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Hey now, all you sinners
I'm thinking of taking up player-ship of Rae, the less cuter of the two Purity Princesses and also Your RA Mistress, and so I will be taking some test-drives with her this month. She's a lot different than any other char I attempted, and so it might get some poking around until I get her right. I'm really curious to explore her feelings of guilt and weakness especially.
Series: Kingdom (later on maybe, Long December? only possibly canon cause who the hell knows)
Characters: Rae
She tossed, pressed her face to the pillow. The dawn was not harsh against her eyelids - against saffron and ruby and sapphire drapes, only a gray haze of light survived. Weak, yet in it she saw the crashing of waves against the beach, the thick scent of sea, a dying scream.
No, no, she moaned, and turned
turned into a better dream, better only for familiarity. An uncertain underclassman complaining about blood in the boy's shower rooms. Yes. The red splots and torn gauze, poorly cleaned up. Crumpled wads of blood-sodden paper towels shoved deep in the trash.
Who laughed with her at day and bled for her at night? Reed and Bob, Deon and Peter, Nessa and Clover and Harrie and Lola...though Lola had passed, visions of her were false, of a ghost, but what passed hadn't truly passed and would never ever forever pass-
No, no. Terrible that she saw these things and did not speak, worse that she accepted their wounds in place of hers. Worst of all to thrash in her bed like a child, refusing now to even see the suffering she ignored.
She turned up to the weak light, kneeling upon her mattress. Visions blinded her, threw her into other times and places gone and expectant, whispers and crying and screaming all echoing. Love and pain and terror, an ecstasy holy and damned at once. Still her hands moved forward, found fabric, tore down the curtains.
Rae opened her eyes to the sun.
Series: Kingdom (later on maybe, Long December? only possibly canon cause who the hell knows)
Characters: Rae
She tossed, pressed her face to the pillow. The dawn was not harsh against her eyelids - against saffron and ruby and sapphire drapes, only a gray haze of light survived. Weak, yet in it she saw the crashing of waves against the beach, the thick scent of sea, a dying scream.
No, no, she moaned, and turned
turned into a better dream, better only for familiarity. An uncertain underclassman complaining about blood in the boy's shower rooms. Yes. The red splots and torn gauze, poorly cleaned up. Crumpled wads of blood-sodden paper towels shoved deep in the trash.
Who laughed with her at day and bled for her at night? Reed and Bob, Deon and Peter, Nessa and Clover and Harrie and Lola...though Lola had passed, visions of her were false, of a ghost, but what passed hadn't truly passed and would never ever forever pass-
No, no. Terrible that she saw these things and did not speak, worse that she accepted their wounds in place of hers. Worst of all to thrash in her bed like a child, refusing now to even see the suffering she ignored.
She turned up to the weak light, kneeling upon her mattress. Visions blinded her, threw her into other times and places gone and expectant, whispers and crying and screaming all echoing. Love and pain and terror, an ecstasy holy and damned at once. Still her hands moved forward, found fabric, tore down the curtains.
Rae opened her eyes to the sun.
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