Iris
11-19-2020, 06:41 PM
all things are poisons
for there is nothing without poisonous qualities.
She comes because she should, and perhaps for the promise of a spectacle. Though she is aware of her mother’s plans, Iris has never truly been involved in them. Straia does her own thing, really, occasionally asking her children to check on something or go to the field, but generally letting her two daughters do as they please. And Iris pleases to explore, to hone her traits and gather new pets to play with. She spends little time in the midst of her mother’s schemes for she does not have an interest in such things (not yet, anyway).
Still, it is impossible to ignore the fire that does not burn her. The ghosts scream, some in terror, others in delight. The voices are a constant in her life, never turned off. She can dim them, but she cannot quite seem to master shutting them out all together, though perhaps that is only because she does not want to. They are useful friends to have, after all.
She makes her way through the flames as they die. Straia is not hard to find (she is never hard to find), and there are a few others there already. One is clearly angry and the other betrays no emotion though even Iris can deduce that he is not necessarily pleased. But then again, outside of Straia, would anyone be? Iris, for her part, just honestly doesn’t care. She is too young to have an attachment to any land, and in her short life she has already lived in now three different homes at Straia’s whim.
Though she has heard stories of the Chamber and knows it's important to her mother, she feels no real attachment to it. Nor did she feel any real attachment to Pangea or the Cove. She’d never lived in any one of them long enough to grow connected, as so many seem to. To her, it is a land, a place to come back to, but her home has only ever been her family. ”Does it matter what a place looks like?” she asks the angry white mare, with a childlike innocence that benefits her in this moment. It is partly fake, for Iris has never been innocent, but it is partly real, because she truly doesn’t see that it matters. She doesn’t even ask to defend Straia, because the question implies that what Straia did was unnecessary. No, Iris does not take her mother’s side, but her own, and she just doesn’t quite understand the anger, or even her mother’s unwavering focus to bring this place back. ”I would think that a home is made by those you live with.”
Still, it is impossible to ignore the fire that does not burn her. The ghosts scream, some in terror, others in delight. The voices are a constant in her life, never turned off. She can dim them, but she cannot quite seem to master shutting them out all together, though perhaps that is only because she does not want to. They are useful friends to have, after all.
She makes her way through the flames as they die. Straia is not hard to find (she is never hard to find), and there are a few others there already. One is clearly angry and the other betrays no emotion though even Iris can deduce that he is not necessarily pleased. But then again, outside of Straia, would anyone be? Iris, for her part, just honestly doesn’t care. She is too young to have an attachment to any land, and in her short life she has already lived in now three different homes at Straia’s whim.
Though she has heard stories of the Chamber and knows it's important to her mother, she feels no real attachment to it. Nor did she feel any real attachment to Pangea or the Cove. She’d never lived in any one of them long enough to grow connected, as so many seem to. To her, it is a land, a place to come back to, but her home has only ever been her family. ”Does it matter what a place looks like?” she asks the angry white mare, with a childlike innocence that benefits her in this moment. It is partly fake, for Iris has never been innocent, but it is partly real, because she truly doesn’t see that it matters. She doesn’t even ask to defend Straia, because the question implies that what Straia did was unnecessary. No, Iris does not take her mother’s side, but her own, and she just doesn’t quite understand the anger, or even her mother’s unwavering focus to bring this place back. ”I would think that a home is made by those you live with.”
it is only the dose that matters
iris