02-20-2017, 07:37 PM
Atrani
There is no residual sting when Leliana abandons their group, her heart ripped from her chest and beating in the most painful of ways. She had (unknowingly) destroyed a family, and now Atrani is the barb ruining her love and life. The child spares no remorse or regret. The heartbreak won’t last; it will heal and someday Leliana will find happiness again, although it may still lie in father’s embrace.
No. She cannot let them be.
What she has said – offered – to them is a life together, and yet Atrani is already regretting it. She doesn’t want father to find joy and pleasure outside of her and mother. Is it selfish to want him suffering for his disloyalty? Is it cruel to throw a wrench in the love he had developing with Leliana?
Did she really know her purpose in having come here?
The questions build, brick by brick, in her mind as her head tilts from one side to another, scouring the area for sounds and smells. Leliana’s footsteps recede which leaves just three of them together, alone in their own perspectives of what is right and wrong. Father has been trying so desperately to keep her in tow and yet she branched away from him and found herself curled against Magnus as though she were his own. A greater part of her wants father to squirm and to lose himself for what he has done; this is his punishment, her rejection, but she doesn’t plan for it to last. Perhaps, even now, she has dragged it along too far because he has said nothing since whispering her name. There is no sense in trying harder, he must think, as he watches his daughter rest her hip against Magnus’ chest and shoulder.
He is tasting defeat, rejection, and loss. Atrani can nearly taste the hurt clouding over him before he takes his leave. There is no attempt to call him back, no tear (humor there), no solemn frown to crease her pretty face. Her expression is hollow, her breaths steady even as she inclines herself to better hear Magnus against the silence. ”I can handle honesty,” she murmurs into the brisk air between them, but she isn’t entirely certain if she can. Electricity courses through her veins and stabs into her heart as the sound of father’s footfalls replay again and again, muted by the distance he places between them.
Father is gone, taking a piece of her heart with him, but she doesn’t say this. Punishment, she assures herself, that’s all this is. This, too, will end.
An uncertain tremble overtakes her, but then she can hear Magnus speaking again, telling a story, and so she pivots to face him when he first mentions mother. Every sentence, every word, is mulled and scrutinized. The tale is brief, but long enough to hear the emotion – disappointment, mistrust, regret – coating his tongue. Atrani reaches toward his neck, the whiskers along her muzzle guiding her to the warmth of his skin. ”Maybe she wanted me to meet you,” she whispers hopefully, wanting to believe it, ”Maybe she wanted me to get away from dad after whatever he did.” That, she isn’t so quick to dwell on; she doesn’t want to picture father harming mother – no, Cerva – in any other way than what she had heard.
”She wasn’t your responsibility,” the girl tries to reassure him, ”Your burden.” Would that be a better term for such a weak woman? What about for a sightless child?
A sigh escapes her as she shrugs and turns her head away. ”I don’t want to be one either,” she admits with a soft uncertainty staining her lips, ”but I have nowhere to go.”
No. She cannot let them be.
What she has said – offered – to them is a life together, and yet Atrani is already regretting it. She doesn’t want father to find joy and pleasure outside of her and mother. Is it selfish to want him suffering for his disloyalty? Is it cruel to throw a wrench in the love he had developing with Leliana?
Did she really know her purpose in having come here?
The questions build, brick by brick, in her mind as her head tilts from one side to another, scouring the area for sounds and smells. Leliana’s footsteps recede which leaves just three of them together, alone in their own perspectives of what is right and wrong. Father has been trying so desperately to keep her in tow and yet she branched away from him and found herself curled against Magnus as though she were his own. A greater part of her wants father to squirm and to lose himself for what he has done; this is his punishment, her rejection, but she doesn’t plan for it to last. Perhaps, even now, she has dragged it along too far because he has said nothing since whispering her name. There is no sense in trying harder, he must think, as he watches his daughter rest her hip against Magnus’ chest and shoulder.
He is tasting defeat, rejection, and loss. Atrani can nearly taste the hurt clouding over him before he takes his leave. There is no attempt to call him back, no tear (humor there), no solemn frown to crease her pretty face. Her expression is hollow, her breaths steady even as she inclines herself to better hear Magnus against the silence. ”I can handle honesty,” she murmurs into the brisk air between them, but she isn’t entirely certain if she can. Electricity courses through her veins and stabs into her heart as the sound of father’s footfalls replay again and again, muted by the distance he places between them.
Father is gone, taking a piece of her heart with him, but she doesn’t say this. Punishment, she assures herself, that’s all this is. This, too, will end.
An uncertain tremble overtakes her, but then she can hear Magnus speaking again, telling a story, and so she pivots to face him when he first mentions mother. Every sentence, every word, is mulled and scrutinized. The tale is brief, but long enough to hear the emotion – disappointment, mistrust, regret – coating his tongue. Atrani reaches toward his neck, the whiskers along her muzzle guiding her to the warmth of his skin. ”Maybe she wanted me to meet you,” she whispers hopefully, wanting to believe it, ”Maybe she wanted me to get away from dad after whatever he did.” That, she isn’t so quick to dwell on; she doesn’t want to picture father harming mother – no, Cerva – in any other way than what she had heard.
”She wasn’t your responsibility,” the girl tries to reassure him, ”Your burden.” Would that be a better term for such a weak woman? What about for a sightless child?
A sigh escapes her as she shrugs and turns her head away. ”I don’t want to be one either,” she admits with a soft uncertainty staining her lips, ”but I have nowhere to go.”
dove into her eyes and starved all the fears
picture by haenuli shin- HTML by Call - words: ________
[Image: callwolf_zpsasro4cel.png]