and at the end of all your lines [closed/complete]
Characters: Polyxena
Date/Time: March 25th, midnight
Location: Polyxena and Paris' apartment
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, blood, violence, death
Summary: Polyxena has her own private reaction to Helenus' breakup and comes to realize a few things. ETA: After a conversation with her brother, his words and the requirements of the event take a turn for the worse. (Reposted to include a few things that unfolded)
The bright screen her eyes had never quite adjusted to was the only light in the room. The sun had long since gone down, but even the moonlight was obscured by dark curtains. Sitting at the desk, in the uncomfortable chair with her back straight, hands folded loosely in her lap, head and eyes straight ahead. Piercing blue eyes staring intensely. Staring at the words on the screen.
Was she supposed to feel guilty? Did she need to blame herself? Was she the cause of the unhappiness that her brother was undoubtedly feeling?
Did she even care?
Right now, the answer was no. Logically, she knew that she should. After all, how many times had she said that her family’s happiness was most important to her? Besides, did she not prove that in Troy?
She glanced at the door, last she had seen Paris was laying on the couch, napping, suffering the same apathy that had overtaken her. It wasn’t just for Troy, she thought, but also for him, for Deiphobus, that she had made a large sacrifice of her own.
Had she not given up the only man she ever loved to her beloved big brothers? Just because it was what they wanted? Because they asked it of her. Did they even care that she had loved him so? She had cared that Paris had loved Helen, supported their relationship, bonded with her new sister, never blamed him for the war. No such support would she have received for loving her own Greek.
All of those dreams they had, all the plans that they had made. No one had understood her like he did. It usually made her so sad, so guilty, to think of him. Now, she felt nothing. There were no feelings clouding her thoughts, she could think with clarity for once.
Yes, she could see it now. Polyxena had been in the same situation as her brother, worse over, really. After all, she had not asked Helenus to do anything but consider his own safety. She did not demand Neoptolemus’ death. Not for her own reasons, anyway. She considered him her savior in a way, giving her the punishment she deserved for what she had done to his father. That did not mean that she thought his sins against her father and nephew were to be forgiven. She could never forgive him for that. Never.
Even if she could feel, for once she believed she would put her own self before her siblings. If that was what they persistently asked of her, perhaps for once she would do so. Even if it went against everything she had ever said, she would not give her brother the sympathy and guilt that she had never received. Maybe then they would start to understand all that she was going through and stop treating things so lightly. As if they had never happened. As if she could ever, ever forget all the things that had occurred leading up to the day her blood was spilled upon the land that she had given up everything for.
With these thoughts set in motion, Polyxena took to the keyboard. The conversation that set out before her would have frustrated her endlessly, but she could only see the illogical nature of her brother's words.
And then the words appeared. A command. Something within her stirred to complete what had asked of her. Silently, she stood up and walked away from the desk and toward the mirror on the wall. Without hesitation she raised a fist and struck the glass, sending shatters all over the floor. Shards fell across her face and arms, leaving cuts that she could barely feel. She reached for a particularly sharp-edged piece and held it to her neck. Quickly, she ran it across her neck, struggling to keep the flow of the cut as the glass caught upon her trachea.
With a rasping gasp, she fell to the floor. As she lay there, bleeding out over the carpet alone, she knew that she would wake up at some point. What had happened before would happen again. When it would happen though, was unforeseeable. She wondered thoughtlessly if Paris would find her, or if knowledge of her death here would be witheld from her family a second time around. Regardless, she did not care.
Blue irises lost their vivid color and light and her eyes succumbed to the empty nothingness that she had felt up to her last breath.
Date/Time: March 25th, midnight
Location: Polyxena and Paris' apartment
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, blood, violence, death
Summary: Polyxena has her own private reaction to Helenus' breakup and comes to realize a few things. ETA: After a conversation with her brother, his words and the requirements of the event take a turn for the worse. (Reposted to include a few things that unfolded)
The bright screen her eyes had never quite adjusted to was the only light in the room. The sun had long since gone down, but even the moonlight was obscured by dark curtains. Sitting at the desk, in the uncomfortable chair with her back straight, hands folded loosely in her lap, head and eyes straight ahead. Piercing blue eyes staring intensely. Staring at the words on the screen.
Was she supposed to feel guilty? Did she need to blame herself? Was she the cause of the unhappiness that her brother was undoubtedly feeling?
Did she even care?
Right now, the answer was no. Logically, she knew that she should. After all, how many times had she said that her family’s happiness was most important to her? Besides, did she not prove that in Troy?
She glanced at the door, last she had seen Paris was laying on the couch, napping, suffering the same apathy that had overtaken her. It wasn’t just for Troy, she thought, but also for him, for Deiphobus, that she had made a large sacrifice of her own.
Had she not given up the only man she ever loved to her beloved big brothers? Just because it was what they wanted? Because they asked it of her. Did they even care that she had loved him so? She had cared that Paris had loved Helen, supported their relationship, bonded with her new sister, never blamed him for the war. No such support would she have received for loving her own Greek.
All of those dreams they had, all the plans that they had made. No one had understood her like he did. It usually made her so sad, so guilty, to think of him. Now, she felt nothing. There were no feelings clouding her thoughts, she could think with clarity for once.
Yes, she could see it now. Polyxena had been in the same situation as her brother, worse over, really. After all, she had not asked Helenus to do anything but consider his own safety. She did not demand Neoptolemus’ death. Not for her own reasons, anyway. She considered him her savior in a way, giving her the punishment she deserved for what she had done to his father. That did not mean that she thought his sins against her father and nephew were to be forgiven. She could never forgive him for that. Never.
Even if she could feel, for once she believed she would put her own self before her siblings. If that was what they persistently asked of her, perhaps for once she would do so. Even if it went against everything she had ever said, she would not give her brother the sympathy and guilt that she had never received. Maybe then they would start to understand all that she was going through and stop treating things so lightly. As if they had never happened. As if she could ever, ever forget all the things that had occurred leading up to the day her blood was spilled upon the land that she had given up everything for.
With these thoughts set in motion, Polyxena took to the keyboard. The conversation that set out before her would have frustrated her endlessly, but she could only see the illogical nature of her brother's words.
And then the words appeared. A command. Something within her stirred to complete what had asked of her. Silently, she stood up and walked away from the desk and toward the mirror on the wall. Without hesitation she raised a fist and struck the glass, sending shatters all over the floor. Shards fell across her face and arms, leaving cuts that she could barely feel. She reached for a particularly sharp-edged piece and held it to her neck. Quickly, she ran it across her neck, struggling to keep the flow of the cut as the glass caught upon her trachea.
With a rasping gasp, she fell to the floor. As she lay there, bleeding out over the carpet alone, she knew that she would wake up at some point. What had happened before would happen again. When it would happen though, was unforeseeable. She wondered thoughtlessly if Paris would find her, or if knowledge of her death here would be witheld from her family a second time around. Regardless, she did not care.
Blue irises lost their vivid color and light and her eyes succumbed to the empty nothingness that she had felt up to her last breath.