Post by Nate on Aug 14, 2013 13:02:26 GMT -8
“How can I protect those that I love?” Sheila asked to his gathered household. Cradled in his arms, the broken and now crippled Juliet slept softly. The stumps of her arms reminded Sheila of yet another failure at protecting the tiny girl. “How can I show those that view mortals as cattle the weight of a human soul? How can I save a life when the world is so full of callous murders and villains, who would so casually take the future away from these brilliant dreamers?”
Sheila’s employee’s, and at the same time his closest friends, eyes glazed over as he called upon memories almost as old as the human race. The Mists, that supernatural boundary between the Dreaming and reality, would protect them from Sheila’s rambling. So he continued talking to himself, and perhaps to his adopted daughter.
“How can we hope for a future when we forget that we were made, created, born to lead a young humanity to a beautiful existence? Now there are nobles,” he spoke that word with a sneer, contempt and hatred breaking his voice before he could continue, “and commoners alike who would snatch any future from these wondrous creatures.
“But that is an unkind term for these mortals, who have for so long been the playthings of my kith and kin. Every one of my contacts, every single person that I have negotiated with, I love deeply. I see the world through their eyes. I experience their entire lives in the instant our gazes meet. My heart breaks with their grief. I am brought to tears by the depth of their joy. I am humbled by their aspirations, and lifted by their compassion. Even the simplest, most mundane mind can still see so much beauty in this broken world.
“How can the blinders be removed from the changeling race, which have grown cold in their eon long reign? To those that would orphan children with so little thought, widow loving spouses as easily as wiping sleep from their eyes, how can I force them to share my burden? Even the humblest commoner in this realm seems to carry a terrifying weapon of war, or are themselves perfect weapons, with little regard for life remaining in their soldier’s soul. In such a war-torn world, who would dare share my burden? Who in their right mind would take up a circlet of blades and spikes? Who would dare bear the weight of this guilty crown?”
And as the silence filled itself with the screams of the long dead, and only the innocent dreamt, Sheila wept.
Sheila’s employee’s, and at the same time his closest friends, eyes glazed over as he called upon memories almost as old as the human race. The Mists, that supernatural boundary between the Dreaming and reality, would protect them from Sheila’s rambling. So he continued talking to himself, and perhaps to his adopted daughter.
“How can we hope for a future when we forget that we were made, created, born to lead a young humanity to a beautiful existence? Now there are nobles,” he spoke that word with a sneer, contempt and hatred breaking his voice before he could continue, “and commoners alike who would snatch any future from these wondrous creatures.
“But that is an unkind term for these mortals, who have for so long been the playthings of my kith and kin. Every one of my contacts, every single person that I have negotiated with, I love deeply. I see the world through their eyes. I experience their entire lives in the instant our gazes meet. My heart breaks with their grief. I am brought to tears by the depth of their joy. I am humbled by their aspirations, and lifted by their compassion. Even the simplest, most mundane mind can still see so much beauty in this broken world.
“How can the blinders be removed from the changeling race, which have grown cold in their eon long reign? To those that would orphan children with so little thought, widow loving spouses as easily as wiping sleep from their eyes, how can I force them to share my burden? Even the humblest commoner in this realm seems to carry a terrifying weapon of war, or are themselves perfect weapons, with little regard for life remaining in their soldier’s soul. In such a war-torn world, who would dare share my burden? Who in their right mind would take up a circlet of blades and spikes? Who would dare bear the weight of this guilty crown?”
And as the silence filled itself with the screams of the long dead, and only the innocent dreamt, Sheila wept.