it was crazy [open]
Characters: Jill Half-a-Prayer and whoever finds her
Date: January 19th, afternoon
Summary: Jill's still adjusting to being alive again, near the center of the Gardens. Interact with her?
Warnings: None I can think of.
Jill still didn't know what to think of this Gardens, or the voices that she heard speak to her when she had spoken to them. She had watched the video logs, read the written words, and still felt as mystified as ever. This Queen, she had yet to show her face, and the people felt caged. It was the leader's duty to take those concerns and form them towards the better, and none of that happened. Again, power led to abuse. Yet there was a thin line of hope, if she was simply confused. Mad people were easier to work with than pompous ones.
She stretched out beneath the tree, looking over at the claw. She could still remember the pain of having it chopped off, no anesthetic for a criminal. The way they whipped her in public, the people silent in respect. The gunshot sound. Yet she breathed. She felt no scars on her back. Whatever had pulled her from the brink of death had also taken the courtesy of healing her wounds. And they'd given a nod to her self-image; if the claw had been replaced with an arm, she doubted she could have used it anymore. It was too much part of herself.
Shutting her eyes, she took long deep breaths, which turned into humming, then soft singing. Was she...happy? No. But calm.
"...So Cally flew high/On umbrella wings/Kissed his love good-bye/Sailed into the sky/And flew into the land of Horrible Things..."
Date: January 19th, afternoon
Summary: Jill's still adjusting to being alive again, near the center of the Gardens. Interact with her?
Warnings: None I can think of.
Jill still didn't know what to think of this Gardens, or the voices that she heard speak to her when she had spoken to them. She had watched the video logs, read the written words, and still felt as mystified as ever. This Queen, she had yet to show her face, and the people felt caged. It was the leader's duty to take those concerns and form them towards the better, and none of that happened. Again, power led to abuse. Yet there was a thin line of hope, if she was simply confused. Mad people were easier to work with than pompous ones.
She stretched out beneath the tree, looking over at the claw. She could still remember the pain of having it chopped off, no anesthetic for a criminal. The way they whipped her in public, the people silent in respect. The gunshot sound. Yet she breathed. She felt no scars on her back. Whatever had pulled her from the brink of death had also taken the courtesy of healing her wounds. And they'd given a nod to her self-image; if the claw had been replaced with an arm, she doubted she could have used it anymore. It was too much part of herself.
Shutting her eyes, she took long deep breaths, which turned into humming, then soft singing. Was she...happy? No. But calm.
"...So Cally flew high/On umbrella wings/Kissed his love good-bye/Sailed into the sky/And flew into the land of Horrible Things..."