eclecticmuses January: Trepid
Based on a storyline that has yet to be finished up and posted. Muses mentioned here - Pol, wizard_dark, and Simon, simonarchangel, used without permission but based on previously discussed/written out plotting.
She couldn't.
She knew many, many ways in which she could hurt a living (or, well, kind-of living) creature. Some of them were purely physical - she had a non-magical physician's training, after all, knowing the body better than most, and there were usually tools enough to cause maximum damage. Then there was the training, the practices. Not many of her previous hosts, or mentors, paid attention to that, but Simon Pietrovitch's household was a fortress aimed at holding out against vampires - and vampires were stronger and faster than humans, so everybody got some physical training pounded into them. Even the children. So they could at least have some chance of survival in a surprise encounter. So much good that did... Sveta would only need to close her eyes and be reminded of it - by herself or others - to see some of these children dying, the pain, the agony, the ending ripping their souls apart before her eyes... And she knew those would never go away.
And then there were the practice times with the DuMornes during the summer and then during her visit to the States. And she had diligently practiced what she had been taught, because she'd known Pol would be glad of it when they next met, proud of her. And a lot of what they practiced... well, it was mainly self-defense. But it wasn't harmless self-defense.
And then there was what she could do with her unique - or deficient, defective - gift. Reach into somebody's body and change things there. Even to a vampire, she would do great damage, sufficient damage to stop them... she would, if she could.
But she didn't.
As she picked and stumbled her way through the dark tunnels, Simon at her side the lone other survivor of the fight, the awareness hit her all too much. She'd been trepidated by the idea of hurting... of seeing that selfsame twisting in the soul - done by her. So she had been helpless as a kitten. So for her protection, that had transpired which wouldn't have happend otherwise. Simon hadn't been there to defend his people - because he'd been trapped underground with one person he'd been trying to save.
Her fault. Her pathetic timidity's fault.
She shouldn't be crying. Dehydration was a great risk, as they were, and she shouldn't be crying because their survival depended on each other, but her face didn't ever seem to be not tear-stained.
Helpless. No-good. Oh so grateful to the people who'd protected her when she couldn't return the favor. Never mind that she'd saved their lives, in some cases, before. Or their children's, or their parents' lives. She hadn't been there when they'd needed her in the fight.
But she did not stop. She stumbled forward, they both did.
She couldn't.
She knew many, many ways in which she could hurt a living (or, well, kind-of living) creature. Some of them were purely physical - she had a non-magical physician's training, after all, knowing the body better than most, and there were usually tools enough to cause maximum damage. Then there was the training, the practices. Not many of her previous hosts, or mentors, paid attention to that, but Simon Pietrovitch's household was a fortress aimed at holding out against vampires - and vampires were stronger and faster than humans, so everybody got some physical training pounded into them. Even the children. So they could at least have some chance of survival in a surprise encounter. So much good that did... Sveta would only need to close her eyes and be reminded of it - by herself or others - to see some of these children dying, the pain, the agony, the ending ripping their souls apart before her eyes... And she knew those would never go away.
And then there were the practice times with the DuMornes during the summer and then during her visit to the States. And she had diligently practiced what she had been taught, because she'd known Pol would be glad of it when they next met, proud of her. And a lot of what they practiced... well, it was mainly self-defense. But it wasn't harmless self-defense.
And then there was what she could do with her unique - or deficient, defective - gift. Reach into somebody's body and change things there. Even to a vampire, she would do great damage, sufficient damage to stop them... she would, if she could.
But she didn't.
As she picked and stumbled her way through the dark tunnels, Simon at her side the lone other survivor of the fight, the awareness hit her all too much. She'd been trepidated by the idea of hurting... of seeing that selfsame twisting in the soul - done by her. So she had been helpless as a kitten. So for her protection, that had transpired which wouldn't have happend otherwise. Simon hadn't been there to defend his people - because he'd been trapped underground with one person he'd been trying to save.
Her fault. Her pathetic timidity's fault.
She shouldn't be crying. Dehydration was a great risk, as they were, and she shouldn't be crying because their survival depended on each other, but her face didn't ever seem to be not tear-stained.
Helpless. No-good. Oh so grateful to the people who'd protected her when she couldn't return the favor. Never mind that she'd saved their lives, in some cases, before. Or their children's, or their parents' lives. She hadn't been there when they'd needed her in the fight.
But she did not stop. She stumbled forward, they both did.