a child. And truly, that is what Greta portrays. Despite the years that she has lived tucked away, and how she should be quite gray and wise now, she is still just a child. Her features are doe-like in their innocence, her mind still naive, her experiences nothing beyond the globe of Eight’s magic. The queen’s voice is just as gentle as her gaze - like she is holding a small dove in her hands, wary of frightening it off. But Greta is not scared just yet, not like she was in Eight’s world. She is excited, welcoming to all the knowledge and experience that could become of this new life.
“I did just as you said! I came right here and waited to find you! Greta is smiling and true - her front feet pattering lightly on the ground in excitement. And then, Straia’s question - a gift and a curse in itself. The queen is precise in her questions - as if she knows that there are limits and rules to how Greta lives. There is no room to waver or question in how the queen asks.
There is comfort in safety; a serene (and stern) wrapping around your soul. Who would she be if she couldn’t obey? If she didn’t have any fight left inside of her? Straia asks if she wants freedom, and she does not know. Could this dark queen free her from the endless years of relentless manipulation? But who would she be outside of that? How does she decide what is right and what is wrong - what to do - who to be?

“Could you please..”- and it almost seems too much to be possible- a taste of freedom, a glimpse at what it would be like to be her own. But that is almost too much - she does not know what it is like to answer to no one. The thought is too terrifying. It makes her stomach churn and begs her to flee from this - makes her wish that she had never come (as if she had a choice). “I don’t know. I don’t think freedom is that easy. I know He would never allow me to walk as my own. B-b-ut.. Can you make it so he never sees me?” She is not sure how else to word this - how else to ask that her father never touch her again. To ask to be hidden away from his snow globe of a world with his commands, and torture, and strings tied to her heart.

@[Straia]

[Straia]

sometimes we want what we want --
    -- even if we know it’s going to kill us.

Most of them are children to her. So young, in the grand scheme of things. There were others, of course, who had lived far longer and knew more, yet still she wondered if they were children too, in some ways. Ever since she became whatever exactly she is now, she feels ancient. Decades and centuries older than she actually is. She is still herself, and yet she is so very different from the mare she once used to be. Funny how you can change entirely and not at all.

The girl is clearly pleased with her job well done, but Straia’s hope for her is so different. It is not to follow commands but to learn to make them, to question them, to decide her own path. Everyone deserves such a choice. They deserve to choose who they follow. She does not demand unquestioning loyalty from her subjects, and she knows there is much to be earned still, but she would earn it. And for those she could not, she would let them go without hard feelings.

It is the next part of the conversation that is important, and Straia waits as Greta weighs her options. Straia chuckles slightly at her words, her smile turning sly and mischievous. ”Your father is powerful, but I am moreso,” she says. It’s probably true, anyway. It certainly feels true, with this strange entity magic she now wields. Though in reality, truth does not always matter so long as you pretend it is true. If you are confident enough, most will believe you and that, really, is what matters.

She calls on that magic now, twisting and shaping something unseen around Greta until she will be rendered nearly invisible from Eight. Ah, how he would not like that. If he figures out it is her magic that shields the girl though, she is sure she can handle him. ”There. You are invisible to your father’s magic, though not his literal sight.” To make the girl literally invisible to one horse was another matter, but she could shield her from his magical senses. ”Have you ever dreamed of what you might do with freedom?”

-- straia

the raven queen

@[greta]

[greta]

GRETA

I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; shook it like a dog with a bone until it knew the fear of good love.

" Do you remember? "

Will she ever cease to be a child? Some days, it feels as though she will not. How long can a soul stay tucked away to their own devices? The result is relentless psychosis, or to tuck away into your own mind and create your own world. So she did. She made the most of her small world that Eight had built her. She stayed always in wonder of the trees and how they swayed in the make-believe breeze, she learned to make games with herself to keep occupied (how high could she jump, how much grass could she really fit in her mouth, how long could she truly hold out from her Father’s command?
The choices were quite simple: forge into the shadows of crazy, or stray in the light of being a child forever. In the end, there is quite little she can do without being told - whether bound by her obedience or created by the world of being a naive child.

The dark queen makes a statement that Greta nearly gasps at - a being more powerful than her all-creating father. Had she truly found someone that was bound by nothing? That had no fear of his dark eyes, dark soul, dark heart? Straia seemed unphased by her request and thought little of it. She did not dwell on the torture that her Father could bare down, she did not even stutter over her decree of power. Greta bent her head humbly (perhaps even, in disbelief that her journey had lead her to the one person that found power over her Father). What little luck she had ever found in life - it seemed it was coming to her ten fold now.

Greta waits quietly to see if Straia could grant her this one request, this one desire to finally be in the shadows (the place her father always roamed - but finally could not find her in her own shadows). She feels feather-light tingles roaming her skin, what she would imagine a mothers’ gentle caress to feel like. It was a cloak being flung over her - a freedom that she had yet to have in her years of life. Perhaps her Father was finally foolish for letting her go. Freedom tasted bright, like a tinge of fire in her soul, like the wisps of fallen feathers on her skin. It is a wonder and a fearful thing.

Greta blinks, her head swaying back and forth to look around her (as if her Father would know that she had done something Horrible and suddenly appear). “That’s it? He cannot find me?” A childish smile of glee spreads across her face for the first time since she pierced the grounds of Beqanna. She looks back to Straia in answer: “This is freedom, ma’am. To me, anyway.” Her smile cannot be contained. “I do not know anything other than how I am now. The thought of anything else is too fearful, I think.” She pauses, thinking with a cocked head. “What would you do if you did not feel free? And then found it again?”

@[Straia]

[Straia]

sometimes we want what we want --
    -- even if we know it’s going to kill us.

She is bound by one thing and one thing only, the Chamber. It is her anchor, her north star. But otherwise, Straia is bound and beholden to none. Carnage could outdo her, certainly, though he was unlikely to be on the opposite side of any fight (if he could even be found on any side). Carnage lived for himself, where Straia lived for the Chamber, and now, for what Beqanna could be. No magician will frighten her, when her goals are so much bigger than anything one magician could be. Even one as dark and cruel as Eight (for in the end, she would not consider herself better, just different).

The magic is an easy thing, but the girl’s reaction is well worth the effort. It would have been worth much more. ”He cannot find you easily, at any rate. Magic is always an imperfect thing, but if you do not want to be found, he is unlikely to succeed.” Intention was half the battle where magic was concerned. She must learn to stand on her own feet now. ”If you seek him, even in the very depths of your heart where even you barely go, it will give him a path in. Do you understand?”

At the girl’s question though, Straia grins slightly, and there is a spark of the child she once was in that. ”I would make damn sure that no one ever took my freedom again.” It is clear that she means so much more, that she would stop at nothing to burn the world to the ground and make herself so much more than any of them. In a way, hadn’t she once done exactly that? Lived under her father’s thumb until she’d been given the opportunity to take his throne instead?

-- straia

the raven queen

@[greta]