sometimes we want what we want --
-- even if we know it’s going to kill us.
Not that she minds.
Eventually he steps away, surveying the Chamber of her memory. Perhaps it is imperfect, though she suspects her memory of it is as true a memory as anyone could create. The Chamber had been her first love, her only true love in some ways (for all that she cared for Weed, she had cared for the Chamber above even her own children).
She lets him go, surrounded now by the pine forests she had known so well, comforted by the beating of Atrox’s heart, false though it may be, beneath her feet. "No, I would not,” she says, voice thoughtful. ”Some things, once lost, cannot truly be reclaimed.”
The Beqanna they once knew is gone. Straia could not make the fairies return magic to Beqanna as it once had been. Even if she could, it would never truly be the same. There were too many that belonged to this new Beqanna and they could not understand that which they never have. Still, she could create something better. ”But I would create something akin to it. All the lands here are the same. What of the Deserts we once knew, or the Amazons? What happened to kingdoms that stood for something?”
Yes, even she can appreciate kingdoms that were not her own. The Amazonian women were pesky thorns in her side, as were the goodie goodies in the Deserts. Still, they had put up a fight. Still, they had believed in something more than just living. ”I would remake the Chamber, in a fashion. The pine forests, at least. Perhaps Atrox will grow me a new heart…” she grins at that, matching his own wicked gleam. ”But the rest? I want others to join in. I want to give them purpose again.” She would ask. Ask them what world they wanted to create and then help them all create something better.
-- straia
the raven queen
@[weed]
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission