Choices
All the paths I chose to learn to become healer, priestess and woman? Also means of course that I left paths unwandered by foot, and avenues un-trespassed by mind. Was it my mother's human blood? My Grandfather's close, protective eye? Or the love and guidance, and the overall protection of the Lady of the Fortunate Isles who saw over both my physical and my spiritual education as I grew? For I was secluded, that I know. Or perhaps protected would be a better word. Kept apart, kept alone and walking the field and meadows and dancing in the forests at night with naught but the birds and leaves, and wild beasts as my companions.
I was kept far from the glittering courts, far from the courtiers who bowed to the thrones of others, and those darker majesties who's bodies rest upon those thrones. I was hidden from the spying eyes of delegates and emissaries, only allowed to be in the presence of those she considered her bosom companions and her closest friends, though these men and women were as black of heart or heartless as any other. These she allowed me access to, to speak with and ask questions - these were the ones she let have access to me, and all under her vigilant and shielding eyes and arms. When I was young, I did not think to wonder why this was. My eyes and mind were too full of the newness of learning. But when I was older doubts began to creep in, doubts only fed by youthful insecurities and the breathy whispers of others' lips.
Was I too ugly? Too ungainly or clumsy to be seen by the dignitaries of other immortal monarchs? Too human perhaps, with my desire to remain in silence and my enjoyment of the simple, solitary pleasures? I did not care for the more sophisticated appetites of those other places. The sly eyes, the knowing smiles and caressing, cruel words or fingers; courtiers games of skillful debauchery and corruption of innocence. Was it nature or nurture? Both I think, so far as I can recall of my childhood and my parentage. Truly, I think that much of it was my upbringing; in the church of men and later in the groves and sacred places to the Starry ones.
Oh, I am no innocent. I heard the whispers, once I had attained my maturity and was finally allowed entrance to the throne room and beyond. It was my job to listen, to listen and nod and not to speak more than a hint of smile to show that I heard what was said to me. I was made aware - given invite to other avenues and other kingdoms. Places of learning that my lady had chosen not to have me attend as a youth. I was offered gifts of release, of lust and knowledge - knowledge of the darker paths of my blood, my halfling blood. And I was looked down upon with pity or worse by those whose blood was stronger, darker. More pure. Told I was a fool and more for rejecting the power that was mine by right. Power... mine. Perhaps. Mine by right? Non. Oh non.
But was I tempted by those heliotrope honeyed words?
Yes. Oh yes.
I thought that perhaps I could simply learn the ways of healing, protecting the land from these other teachers; just enough to know the words and not the actions. Just enough to have the knowledge without the experience that was a necessity in such situations to grow. And what path was this you ask?
It was the path of sacrifice, but one of dark sacrifice. Doorways to knowledge that - though not forbidden in other places - was held as ancient and abhorred in the Fortunate Isles, not practiced among the lady's people. Sacrifice, oh yes. Sacrifice that did not involve pain to myself but instead the sacrifice of others. Victims willing, and then later, those who were not. How much better it would be they told me, if I did not wound myself but instead wounded others, keeping my mind and body honed and sharp; unscarred and unscathed?
How much better for the powers of earth were I to offer other things; my body in submission to the tides of emotion that would sweep through under the deadly, delicious rapture of the of powder or pill or that potent Sidhe mead, giving all of me to the release of power - both pleasure, and pain - and all while sharing blood and body with five, ten others who would do the same? It had been done, yes in the past. Done with mine own people, the memory was in my blood, waiting to be awoken. And with that, the ancestral memory of sacrificing others as well. Men, women. And yes, children as well. innocent babes, pulled from their mothers tortured bodies and broken minds. Because as much as pleasure brought power, so would pain. So would fear, hard and strong - as much or more than love.
And as I would then have domination over living victims, so would I too be allowed to learn to dominate the dead that I could see. For there were torments that only the dead could endure, slavery of a sort that the living would never know even in the blackest night. And with time, with skill and sacrifice - were I to survive my schooling? I would be a receptacle of such power, such awesome and mighty, even destructive forces at my fingertips! Kings and magistrates would come to me, would gift me with whatever I asked in return for my skills, skills that would heal what their wars and poisons could not. Silken cloth would flow down over my breasts and swirl down below my hips, I would be adorned with only the finest of gemstones, even if those silks were bloodstained and the gemstones dulled by graveyard dust and the splinters of bones of the dead and dying. I would be sought after, desired, wanted. My bed never empty, my goblet always full. This and more would be mine for the asking they promised, were I to simply beg leave of my queen and follow these ambassadors to their foreign, faraway courts.
All that would be mine if I but gave up myself, my beliefs and my soul.
This is what I turned from, choosing solitary learning and self-sacrifice over the plots and plans that others desired of me.
Am I still tempted to join the dark masquerade, still lured by the shadows that hide behind bright lights? Yes. I cannot deny what I am, and who's blood I bear within. And so I guard each night against it and I hide myself away from the light, choosing not to taste that particular apple of knowledge. And too, do I try even now to hide or to carefully withdraw from any who would offer it.
I try.
Name: Amarante
Fandom: OC, Historical/fantasy
X-posted to writers_muses Prompt 132.10 'A difficult choice.'
Words 1188
I was kept far from the glittering courts, far from the courtiers who bowed to the thrones of others, and those darker majesties who's bodies rest upon those thrones. I was hidden from the spying eyes of delegates and emissaries, only allowed to be in the presence of those she considered her bosom companions and her closest friends, though these men and women were as black of heart or heartless as any other. These she allowed me access to, to speak with and ask questions - these were the ones she let have access to me, and all under her vigilant and shielding eyes and arms. When I was young, I did not think to wonder why this was. My eyes and mind were too full of the newness of learning. But when I was older doubts began to creep in, doubts only fed by youthful insecurities and the breathy whispers of others' lips.
Was I too ugly? Too ungainly or clumsy to be seen by the dignitaries of other immortal monarchs? Too human perhaps, with my desire to remain in silence and my enjoyment of the simple, solitary pleasures? I did not care for the more sophisticated appetites of those other places. The sly eyes, the knowing smiles and caressing, cruel words or fingers; courtiers games of skillful debauchery and corruption of innocence. Was it nature or nurture? Both I think, so far as I can recall of my childhood and my parentage. Truly, I think that much of it was my upbringing; in the church of men and later in the groves and sacred places to the Starry ones.
Oh, I am no innocent. I heard the whispers, once I had attained my maturity and was finally allowed entrance to the throne room and beyond. It was my job to listen, to listen and nod and not to speak more than a hint of smile to show that I heard what was said to me. I was made aware - given invite to other avenues and other kingdoms. Places of learning that my lady had chosen not to have me attend as a youth. I was offered gifts of release, of lust and knowledge - knowledge of the darker paths of my blood, my halfling blood. And I was looked down upon with pity or worse by those whose blood was stronger, darker. More pure. Told I was a fool and more for rejecting the power that was mine by right. Power... mine. Perhaps. Mine by right? Non. Oh non.
But was I tempted by those heliotrope honeyed words?
Yes. Oh yes.
I thought that perhaps I could simply learn the ways of healing, protecting the land from these other teachers; just enough to know the words and not the actions. Just enough to have the knowledge without the experience that was a necessity in such situations to grow. And what path was this you ask?
It was the path of sacrifice, but one of dark sacrifice. Doorways to knowledge that - though not forbidden in other places - was held as ancient and abhorred in the Fortunate Isles, not practiced among the lady's people. Sacrifice, oh yes. Sacrifice that did not involve pain to myself but instead the sacrifice of others. Victims willing, and then later, those who were not. How much better it would be they told me, if I did not wound myself but instead wounded others, keeping my mind and body honed and sharp; unscarred and unscathed?
How much better for the powers of earth were I to offer other things; my body in submission to the tides of emotion that would sweep through under the deadly, delicious rapture of the of powder or pill or that potent Sidhe mead, giving all of me to the release of power - both pleasure, and pain - and all while sharing blood and body with five, ten others who would do the same? It had been done, yes in the past. Done with mine own people, the memory was in my blood, waiting to be awoken. And with that, the ancestral memory of sacrificing others as well. Men, women. And yes, children as well. innocent babes, pulled from their mothers tortured bodies and broken minds. Because as much as pleasure brought power, so would pain. So would fear, hard and strong - as much or more than love.
And as I would then have domination over living victims, so would I too be allowed to learn to dominate the dead that I could see. For there were torments that only the dead could endure, slavery of a sort that the living would never know even in the blackest night. And with time, with skill and sacrifice - were I to survive my schooling? I would be a receptacle of such power, such awesome and mighty, even destructive forces at my fingertips! Kings and magistrates would come to me, would gift me with whatever I asked in return for my skills, skills that would heal what their wars and poisons could not. Silken cloth would flow down over my breasts and swirl down below my hips, I would be adorned with only the finest of gemstones, even if those silks were bloodstained and the gemstones dulled by graveyard dust and the splinters of bones of the dead and dying. I would be sought after, desired, wanted. My bed never empty, my goblet always full. This and more would be mine for the asking they promised, were I to simply beg leave of my queen and follow these ambassadors to their foreign, faraway courts.
All that would be mine if I but gave up myself, my beliefs and my soul.
This is what I turned from, choosing solitary learning and self-sacrifice over the plots and plans that others desired of me.
Am I still tempted to join the dark masquerade, still lured by the shadows that hide behind bright lights? Yes. I cannot deny what I am, and who's blood I bear within. And so I guard each night against it and I hide myself away from the light, choosing not to taste that particular apple of knowledge. And too, do I try even now to hide or to carefully withdraw from any who would offer it.
I try.
Name: Amarante
Fandom: OC, Historical/fantasy
X-posted to writers_muses Prompt 132.10 'A difficult choice.'
Words 1188