02-25-2017, 07:13 AM
"You must master it before it masters you."
What a loaded thing to tell a child, one who was juggling this very thought in her mind. She remembers the way anger rises up in her throat and threatens to spill over and destroy everything around her. She doesn't do it consciously but it happens. Before she knows it she can feel the sickness in the pit of her stomach and push it out of her lungs, out of her nostrils, into the air to take flight and infect those around her. It's as though she's aerosolized her anger and used it to destroy all around her.
Part of her wishes for nothing more than to keep this from happening. She cannot wish boils on every horse that crosses her, she'd be forever left to the darkness. But something else pulls at her mind, a reminder of something else.
If she can control it, maybe she can keep it from hurting herself? She looks at the scales that slide off her legs in the purulent discharge of the boils. She thinks of the scabs that form and burst and heal again, waiting to rot her leg off. Maybe, just maybe, she can escape unharmed. Maybe...
She pushes these thoughts from her head and turns those wide eyes to Rodrik. "I want to. I have to. I...I need to. Learn, that is. Control." The last word is a whisper, a promise of something in the future.
The girl smiles.
What a loaded thing to tell a child, one who was juggling this very thought in her mind. She remembers the way anger rises up in her throat and threatens to spill over and destroy everything around her. She doesn't do it consciously but it happens. Before she knows it she can feel the sickness in the pit of her stomach and push it out of her lungs, out of her nostrils, into the air to take flight and infect those around her. It's as though she's aerosolized her anger and used it to destroy all around her.
Part of her wishes for nothing more than to keep this from happening. She cannot wish boils on every horse that crosses her, she'd be forever left to the darkness. But something else pulls at her mind, a reminder of something else.
If she can control it, maybe she can keep it from hurting herself? She looks at the scales that slide off her legs in the purulent discharge of the boils. She thinks of the scabs that form and burst and heal again, waiting to rot her leg off. Maybe, just maybe, she can escape unharmed. Maybe...
She pushes these thoughts from her head and turns those wide eyes to Rodrik. "I want to. I have to. I...I need to. Learn, that is. Control." The last word is a whisper, a promise of something in the future.
The girl smiles.