12-16-2013, 06:21 AM
She was seated beside a tree she decorated herself. Though ice and snow had made it less comfortable, this solemn little moment alone in the wilderness gave the crescent moon time to reflect. The holidays normally cheered her up, brought out that gentle side of her... But this year Sophia found herself feeling increasingly withdrawn, separated.
It was likely her pack could sense it, the cold distance, the subtle sighs, the indifference. Even as she stared off into space she still responded with kindness in her voice, but lately she found herself removed, lost.
She cast her eyes at the top of her tree, the crystalline star she placed atop it split the light of the moon into beams which she could get to spread out if she closed her eye lids just enough. She could almost feel the light, it's warmth upon her cheeks, it's comfort.
Sophia hated the cold. It wasn't that the winter represented death, Sophia had no fear of death, it wasn't the quiet, silence was a gift Sophia longed for nightly, it wasn't even the darkness... It was the reminder of the fact that she was alone.
Oh her ancestors surrounded her, she could hear their voices, she knew their names, countless experiences were right there, all she needed to do was close her eyes and explore, but those weren't her... For all the wonder and amazement she has drawn from them, the crescent moon can't remember a time since she was very young where she just felt like Sophia. In all the endless memories that had etched themselves into her mind, the difference between the ones she experienced herself and those experienced by others was blurred leaving her in a constant state of confusion. How did she know that she was even looking up at this tree? How did she know that she was even Sophia?
She had never really had a family, she was raised by the Priesthood, in a way they were the closest thing she ever knew, and they were half a world away.
"It's warm there." She whispers softly to herself before closing her eyes to gently lay in the snow at the foot of the tree. "I miss the warm." She says tenderly to herself as if someone might actually be listening, as if someone might actually care. She knew they didn't, she knew the world was indifferent to her existence, she knew that she was of no more significance to the universe than her individual cells to herself, and yet some part of her still felt compelled to speak.
There were sheep back home, sheep and fields, and people who loved her. She can remember the screams of a six year old girl, screaming in her bed at night, a six year old girl forced to bare witness to history through the eyes of the garou, a six year old girl full of hope and dreams forced to witness countless atrocities as they unfolded before her eyes and sucked away every last ounce of hope she held within her heart. Others would have thought her a lost cause, others would have turned their backs, given up, but the order took her in, they did not judge her, they cherished her, they held her through her screams, and they wiped the tears from her face. They were the thing that reassured her that there was still hope in this world, that there was still something worth fighting for.
Not ten years old and she had experienced death one hundred times. She had seen things she should have never seen, she had experienced things no creature was meant to experience... In time Sophia was drowned out, so much time spent in the memory of history, her people's history. It had become such a part of her life that there was no room for Sophia, there was no time for Sophia to grow and learn, and love, and smile. So she tucked herself away, she hid from the world, and she let the others take the stage.
Here, however, tonight in her thoughts she was Sophia. Another year drew to a close and what has she seen, what had she done? Death, violence, horror... Many memories, but what tangible thing could the crescent moon take hold of and show off as her own, not her ancestors, not the spirits, not her sept's... Hers.
She had something that was hers once. Something she could hold close, something that put a smile on her face, something she could treasure. She was foolish, too young to realize it, her heart too fragile to know what it was doing, so it gave itself away and for the briefest of moments she understood what it was like. Not as an experience, not as a memory, but as something she could hold in her hands. She thought, for a time, about motherhood, about raising a child, about holidays gathered at home... A home with a really good heater. Last winter was cold, but someone kept her warm. She fooled herself into thinking Sophia might live a life all her own. One with children, and laughter, and memories like the countless lives that dwelt within her head. It was, as is most of her world, a fantasy.
She did not hold any ill will. In a way, she understood. This was a lesson she needed to learn. It was a harsh lesson, but if it hadn't been taught to her she would have never fully grasped that she could never be a proper mother... She didn't live life, she floated through it, ever distant, ever dreaming. She witnessed things both wonderful and terrifying... Things that could never truly be explained. Let's face it, she was weird... She could never fit in at family gatherings, she could never take an active role in caring for children like a mother should. She could sense fear, perhaps shame... It mirrored itself within her heart and gave her an image of what she really was... She wasn't a person, she was the shattered reflection of a person, a million tiny minds trapped within a body, a million hearts... Too many for any one person to love. So that scared little girl came to understand that she would never find love, she would never raise a family, she would never have the happiness of growing old, or leaving behind a legacy to be built upon... But she could still love, if she couldn't love one... She would love them all, she would die alone, with tears in her eyes, but so help she would love them all, whether they wanted it or not.
The warmth of her clothing kept her from freezing, and the snow further insulated her from the cold. Slowly, she drifted off to sleep, there were tears in her eyes, but she was softer than the rest of her kind. She could not be the stoic, rigid, regal creature they all seemed to be. She was weaker than them in her softness, in her kindness, and yet... In her own little way, she might be the strongest of them all.
It was likely her pack could sense it, the cold distance, the subtle sighs, the indifference. Even as she stared off into space she still responded with kindness in her voice, but lately she found herself removed, lost.
She cast her eyes at the top of her tree, the crystalline star she placed atop it split the light of the moon into beams which she could get to spread out if she closed her eye lids just enough. She could almost feel the light, it's warmth upon her cheeks, it's comfort.
Sophia hated the cold. It wasn't that the winter represented death, Sophia had no fear of death, it wasn't the quiet, silence was a gift Sophia longed for nightly, it wasn't even the darkness... It was the reminder of the fact that she was alone.
Oh her ancestors surrounded her, she could hear their voices, she knew their names, countless experiences were right there, all she needed to do was close her eyes and explore, but those weren't her... For all the wonder and amazement she has drawn from them, the crescent moon can't remember a time since she was very young where she just felt like Sophia. In all the endless memories that had etched themselves into her mind, the difference between the ones she experienced herself and those experienced by others was blurred leaving her in a constant state of confusion. How did she know that she was even looking up at this tree? How did she know that she was even Sophia?
She had never really had a family, she was raised by the Priesthood, in a way they were the closest thing she ever knew, and they were half a world away.
"It's warm there." She whispers softly to herself before closing her eyes to gently lay in the snow at the foot of the tree. "I miss the warm." She says tenderly to herself as if someone might actually be listening, as if someone might actually care. She knew they didn't, she knew the world was indifferent to her existence, she knew that she was of no more significance to the universe than her individual cells to herself, and yet some part of her still felt compelled to speak.
There were sheep back home, sheep and fields, and people who loved her. She can remember the screams of a six year old girl, screaming in her bed at night, a six year old girl forced to bare witness to history through the eyes of the garou, a six year old girl full of hope and dreams forced to witness countless atrocities as they unfolded before her eyes and sucked away every last ounce of hope she held within her heart. Others would have thought her a lost cause, others would have turned their backs, given up, but the order took her in, they did not judge her, they cherished her, they held her through her screams, and they wiped the tears from her face. They were the thing that reassured her that there was still hope in this world, that there was still something worth fighting for.
Not ten years old and she had experienced death one hundred times. She had seen things she should have never seen, she had experienced things no creature was meant to experience... In time Sophia was drowned out, so much time spent in the memory of history, her people's history. It had become such a part of her life that there was no room for Sophia, there was no time for Sophia to grow and learn, and love, and smile. So she tucked herself away, she hid from the world, and she let the others take the stage.
Here, however, tonight in her thoughts she was Sophia. Another year drew to a close and what has she seen, what had she done? Death, violence, horror... Many memories, but what tangible thing could the crescent moon take hold of and show off as her own, not her ancestors, not the spirits, not her sept's... Hers.
She had something that was hers once. Something she could hold close, something that put a smile on her face, something she could treasure. She was foolish, too young to realize it, her heart too fragile to know what it was doing, so it gave itself away and for the briefest of moments she understood what it was like. Not as an experience, not as a memory, but as something she could hold in her hands. She thought, for a time, about motherhood, about raising a child, about holidays gathered at home... A home with a really good heater. Last winter was cold, but someone kept her warm. She fooled herself into thinking Sophia might live a life all her own. One with children, and laughter, and memories like the countless lives that dwelt within her head. It was, as is most of her world, a fantasy.
She did not hold any ill will. In a way, she understood. This was a lesson she needed to learn. It was a harsh lesson, but if it hadn't been taught to her she would have never fully grasped that she could never be a proper mother... She didn't live life, she floated through it, ever distant, ever dreaming. She witnessed things both wonderful and terrifying... Things that could never truly be explained. Let's face it, she was weird... She could never fit in at family gatherings, she could never take an active role in caring for children like a mother should. She could sense fear, perhaps shame... It mirrored itself within her heart and gave her an image of what she really was... She wasn't a person, she was the shattered reflection of a person, a million tiny minds trapped within a body, a million hearts... Too many for any one person to love. So that scared little girl came to understand that she would never find love, she would never raise a family, she would never have the happiness of growing old, or leaving behind a legacy to be built upon... But she could still love, if she couldn't love one... She would love them all, she would die alone, with tears in her eyes, but so help she would love them all, whether they wanted it or not.
The warmth of her clothing kept her from freezing, and the snow further insulated her from the cold. Slowly, she drifted off to sleep, there were tears in her eyes, but she was softer than the rest of her kind. She could not be the stoic, rigid, regal creature they all seemed to be. She was weaker than them in her softness, in her kindness, and yet... In her own little way, she might be the strongest of them all.