Breaking Vanity
Posted: Wed Jan 30, 2019 9:48 pm
The waves broke against the cliff as crashing porcelain.
The young woman had tears streaming down her cheeks while she sobbed without control, her feet dangling over the edge while she sat there. The ruby-tipped staff she carried everywhere lay in the short, scruffy grass behind her, haphazardly discarded from her grip just moments earlier. She has yet to process what happened - it was over too quickly. Her hand held at her stomach, and she felt the sickness born of grief. She had to recount what she had seen.
...Sandstone walls and dim lights - no, no, that could not have been it. They flickered in her mind as toying mirages, distorting in and out. The solar of an estate, the brightness of the glass encased candelabras, an opulence only known to the Sembian elite - it broke again. Her mind shot back to the sandstone walls and the dim lights, forced into seeing the truth.
Amidst the dimness, stands a man. He smiled at her - for what reason? His blue eyes told of fear and worry and grief. White hair - no, blonde hair. Blonde hair and brown eyes... She took a deep breath and steadied herself, the vision still racing through her mind.
She saw her father in the darkness, dim lights briefly washing over his face. He looks at her coldly, in his regal suit, blonde hair and beard cropped and brown eyes narrowed in disgust. He viewed her as a rat, a shame, a liability that only he could bring to right. She could not speak against him, move, or tear her gaze away from the image of what she had been fleeing from - but he shattered to a thousand pieces in front of her. The shadows moved and flickered again, distorted, and she turned back to the truth.
The white-haired, blue-eyed man still smiled at her as he snapped his fingers to bring her back to him. His fear and worry and grief are her fault, and this brought her pain. He was familiar, but not; known in the moment, but lost to time. He reached into his pocket, and took out a flower... a desert bloom. The rarest beauty that shone in the most unlikely places. Realization, as its scent reached her, and the shadows parted away. There was nothing there anymore.
"Think. Swallow. Then think more."
"...Swallow?"
"Yes." The wildling started pacing away, turning her back to the human she shared a small, gold-flecked marble with. "Be good."
The young woman rolled the marble for a few moments in her hands, confused but intrigued. The wild elf was a mystery, a menace, someone she did not understand nor assumed to ever even partly grasp. There was so much that was alien about her, so much that was surreal - but there was familiarity. She shouted after her, reassuring, "I will be!".
There was nothing there anymore. The tears stopped their cascade, and the pain dulled. The shadows dissipated from her mind's eye, but so did the smiling man. Sandstone walls shifted out to an open field and a summer night's clear sky, and dim candlelight was replaced by the dull glory of the full moon and stars above her head. Lying in the grass, her gaze turned to the aether and with a chill breeze stroking her cheeks, Vera Leuvaarden could only smell the desert bloom.
The young woman had tears streaming down her cheeks while she sobbed without control, her feet dangling over the edge while she sat there. The ruby-tipped staff she carried everywhere lay in the short, scruffy grass behind her, haphazardly discarded from her grip just moments earlier. She has yet to process what happened - it was over too quickly. Her hand held at her stomach, and she felt the sickness born of grief. She had to recount what she had seen.
...Sandstone walls and dim lights - no, no, that could not have been it. They flickered in her mind as toying mirages, distorting in and out. The solar of an estate, the brightness of the glass encased candelabras, an opulence only known to the Sembian elite - it broke again. Her mind shot back to the sandstone walls and the dim lights, forced into seeing the truth.
Amidst the dimness, stands a man. He smiled at her - for what reason? His blue eyes told of fear and worry and grief. White hair - no, blonde hair. Blonde hair and brown eyes... She took a deep breath and steadied herself, the vision still racing through her mind.
She saw her father in the darkness, dim lights briefly washing over his face. He looks at her coldly, in his regal suit, blonde hair and beard cropped and brown eyes narrowed in disgust. He viewed her as a rat, a shame, a liability that only he could bring to right. She could not speak against him, move, or tear her gaze away from the image of what she had been fleeing from - but he shattered to a thousand pieces in front of her. The shadows moved and flickered again, distorted, and she turned back to the truth.
The white-haired, blue-eyed man still smiled at her as he snapped his fingers to bring her back to him. His fear and worry and grief are her fault, and this brought her pain. He was familiar, but not; known in the moment, but lost to time. He reached into his pocket, and took out a flower... a desert bloom. The rarest beauty that shone in the most unlikely places. Realization, as its scent reached her, and the shadows parted away. There was nothing there anymore.
"Think. Swallow. Then think more."
"...Swallow?"
"Yes." The wildling started pacing away, turning her back to the human she shared a small, gold-flecked marble with. "Be good."
The young woman rolled the marble for a few moments in her hands, confused but intrigued. The wild elf was a mystery, a menace, someone she did not understand nor assumed to ever even partly grasp. There was so much that was alien about her, so much that was surreal - but there was familiarity. She shouted after her, reassuring, "I will be!".
There was nothing there anymore. The tears stopped their cascade, and the pain dulled. The shadows dissipated from her mind's eye, but so did the smiling man. Sandstone walls shifted out to an open field and a summer night's clear sky, and dim candlelight was replaced by the dull glory of the full moon and stars above her head. Lying in the grass, her gaze turned to the aether and with a chill breeze stroking her cheeks, Vera Leuvaarden could only smell the desert bloom.