S E R A P H I N A
in the absence of everything
ABSTAIN FROM FEAR--
in the absence of everything
ABSTAIN FROM FEAR--
She heard him out in a patient silence, watching his expression – there was pain there, she thought, when he spoke, though he quickly turned his head away to hide it. Seraphina had never possessed a nature that was especially trusting, but she sensed no lies in his explanation. If he was guilty of anything, it was obliviousness.
Her voice came quick and easy as the crack of a whip. “I see.” Rostislav, she realized, knew nothing of the trouble he had stepped into by choosing the moon over her brother; how could he? He was of foreign blood, woefully unaware of the troubles of the citizens of Novus…woefully unaware of the blood that had been spilled before there was a Maxence or a Reichenbach, woefully unaware of the open loathing between the two nations, woefully unaware of the suspicions.
Well. Now he knew.
“I can promise you that I will speak to Maxence on your behalf. Whether or not he listens…” Seraphina was not an especially honorable creature, though she held to her promises – she was just and upright under the strict restraints of law and little more, unguided by the same moralities and spiritual doctrines that seemed to sway her fellows. She worshipped at the altar of raw pragmatism and considered life as a series of causes and effects. Occasionally she considered that it was a pitiful way to live, or so she’d been told, thinking of the world as something mathematical, not something to love and embrace and enjoy, to chase with every fiber of her spirit...whatever that meant. She didn’t know. She didn’t know, and she didn’t want to know. (She thought sometimes of people that she’d met with fire. She thought of Rostislav’s rage earlier in their conversation. She thought of what Viceroy had told her to do if ever she were captured. Give them nothing. If you can escape, escape. If you cannot, bite out your tongue before they can torture you into giving anything up. If you must give up anything, give up your life. If, if, if, if… It was always a matter of clinging.)
With that, she turned, hooves clacking harshly against the sandstone. “Good day, Rostislav.” And then she was gone, a trail of silver smoke billowing out of the prison doors – and up towards the sun.
@Rostislav - me @myself, suddenly, after replying to that other thread : should probably close this thread.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
