Gabby: The Exercise of Vital Powers
Glory of warrior, glory of orator, glory of song,
Paid with a voice flying by to be lost on an endless sea -
Glory of Virtue, to fight, to struggle, to right the wrong -
Nay, but she aimed not at glory, no lover of glory she:
Give her the glory of going on, and still to be.
The wages of sin is death: if the wages of Virtue be dust,
Would she have heart to endure for the life of the worm and the fly?
She desires no isles of the blest, no quiet seats of the just,
To rest in a golden grove, or to bask in a summer sky:
Give her the wages of going on, and not to die.
-Lord Alfred Tennyson
Her hands fluttered over the keyboard, and she sat back in her chair, legs tucked beneath in their customary fashion. One by one, she cut the threads, considering the knots, carefully executing their freedom...
What was before her was a hard thing, if she looked at it one way. In another way, it was no choice at all. Her heart had, for one moment, seemed to thud in her chest when Kate has looked at her and given her the pathetic platitude, "It was for the greater good."
She had only ever perceived the forking of her path so cleanly on the evening of her choice. Death, or vampire. She could go along, agree, and become something she was not, become a thing she utterly loathed. A wide road, an easy road.
Or she could remain Gabrielle, and refuse to play their game any longer.
Lies and deception. They never bothered to check, only heard what they wanted to in your speaking. She gave them what would most anger, most enrage.
Choices.
He had been right to name her.
Paid with a voice flying by to be lost on an endless sea -
Glory of Virtue, to fight, to struggle, to right the wrong -
Nay, but she aimed not at glory, no lover of glory she:
Give her the glory of going on, and still to be.
The wages of sin is death: if the wages of Virtue be dust,
Would she have heart to endure for the life of the worm and the fly?
She desires no isles of the blest, no quiet seats of the just,
To rest in a golden grove, or to bask in a summer sky:
Give her the wages of going on, and not to die.
-Lord Alfred Tennyson
Her hands fluttered over the keyboard, and she sat back in her chair, legs tucked beneath in their customary fashion. One by one, she cut the threads, considering the knots, carefully executing their freedom...
What was before her was a hard thing, if she looked at it one way. In another way, it was no choice at all. Her heart had, for one moment, seemed to thud in her chest when Kate has looked at her and given her the pathetic platitude, "It was for the greater good."
She had only ever perceived the forking of her path so cleanly on the evening of her choice. Death, or vampire. She could go along, agree, and become something she was not, become a thing she utterly loathed. A wide road, an easy road.
Or she could remain Gabrielle, and refuse to play their game any longer.
Lies and deception. They never bothered to check, only heard what they wanted to in your speaking. She gave them what would most anger, most enrage.
Choices.
He had been right to name her.