01-28-2020, 02:10 PM
she fell for the idea of him
and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
She has birthed many children in her multiple lifetimes, but none really compared to Ripley.
The circumstances of her conception were vastly different from nearly all of Ryatah’s interactions. There was no darkness, no dangerous games, and no fear. Depp was nothing like the other men in her life, and she had hoped that meant their daughter would live a relatively normal life, too.
She should have known better than to hope; she should have known by now that if it wasn’t herself sabotaging anything good in her life that someone else would do it for her.
Anaxarete’s explanation for why she had transformed Ripley into what she was today had been received with a tranquil sort of indifference. There was nothing she could say or do at this point to get her daughter back, and she could not blame the shadow queen for behaving as she always has. It would be foolish to expect a snake not to bite or a lion not to kill; and that strange kind of understanding is what has allowed Ryatah to live alongside the shadows for most of her life.
And besides — she could not deny that Ripley was utterly magnificent.
Here on the border of Hyaline and Pangea, she finds her.
The sight of her — black and armored, with that knife-like tail dragging in the dirt and those depthless black eyes — is enough to make Ryatah freeze. She stares at her for what she thinks must have been the longest time, the glow of her aura dimming as the sky around them lightens, and breath hardly stirring in her lungs. She listens to the low clicks, and she wonders if she can even remember what Ripley sounded like before she had changed. The memories were hazy and half-hidden by years of her own turmoil, and she feels guilt twist in her chest when she realizes this is how she most remembers her daughter, and not as the vibrant girl she had been born as.
“Ripley,” she says her name, soft and sad, though she isn’t sure if she remembers it — if she even remembers her.
The circumstances of her conception were vastly different from nearly all of Ryatah’s interactions. There was no darkness, no dangerous games, and no fear. Depp was nothing like the other men in her life, and she had hoped that meant their daughter would live a relatively normal life, too.
She should have known better than to hope; she should have known by now that if it wasn’t herself sabotaging anything good in her life that someone else would do it for her.
Anaxarete’s explanation for why she had transformed Ripley into what she was today had been received with a tranquil sort of indifference. There was nothing she could say or do at this point to get her daughter back, and she could not blame the shadow queen for behaving as she always has. It would be foolish to expect a snake not to bite or a lion not to kill; and that strange kind of understanding is what has allowed Ryatah to live alongside the shadows for most of her life.
And besides — she could not deny that Ripley was utterly magnificent.
Here on the border of Hyaline and Pangea, she finds her.
The sight of her — black and armored, with that knife-like tail dragging in the dirt and those depthless black eyes — is enough to make Ryatah freeze. She stares at her for what she thinks must have been the longest time, the glow of her aura dimming as the sky around them lightens, and breath hardly stirring in her lungs. She listens to the low clicks, and she wonders if she can even remember what Ripley sounded like before she had changed. The memories were hazy and half-hidden by years of her own turmoil, and she feels guilt twist in her chest when she realizes this is how she most remembers her daughter, and not as the vibrant girl she had been born as.
“Ripley,” she says her name, soft and sad, though she isn’t sure if she remembers it — if she even remembers her.
ryatah