09-24-2024, 10:55 AM
(This post was last modified: 09-26-2024, 02:13 PM by bumbleebumblebee.)
![[Image: yRWEQJT.png]](https://i.imgur.com/yRWEQJT.png)
"Freedom...peace? Only to be experienced, through...death?"
...since you shared your story, it'd be unfair if I didn't share mine.
Ever since I can remember, I've been mistreated by most, and it took so long for me to understand why. Why my parents forced me to hide when we had guests over. Why I was seldom allowed to go outside. Why I was forced to obscure my face, made to keep my head covered, during the few times I was allowed to see sunlight as a child...
I was probably eight, or nine, when I overhead the servants whispering. Murmuring about the "accursed child", the "abomination", the "taint upon the bloodline." The creature they described terrified me, as they spoke of the scorn my family would receive for allowing "that thing" to exist. They called my mother a fool for not aborting it, and blamed my father for it's creation. When they mentioned the abnormal growth upon "it's" head, I grasped my horns and realized...
I hid from my father that day. As, he oft entered my chambers in the evenings. He'd bring me the few things that brought me comfort, during the isolation. Instruments that he'd teach me to play, but only when mother was away from the manor. Paints of all hues, fine brushes that I wish were still in my possession.
But, this day, he spent the entire evening consoling me. In a lapse of judgment, he stayed within my chambers for too long, the paints, brushes, and papers he'd intended to gift me lie scattered upon the floors. So, when mother arrived, to see him coddling their abomination of a child, I finally understood why it was that I could only paint at certain times. Why I could only play music, at certain times. Why I spent most of my life, alone.
That the beast they thought so poorly of, was me.
I hid from my father that day. As, he oft entered my chambers in the evenings. He'd bring me the few things that brought me comfort, during the isolation. Instruments that he'd teach me to play, but only when mother was away from the manor. Paints of all hues, fine brushes that I wish were still in my possession.
But, this day, he spent the entire evening consoling me. In a lapse of judgment, he stayed within my chambers for too long, the paints, brushes, and papers he'd intended to gift me lie scattered upon the floors. So, when mother arrived, to see him coddling their abomination of a child, I finally understood why it was that I could only paint at certain times. Why I could only play music, at certain times. Why I spent most of my life, alone.
This woman was evil, I thought.
She beat him, black and blue, right before my eyes. She berated him for coddling me. Reminded him, that I was only allowed to live, so long as he kept my existence a secret. Scorned him, for wasting coin on me, blamed him for my birth defect. I was supposed to be a noble of Aen, aid to the princess, but how could they insult the Queen by offering her daughter a beast?
Things changed that day.
Father stopped bringing his gifts. His visits were rare. The only comforts I had, were the few brushes, and inks, that mother's servants didn't find when searching and cleansing my room of waste. I started training, that day. One of the trusted servants was tasked with turning me into something useful. For, if I couldn't serve the public, I could become useful for the family in some form, or fashion. They spoke of sending me to the Dorian's, when I was of age, to be trained as a soldier under a different name. Couldn't risk sullying the name of their bloodline.
The next few years were a blur. I'd train from sun up, to sun down, in an isolated part of mothers garden. I hated it. I hated it so much. But, what I think I hated most, was that I'd only have an hour a night, at best, to draw...before exhaustion claimed me, and the cycle repeated. A cycle that wasn't broken, until I met....
The next few years were a blur. I'd train from sun up, to sun down, in an isolated part of mothers garden. I hated it. I hated it so much. But, what I think I hated most, was that I'd only have an hour a night, at best, to draw...before exhaustion claimed me, and the cycle repeated. A cycle that wasn't broken, until I met....
You.
But, it's getting late, and the desert gets so terribly cold at night. So, I'll continue this, another time...
"I was born cursed, shackled by the duties of my blood, and while it may not have been intentional, you freed me.
Through death I attained liberation, but the death certainly wasn't mine, best friend."