[ A soft hum of a noise. Contemplative. She always wonders how much of this story to tell. She knows that her life is entirely divergent from any other host. The story she tells is rarely one that can empathized with in full -- although she finds pieces and parts of herself in others. In a yellow flower. In the shuffling steps through the desert. ]
My world was under the thrall of a man we called Godking.
[ She knows by now that he was a man. ]
He burned our world, so that nothing lived nor grew on the surface. What remained of our cities smoldered, and our skies rained with ash. The shadows cast by his flames roamed the wastelands, killing and eating those who remained. When I was young, he controlled my life in that way.
[ She recounts this in a steady, lyrical way. A story. It belongs to her, but it also a myth that she has recounted plenty enough times: to herself and others. How else would she make sense of where she has been, if she could not tell this story... ]
One day, he found my caravan in the wastes. We could live in his palace as worshipers, or die. So I went. Even in the palace, he went into fits of madness and rage, he killed and tortured his worshipers. So I behaved carefully, quietly, and learned to weather his moods. He controlled my life in that way.
[ This was not always something she knew. But she has had time and distance from him, to realize. ]
He came to like me. He made me his gardener, he declared me a holy virgin, the angel that defied humanity's sinfulness. So I believed that, I believed much of his ravings, and behaved as he dictated for me. He controlled my life, in that way.
[ She looks at Noctis quietly, as she concludes her explanation, waiting to see how he responds. ]
no subject
[ A soft hum of a noise. Contemplative. She always wonders how much of this story to tell. She knows that her life is entirely divergent from any other host. The story she tells is rarely one that can empathized with in full -- although she finds pieces and parts of herself in others. In a yellow flower. In the shuffling steps through the desert. ]
My world was under the thrall of a man we called Godking.
[ She knows by now that he was a man. ]
He burned our world, so that nothing lived nor grew on the surface. What remained of our cities smoldered, and our skies rained with ash. The shadows cast by his flames roamed the wastelands, killing and eating those who remained. When I was young, he controlled my life in that way.
[ She recounts this in a steady, lyrical way. A story. It belongs to her, but it also a myth that she has recounted plenty enough times: to herself and others. How else would she make sense of where she has been, if she could not tell this story... ]
One day, he found my caravan in the wastes. We could live in his palace as worshipers, or die. So I went. Even in the palace, he went into fits of madness and rage, he killed and tortured his worshipers. So I behaved carefully, quietly, and learned to weather his moods. He controlled my life in that way.
[ This was not always something she knew. But she has had time and distance from him, to realize. ]
He came to like me. He made me his gardener, he declared me a holy virgin, the angel that defied humanity's sinfulness. So I believed that, I believed much of his ravings, and behaved as he dictated for me. He controlled my life, in that way.
[ She looks at Noctis quietly, as she concludes her explanation, waiting to see how he responds. ]