07-14-2015, 11:20 PM
what is dead may never die;
"Yes."
She says it as easily and unhurriedly as though she is remarking on the weather, and with even less inflection. She takes it as fact because she assumes it must be fact, not because she knows it to be true. How could she know, really? She had not been told of titles or honors. There had been four things, four things she knows, no more and no less. But surely, surely if her parents were tied so closely to this place, they must have had a high rank.
What would she think if she understood what her father was to the Valley? What would she think if she understood what her mother was to her father? If she knew the details (or, really, lack thereof) of her own conception and existence? How would it warp her to understand? Perhaps it would break her. Perhaps it would ruin her. But it probably would not – she would probably take it in stride, blinking as her mind adjusted to the new paradigm, and continue on, unflappable.
She lets the silence hang between them for a moment.
"Yes, I can."
She does not hesitate, speaking again smoothly and quickly, soon enough that Thorrun cannot get a word in edgewise, but unhurriedly enough that it is clear she does not feel defensive. She has nothing to prove – not here, nor anywhere else. It's merely that her companion has asked a question, and questions imply that an answer is needed (except when they don't).
Her icy eyes watch the girl with a cool interest. "My name is Aletheia." her voice is calm, unhurried. "The Valley is my home." There is an almost-rhythm to her normally so affectless voice as she speaks, pausing ever so slightly in between as she recounts the few things she knows. It's almost poetry, this little list of hers, and coming from her icy lips it cannot help sounding like verse."Carnage is my father." There is one more piece, one more verse. This is the time that she should pause longer, for added dramatic effect. This is the moment before the pin drops, the last second of silence before everything will tilt. But she doesn't pause longer. She does nothing but speak, because she doesn't know. "And Librette is my mother."
The words are out, and suddenly the things she doesn't know are enough to fill an ocean.
She says it as easily and unhurriedly as though she is remarking on the weather, and with even less inflection. She takes it as fact because she assumes it must be fact, not because she knows it to be true. How could she know, really? She had not been told of titles or honors. There had been four things, four things she knows, no more and no less. But surely, surely if her parents were tied so closely to this place, they must have had a high rank.
What would she think if she understood what her father was to the Valley? What would she think if she understood what her mother was to her father? If she knew the details (or, really, lack thereof) of her own conception and existence? How would it warp her to understand? Perhaps it would break her. Perhaps it would ruin her. But it probably would not – she would probably take it in stride, blinking as her mind adjusted to the new paradigm, and continue on, unflappable.
She lets the silence hang between them for a moment.
"Yes, I can."
She does not hesitate, speaking again smoothly and quickly, soon enough that Thorrun cannot get a word in edgewise, but unhurriedly enough that it is clear she does not feel defensive. She has nothing to prove – not here, nor anywhere else. It's merely that her companion has asked a question, and questions imply that an answer is needed (except when they don't).
Her icy eyes watch the girl with a cool interest. "My name is Aletheia." her voice is calm, unhurried. "The Valley is my home." There is an almost-rhythm to her normally so affectless voice as she speaks, pausing ever so slightly in between as she recounts the few things she knows. It's almost poetry, this little list of hers, and coming from her icy lips it cannot help sounding like verse."Carnage is my father." There is one more piece, one more verse. This is the time that she should pause longer, for added dramatic effect. This is the moment before the pin drops, the last second of silence before everything will tilt. But she doesn't pause longer. She does nothing but speak, because she doesn't know. "And Librette is my mother."
The words are out, and suddenly the things she doesn't know are enough to fill an ocean.
but rises again
Aletheia
harder and stronger