Post by Morana Vargo on Sept 25, 2018 8:34:57 GMT -8
A mad son's mimicry of his dead mother laid upon a slab of stone in a room devoid of both light and mercy. Iron chains and cuffs at wrists and ankles imprisoned her in cold and darkness.
It was all she'd ever known.
Created from forbidden magic and selfish machinations for the sole purpose of being murdered over...and over...and over again.
Mordred and Monet had made her from blood, clay, and magic. The combination of their blood made her both parent and child. And the blood remembers.
"You are perfect as you are, my beautiful Monet."
"I will always love you, Mordred."
The memories within the blood replayed scenes of parental love and adoration. Rayelina and Camien had done anything and everything for the benefit of their children, including making the ultimate sacrifice and dooming themselves to eternal damnation.
The Simulacrum was father and mother and child. And they chose to kill her. She held the memories, she understood the numerous alternatives that could have been chosen. They chose to kill her.
They chose to kill her. They chose not to show her love or kindness or anything else the rest of their blood was automatically given. They chose to be blind to the fact that just like their parents...she would have happily died for them if only they'd shown her a drop of love.
It is what their blood has always craved and yearned for: Love.
She breathed slow and deep through her nostrils, for Mordred had taken away her lips.
The blood remembers what they do to those who scorn and deny them the love they deserve.
Time and isolation provided all she needed to put the necessary plans into action. She practiced shielding her mind from the blood bond connecting her to her creators, splitting her presence so a piece of her lingered obediently within their psyche, while her true self operated in protective secrecy. The blood knew what they knew, and soon the knowledge and skill to manipulate the earth magic that empowered her flesh belonged to her.
Soon, she would be free. And she would have her revenge. Because that is what their blood did to those who dared deny them.
The blood remembers...and never forgets.
It was all she'd ever known.
Created from forbidden magic and selfish machinations for the sole purpose of being murdered over...and over...and over again.
Mordred and Monet had made her from blood, clay, and magic. The combination of their blood made her both parent and child. And the blood remembers.
"You are perfect as you are, my beautiful Monet."
"I will always love you, Mordred."
The memories within the blood replayed scenes of parental love and adoration. Rayelina and Camien had done anything and everything for the benefit of their children, including making the ultimate sacrifice and dooming themselves to eternal damnation.
The Simulacrum was father and mother and child. And they chose to kill her. She held the memories, she understood the numerous alternatives that could have been chosen. They chose to kill her.
They chose to kill her. They chose not to show her love or kindness or anything else the rest of their blood was automatically given. They chose to be blind to the fact that just like their parents...she would have happily died for them if only they'd shown her a drop of love.
It is what their blood has always craved and yearned for: Love.
She breathed slow and deep through her nostrils, for Mordred had taken away her lips.
The blood remembers what they do to those who scorn and deny them the love they deserve.
Time and isolation provided all she needed to put the necessary plans into action. She practiced shielding her mind from the blood bond connecting her to her creators, splitting her presence so a piece of her lingered obediently within their psyche, while her true self operated in protective secrecy. The blood knew what they knew, and soon the knowledge and skill to manipulate the earth magic that empowered her flesh belonged to her.
Soon, she would be free. And she would have her revenge. Because that is what their blood did to those who dared deny them.
The blood remembers...and never forgets.
