Ruth | the strategist. left eye is green, right eye is brown
I tried to forget you, sunk all my memories in the river but the waves kept tossing them back.
Born to Fathom and Calypso during a late spring, she has been told, or so the story goes, that she ran away multiple times during her youth, fleeing after either a furious outburst or months of cold shoulders and stony silence. This, she thinks, is a gross simplification. She didn't leave out of pettiness or because she felt a hero's calling. She left out of confusion. Was this it? Every time they ignored the curious glances of strangers, politely declined to eat with friends, they felt the gap widening.
It starts on a Tuesday. She is on her way to the Ashborne Heart to meet with Syl and Tourmaline for some negotiation attempt with a neighboring village when she catches a glimpse of herself in a nearby window and realizes that she glows. Not literally. But she's beautiful. And it fills her with a joy she's never felt before. It's a feeling in her gut, a change in the way she carries herself, where she thinks, this is power. This is what power feels like, and she could get used to it. She steps further from the window and into the sunlight, and it becomes apparent just how boring and placid the world around her is. The narcissism starts on a Tuesday, a Tuesday like any other, a Tuesday for Ruth.
They say that the forbidden fruit is always the sweetest. Ruth would know. August asks why she hardly ever looks him in the eye. He asks her why she doesn't live with him, why she follows her God so devoutly. She's a priestess. Maybe tainted, just a little bit. But it's not the fourth dawn anymore, it's the sixth, and purity is just an old fashioned statement. He looks at her strangely, searching golden eyes a pool of molten suns and first-magnitude stars, and she has to lean forward to hear his rasp.
"Are you happy?"
And in that fragment of a moment, she is. Remnants of a moment seem to linger on her tongue, seem to say "I love you, and what else matters?"
Born to Fathom and Calypso during a late spring, she has been told, or so the story goes, that she ran away multiple times during her youth, fleeing after either a furious outburst or months of cold shoulders and stony silence. This, she thinks, is a gross simplification. She didn't leave out of pettiness or because she felt a hero's calling. She left out of confusion. Was this it? Every time they ignored the curious glances of strangers, politely declined to eat with friends, they felt the gap widening.
It starts on a Tuesday. She is on her way to the Ashborne Heart to meet with Syl and Tourmaline for some negotiation attempt with a neighboring village when she catches a glimpse of herself in a nearby window and realizes that she glows. Not literally. But she's beautiful. And it fills her with a joy she's never felt before. It's a feeling in her gut, a change in the way she carries herself, where she thinks, this is power. This is what power feels like, and she could get used to it. She steps further from the window and into the sunlight, and it becomes apparent just how boring and placid the world around her is. The narcissism starts on a Tuesday, a Tuesday like any other, a Tuesday for Ruth.
They say that the forbidden fruit is always the sweetest. Ruth would know. August asks why she hardly ever looks him in the eye. He asks her why she doesn't live with him, why she follows her God so devoutly. She's a priestess. Maybe tainted, just a little bit. But it's not the fourth dawn anymore, it's the sixth, and purity is just an old fashioned statement. He looks at her strangely, searching golden eyes a pool of molten suns and first-magnitude stars, and she has to lean forward to hear his rasp.
"Are you happy?"
And in that fragment of a moment, she is. Remnants of a moment seem to linger on her tongue, seem to say "I love you, and what else matters?"
7.8lbs kitten | 11.05 lbs adolescent
Ruth’s finesse improved! Ruth's perception improved! Ruth's perception improved! Ruth's cleverness improved! Ruth's finesse improved!
