[ Ice that sits over a great flaming heat. Deep and ugly and she leans forward, slow steady pressure that seems only, to move forward. You can't go back, after all, when there is nothing left but smoke and rubble. ]
Revenge?
[ There's a taste there, in all her thoughts. Thick, and wretched, of burning flesh, of screaming, of misery upon misery that comes with the word slaughter. Of the voices that fill her mind - not of the hive, but those to who, to her true mind, who she will belong to first and foremost and always. ]
Revenge, would be the moment I kill a creature by the name of Lord Hastings, or Jack the Ripper, whatever skin he is wearing that day. Revenge is when I burn down the buildings of the United India Company the world over and in my home. Revenge would be the day I strike down the Queen of England for the neglect and hypocrisy she calls ruling.
[ Her fingers uncurl and recurl, where they tied, like she kept but barely. A creature biting against her containment simply because it is the only thing she knows how to do. ] I watched as a creature that wore their skin, so lost themselves, ate out the belly of a woman three months pregnant while she was still alive. I fought as wave after wave of creatures, ripped men who had sworn to fight for me, limb from limb like dolls. I saw them turn children, and those children slaughter their own families because they simply could not control themselves, and my own people be so lost, that there was nothing else but turn to me, beg me, to kill them because they found themselves unable to save themselves from what had to be done to their own family.
[ Each breath comes deep, shaking, shaking with something that has gone long, long beyond rage. That she has been told she is mistaken, that she will see the error of her own ways. The work of something in her jaw that will not come up, lodged so deeply in her own throat, it might as well be her own breath. ]
And for all that, do you think I want something so small, so petty, as revenge?
no subject
Revenge?
[ There's a taste there, in all her thoughts. Thick, and wretched, of burning flesh, of screaming, of misery upon misery that comes with the word slaughter. Of the voices that fill her mind - not of the hive, but those to who, to her true mind, who she will belong to first and foremost and always. ]
Revenge, would be the moment I kill a creature by the name of Lord Hastings, or Jack the Ripper, whatever skin he is wearing that day. Revenge is when I burn down the buildings of the United India Company the world over and in my home. Revenge would be the day I strike down the Queen of England for the neglect and hypocrisy she calls ruling.
[ Her fingers uncurl and recurl, where they tied, like she kept but barely. A creature biting against her containment simply because it is the only thing she knows how to do. ] I watched as a creature that wore their skin, so lost themselves, ate out the belly of a woman three months pregnant while she was still alive. I fought as wave after wave of creatures, ripped men who had sworn to fight for me, limb from limb like dolls. I saw them turn children, and those children slaughter their own families because they simply could not control themselves, and my own people be so lost, that there was nothing else but turn to me, beg me, to kill them because they found themselves unable to save themselves from what had to be done to their own family.
[ Each breath comes deep, shaking, shaking with something that has gone long, long beyond rage. That she has been told she is mistaken, that she will see the error of her own ways. The work of something in her jaw that will not come up, lodged so deeply in her own throat, it might as well be her own breath. ]
And for all that, do you think I want something so small, so petty, as revenge?