09-13-2019, 09:11 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; color;"]Choosing to be alone and being forced to alone were, in Eth's mind, two entirely separate entities brought together only by a single thread of longing. From the beginning, her fate had spelled out a lifetime in solitude in which she would pay silent reverence to the hundreds, if not thousands, of gods that were worshipped every day. Her own identity had been cast aside, willingly sacrificed so that she might be a better handmaiden: unbiased as she swung her metaphorical sword of justice and charged others for being unworthy of life. Before the Typhoon, the winged serval had not spoken in months. Before the Typhoon, her only contact with any other living soul was sentencing them to die. And gods, she had wanted something different.
She was breaking some unbroken rule by being here, among mortals that had not received their own judgement yet, mortals who would one day cross a threshold while she was stuck, forever making decisions about others fate while having no say in her own. But her time to worry about what punishment was to befall her had passed. She was more interested in living a life that she had been initially denied. A life that had stripped her of a name, of a family, and of a personality of her own. Her neck bristled.
Eth thought that there was a fair bit of irony in her situation. The girl who represented the scales of justice and balance would one day be brought to justice herself. It saddened her to think that a crime so petty as wanting to live would one day sign the warrant for her death, but she had already accepted that she would indeed die for this taste of freedom, however fleeting. Did she find it strange that she was essentially at peace with herself? Perhaps. But a creature cast in death's image should never fear death.
It was faint commotion – a voice, mainly – that brought her back to reality, faraway golden eyes sharpening as she lifted herself to her feet and went to investigate. She recognized only one of the members present, the leader who went by the name of Goldenluxury. She was painting and, briefly, Etherealgate envied her ability to create rather than destroy. "How you always painted?" The serval inquired, glancing only momentarily at the other two that had joined the Roux. As much as she longed to introduce herself, she felt as if it were wrong to do so until she heard Goldie's answer. It was polite to listen, just as it was polite to fully engage with what the other was doing. Now was not the time for petty introductions or the like. "It's very pretty," She added on suddenly, thoughtfully.
(i have not written in a hot sec i'm so sorry for this Mess)
She was breaking some unbroken rule by being here, among mortals that had not received their own judgement yet, mortals who would one day cross a threshold while she was stuck, forever making decisions about others fate while having no say in her own. But her time to worry about what punishment was to befall her had passed. She was more interested in living a life that she had been initially denied. A life that had stripped her of a name, of a family, and of a personality of her own. Her neck bristled.
Eth thought that there was a fair bit of irony in her situation. The girl who represented the scales of justice and balance would one day be brought to justice herself. It saddened her to think that a crime so petty as wanting to live would one day sign the warrant for her death, but she had already accepted that she would indeed die for this taste of freedom, however fleeting. Did she find it strange that she was essentially at peace with herself? Perhaps. But a creature cast in death's image should never fear death.
It was faint commotion – a voice, mainly – that brought her back to reality, faraway golden eyes sharpening as she lifted herself to her feet and went to investigate. She recognized only one of the members present, the leader who went by the name of Goldenluxury. She was painting and, briefly, Etherealgate envied her ability to create rather than destroy. "How you always painted?" The serval inquired, glancing only momentarily at the other two that had joined the Roux. As much as she longed to introduce herself, she felt as if it were wrong to do so until she heard Goldie's answer. It was polite to listen, just as it was polite to fully engage with what the other was doing. Now was not the time for petty introductions or the like. "It's very pretty," She added on suddenly, thoughtfully.
(i have not written in a hot sec i'm so sorry for this Mess)