[ she hesitates, looking as though she's deep in thought for a few moments before her strides become stronger now. ]
... Back home my father was a prominent Dark Priest within Prehevil. He was leader of the Church of Alll-mer and performed a number of less than savory rituals and rites to try and earn favor with the gods. Tradition dictates that the first born son would inherit his mantle, his legacy, and with it the terrible traditions of old... killing parents, killing siblings, killing loved ones for the sake of blood precious enough to beckon the gods to turn their eyes upon the mortal ants below.
[ the hand covering hers... her fingers shift so she can wind them together. her palm is cold. ]
When I was born... I was in those minutes the firstborn son. However, my mother, who wanted no part in his machinations and delusions of grandeur, who didn't want me to have to bear the brunt of their violence and misanthropy... she lied... she told my father he'd had a daughter instead. And she raised me as one—grew my hair long, dressed me accordingly... and it felt right, being raised as a girl instead of a boy.
[ she looks him in the eye. ]
It never once felt like I was someone I wasn't. She never forced me... I. It was something I instinctively knew over time was to protect me. Perhaps my soul knew as well—Changeling. Swept away in the night to be replaced anew. And I wouldn't change who I am now. Not for a moment. Not even for a second.
[ finally, she squeezes with her fingers. she looks at him with a kind of quietly pleading intensity. please understand. ]
he catches on immediately that this story is going to be important - for a moment, he's on point, listening to her every word. and the first part is so unfortunately familiar, really. it's an echo of the story of pharamea, in the worst kind of ways. (sazantos had said it: why don't you ask your precious sacred flame? he's seen the ways their church can be so evil, whether it was the name of a supposed 'good', like the creation of a flameguard, or the name of nothing but pure, unadulterated evil, like father monaris.)
when she takes his hand, he gives a small, encouraging squeeze, feeling the cold texture of her palm and trying to warm it with his own. the love of a mother, and... the way she fits into herself, the way she knows herself.
and he thinks, for a moment, of the way marina so desperately forced away what was trying to take her body in her memories. their eyes lock, and rondo's expression is soft, understanding, and - serious, too, with the gravity of such an important secret. ]
... I understand. [ softly, with a little nod of his head. ] Thank you, for... for trusting me with something so precious.
[ there's a brief moment of hesitation where she isn't quite sure how it will be taken, but he squeezes her hand. and she feels something in her cut the string of tension drawn taut in her. a small sigh leaves her and she smiles, genuinely through the nervousness. ]
... I think you've earned it.
[ she squeezes his hand back with a smile broadening a bit more. ]
There's no room for the self in the church where I come from... everything is devoted to gods, to those who have become gods themselves and seek their power. But I want to live only for myself... and for the people I choose to live for.
[ there is a certain amount of assumptions to be made with the tone of her voice. he's one of them. ]
[ soft... cute - he's glad to see that smile, so genuine and warm, and he gives her hand one more little squeeze as they ascend the stairs. up, up, up, up to the starry orbs that dot the night sky. ]
I think that's a wonderful way to live. [ to live for yourself, for those who you care for. ] And it takes a lot of strength of heart to do so.
[ too bad she's going to fUCKING DIE in like three days BUT WHATEVER
there's a little pause, his voice softening. ] I... really admire that about you a lot, Marina. You're a really strong person, you know?
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flameguard) wrote2024-06-10 03:29 pm
no subject
[ she hesitates, looking as though she's deep in thought for a few moments before her strides become stronger now. ]
... Back home my father was a prominent Dark Priest within Prehevil. He was leader of the Church of Alll-mer and performed a number of less than savory rituals and rites to try and earn favor with the gods. Tradition dictates that the first born son would inherit his mantle, his legacy, and with it the terrible traditions of old... killing parents, killing siblings, killing loved ones for the sake of blood precious enough to beckon the gods to turn their eyes upon the mortal ants below.
[ the hand covering hers... her fingers shift so she can wind them together. her palm is cold. ]
When I was born... I was in those minutes the firstborn son. However, my mother, who wanted no part in his machinations and delusions of grandeur, who didn't want me to have to bear the brunt of their violence and misanthropy... she lied... she told my father he'd had a daughter instead. And she raised me as one—grew my hair long, dressed me accordingly... and it felt right, being raised as a girl instead of a boy.
[ she looks him in the eye. ]
It never once felt like I was someone I wasn't. She never forced me... I. It was something I instinctively knew over time was to protect me. Perhaps my soul knew as well—Changeling. Swept away in the night to be replaced anew. And I wouldn't change who I am now. Not for a moment. Not even for a second.
[ finally, she squeezes with her fingers. she looks at him with a kind of quietly pleading intensity. please understand. ]
... Does this make sense, what I'm telling you?
no subject
he catches on immediately that this story is going to be important - for a moment, he's on point, listening to her every word. and the first part is so unfortunately familiar, really. it's an echo of the story of pharamea, in the worst kind of ways. (sazantos had said it: why don't you ask your precious sacred flame? he's seen the ways their church can be so evil, whether it was the name of a supposed 'good', like the creation of a flameguard, or the name of nothing but pure, unadulterated evil, like father monaris.)
when she takes his hand, he gives a small, encouraging squeeze, feeling the cold texture of her palm and trying to warm it with his own. the love of a mother, and... the way she fits into herself, the way she knows herself.
and he thinks, for a moment, of the way marina so desperately forced away what was trying to take her body in her memories. their eyes lock, and rondo's expression is soft, understanding, and - serious, too, with the gravity of such an important secret. ]
... I understand. [ softly, with a little nod of his head. ] Thank you, for... for trusting me with something so precious.
no subject
... I think you've earned it.
[ she squeezes his hand back with a smile broadening a bit more. ]
There's no room for the self in the church where I come from... everything is devoted to gods, to those who have become gods themselves and seek their power. But I want to live only for myself... and for the people I choose to live for.
[ there is a certain amount of assumptions to be made with the tone of her voice. he's one of them. ]
no subject
I think that's a wonderful way to live. [ to live for yourself, for those who you care for. ] And it takes a lot of strength of heart to do so.
[ too bad she's going to fUCKING DIE in like three days BUT WHATEVER
there's a little pause, his voice softening. ] I... really admire that about you a lot, Marina. You're a really strong person, you know?