Straia has always simply been herself. She has never bothered with what others might think, or morals, or caring. Certainly she cared about certain things – the Chamber, those that lived here – but outside of those few things, everyone else was simply collateral. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that’s hardly her fault. They existed because they needed to exist so that the Chamber had something to ground out of existence or pick on or whatever the case might be. They existed as a comparison. Nothing more.
She walks to her own drum, and she’s perfectly fine with that. Cellar was the opposite. She ignored whatever she might be, and walked to the beat of a drum played by someone else. It could be useful for the Chamber, certainly, though Straia thought that this mare, if unburdened but such trivial things as morals, could be far more than any of them. She could be amazing.
Gryffen would try to force it. It’s evident in his words. And perhaps he can make this transformation happen, though in the end, it is up to Cellar and Cellar alone. The girl mentions her birth, and Straia chuckles slightly. “I was born to be a pawn. I didn’t like that plan.” She says. Birth is irrelevant. “Just remember, around here, our definition of worse may not be what you think.” She grins slightly, her eyes sparkling with a bit of mischief, flicking her tail.
“If you ever want to talk Cellar, you know where to find me.” She nods to both of them, figuring Gryffen had plenty of plans to put into motion and that it might be best if she weren’t directly privy to them for the moment. And so she takes her leave of the little group, slightly pleased at their new weapon, whether she chose to serve Gryffen or be herself. She doesn’t give a backward glance to the body of the girl or the blood seeping into the ground. The ravens would be pleased enough with whatever the Chamber did not take.
straia
the raven queen of the chamber
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
