11-04-2020, 09:20 PM
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]