Ill-Made Martyr [Open]

MaeA The growing unease did not go by unnoticed. Poor of vision she might be, but Maea thought herself apt enough at reading people to pick up on such things. She paused and sat in silence for a while, in case he felt like sharing what it was that troubled him. Eventually, he did and did not; there was a discomfort underlying his words, she thought, but could not pinpoint what it stemmed from. "What is good?" she retorted, uncertain how to assuage his fears. "What is cruel, or evil? I don't know that such terms can really be applied to anyone so generally." Maea fingered a stray lock of hair that had escaped from the braid that hung down her back, the colorless eyes distant even as they rested on Peter's face. "You have to understand, none of us chose to be here. Not we who were born beneath the barrier, nor those who were brought here from... elsewhere. None of us know why we are here, or how to get out, whether we should, or if the point of it all is for those trapped within is to fade from existence. When we pray and ask the gods for help, one may give you one answer while another will say the opposite. Perhaps they might give us something that we need, or none will answer at all. Depending on who you listen to, the truth will be different and Good and Bad will shift accordingly." She was just musing aloud at this point, having no real answer to give him. "I suppose... In the end we will all have to choose what to believe and which path to take. In this there is no real difference between us. Are we not all humans, after all?" Though Maea supposed that the steps away from that humanity that the New gods led the Ascended through was the source of the whole conflict. Everything had been fine until some Ascended had decided that merely living and dying according to the laws of nature was no longer enough. No wonder the divine powers disapproved of her kin. Such staggering hubris.... did that exist within them all? Within herself as well? She wanted to think that it did not, but could not forget that brief impulse to make use of this man's plight for her own gain. you're so cold, but you feel alive.