AURELIA
and my hands aren't clean
maybe they never will be
maybe they never will be
Her hands paused in their work on the rag, the muscles along her fingers stiffening with tension. Aurelia felt something stir in her chest. Anger, maybe, at the surface, but deep down she... completely understood. Maybe that's why it angered her. It wasn't long ago that Aurelia felt the exact same way about people who delved into using magic. Ascended were a new concept to her, her mind still not sure whether she wanted to take one side or the other on the issue.
But if she had learned anything about mages and spellcasters, 'Abandoned', it was that they deserved just as much a chance as anybody else. So she wouldn't be so naive to outcast the Ascended. Not even if a few of them gave her a reason to. A whole race shouldn't be punished for an individual's actions, no matter how heinous. Her thoughts circulated back to Milo, how guilty she felt for everything she'd done when she was around him, and her teeth grit. Her jaw flexed with the movement, and she pressed so hard that it hurt.
She dropped the stick, letting it fall into the sand. Her gaze cast down at the ash that smothered her calloused hands.
(There's a metaphor there, somewhere, I'm sure.)
Lifting up her eyes, she stared across at Gideon with desperation. "I used to think like that, too," she said, starting off slow, not really sure where she was trying to go with it but she was sure to go anyway, "about.. Abandoned. I thought anyone that used magic was evil, a threat that needed to be eliminated. In reality, I was the threat. I was evil. The things I've done to people, Gideon..." she looked away sharply, her palms splayed across her lap in desertion, the pain of so many kills etched across her face. "People that were just trying to get away."
But if she had learned anything about mages and spellcasters, 'Abandoned', it was that they deserved just as much a chance as anybody else. So she wouldn't be so naive to outcast the Ascended. Not even if a few of them gave her a reason to. A whole race shouldn't be punished for an individual's actions, no matter how heinous. Her thoughts circulated back to Milo, how guilty she felt for everything she'd done when she was around him, and her teeth grit. Her jaw flexed with the movement, and she pressed so hard that it hurt.
She dropped the stick, letting it fall into the sand. Her gaze cast down at the ash that smothered her calloused hands.
(There's a metaphor there, somewhere, I'm sure.)
Lifting up her eyes, she stared across at Gideon with desperation. "I used to think like that, too," she said, starting off slow, not really sure where she was trying to go with it but she was sure to go anyway, "about.. Abandoned. I thought anyone that used magic was evil, a threat that needed to be eliminated. In reality, I was the threat. I was evil. The things I've done to people, Gideon..." she looked away sharply, her palms splayed across her lap in desertion, the pain of so many kills etched across her face. "People that were just trying to get away."
but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep
when you're ready to sleep
