death seems better than the migraine in my head
Channary has power. She hasn’t yet learned how to master it, but it is there, dwelling deep beneath her surface. It is a peculiar thing, her ability, and though she cannot see it in action she knows that it can become a force to be reckoned with if she takes the time to practice. She may not be knowledgeable about what it actually is—damn that wretched Flamevein—but she will learn to harness it and maybe one day, she will use it to punish him. She will peel the eyes from his face and drown his flames by sheer force of will.
Sandstorms will tear him apart.
She is not helpless and she is not vulnerable. She has learned ways to protect herself that do not involve the use of her eyes. Like all who have lost a sense before, her other senses have adapted and changed to make up for the loss. She can hear more clearly than most and feel the slightly vibrations in the ground when someone is near. She is not likely to be caught unawares, no matter what the others (Vulgaris) think. She is not worthless and she is the furthest thing from helpless. Just try her, you’ll find out.
The first voice she had heard is the first to speak, moving minutely to include her presence in their tiny gathering. “I’ve learned to adjust,” she responds curtly. Then, suddenly—terribly—she feels magic flowing through her and a picture is painted before her (lack of) eyes. She cannot help but silently panic; she has grown so used to the darkness that seeing again is a terrible thing. She would blink to destroy the image but she has no eyelids and the image is purely a mental one. She doesn’t let her nervousness show, but all the same she turns her head in the direction of the one feeding her the images. “In my years I’ve grown quite comfortable without my eyes, as much as you are comfortable with your sight,” she tells him, trying not to tremble. It’s discomfort as well as panic that is flooding her and she knows that he will be able to sense it. “If you could cut that out, I’d be grateful.”
Oh, she knows the name Set. Perhaps they all do; stories of the cruel magician have travelled all across Beqanna and Channary is not exactly one to ignore the gossip. He was a powerful King until his kingdom kicked him from his throne and his family started an alliance that stretch over half of the kingdoms of Beqanna. Well before Channary’s—or Channary’s mother’s—time, but they still talk about the Blood Alliance. Perhaps the immortals need to stop telling the stories and stop living in the past; the present is what’s important, not the faults of many years ago.
Vulgaris’ comment would have had her rolling her eyes if she had any (she knows, you’re all sick of the eye puns; too bad). “Aren’t you clever?” she responds dryly, glancing (Christ this is strange) in his direction. The scales and such aren’t really as off-putting as they probably should be, but probably because Channary has seen Hell itself and survived… or some cliché wordy bullshit like that. “Make fun of the girl who doesn’t have any eyes. Did you have any friends growing up?”
Yeah, she’s that bitch.
Why is she here? Why not? There’s never anything fun happening anywhere and maybe Channary wants to stir up some trouble. “I don’t know why I’m here, Vulgaris,” she says, wishing again for blackness to sweep across her eyes once more. “I just go where the sands push me.”
After a pause: “It’s too quiet in Beqanna. Maybe that’s why I’m where I am right now.”
channary
I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG I'M SUCH A DERP