The magic of Beqanna has always been this way in Iris’s lifetime. She knows of no other Beqanna besides the one she has heard in stories, though it seemed like a better version of itself then than now. But wasn’t that always the case? Didn’t everyone look back on the past and reminisce about how times were simpler? How the world was a better place? It’s like a right of growing older, that one must sit on the rocking chair in the front lawn sipping tea and speaking of the past like a long lost love. Maybe it was. Maybe as you looked back things became more favorable in hindsight. Maybe it was easier just to forget the things that hurt.
Or maybe it was simply true. Maybe the world just progressed forward toward its own inevitable destruction, growing weaker and more pathetic by the day. Perhaps those of Iris’s generation would never hold a candle to the great rulers of the Chamber’s past. She doesn’t know, and will never truly know. She has no magic to see the past as it was. Iris’s knowledge is passed down from her mother and the ghosts around her, and those stories cannot be trusted. Not really, anyway. Everyone has a bias. Everyone has memories shaped by their own experiences.
Iris’s brows raise just slightly as Tatter replies, and the slight change in her expression is not one of surprise but certainly interest. “I’d say you aren’t missing much by not meeting her, but…that would be a lie.” Iris was like her mother in many ways, but not in the grand ways. Iris is of the dead, she is a girl who prefers ghosts and shadows. Straia was the centerpiece. She commanded attention without trying, owned any place she stepped foot in. Iris had no desire to take after her mother in this, but she respected it nonetheless. “Well met, great-grandfather,” she says with a small grin. “You only look old enough to be my grandfather, if that makes you feel better.”
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Tatter I definitely had to look up how they were related too, haha