| Fiona watched the storm clouds gather in the deepening darkness outside the mansion. Her heart beat quicker, the darkness within her responding for she had welcomed a storm inside her soul. The only light like flickers of lightning that now speckled the landscape. Branches raked across the glass and it was like the screams of the damned begging to be let into the light. Perhaps one day she would be one of the damned and her skeletal fingers would be tap, tap, tapping at the glass. But that day was not now. She envied the damned for though their suffering endless and no doubt agonizing, at least they didn't have to endure the voice of her father droning on and on about what they weren't and what they needed. She wondered if you could die of boredom and sighed deeply. Well there was something she could look forward to, in this endless tedium. Perhaps father would be struck by lightning and as she imagined it, she smiled. The glass would shatter and the storm would attack, driven by the same murderous desires that Fiona embraced. Father was glorying in his moment of divine speechifying. It truly could be tiresome to have a father with delusions of godhood. Ah of course now the recruitment lecture. She barely managed to suppress a yawn whilst privately thinking that the Jedi would love this speech. Father probably got it from the know your enemy handbook. So very Sith to steal it too. She chuckled imagining father grandly orating, his last great moment before the lightning stole his life, the storm devouring his soul. The Sith want you...be all that you can be...she laughed. Fiona watched with horrid fascination as her brother, Argyyle butchered the piece of meat in front of him. She silently applauded the threat to father for as Argyyle chopped at the meat, his eyes remained locked with father's eyes. This is what I want to do to you, implicit with each savage thrust of his sword. Savage and yet so delightful. Fiona always appreciated a good threat. A piece of the revolting meat had adhered itself to father's collar. Perhaps it would whisper sweet evil into his ear. Her attention was diverted by a presence in the corner. Maybe her food taster had scuttled away there. It was not the slave however, it was a woman's figure...and she could see the wall through the woman. That wasn't what made the normally unflappable Fiona open her mouth in astonishment...it was that the woman looked like someone...someone she had only seen in pictures...someone who felt...familiar... Mother? Fiona thought...her eyes widening as if to capture the soul's essence in the depths of her eyes... The woman responded, " Who are you?" Fiona thought, that is it...I have lost my mind like my father...she would now have to schedule time to "oh geth" at her mother's shrine...my home now an asylum for the sithfully insane... help I'm trapped in a gothic ghostmare... or perhaps the plucky heroine...amusing to think for a moment of herself as a heroine...she usually preferred the villain...or maybe father was making her see this apparition, manipulating her with the force so she would agree to a mission to find mother, another failure like all the others... For a moment she was once again the child who longed for her mother, only one memory remaining like a beacon in the wilderness, devastation surrounding the small form, jagged rocks tearing into her heart and the tears she wept were of anguish... heart blood staining her cheeks in the gloomy nothingness in which she dwelt... The jagged rocks she clutched closer, holding the memory as she wished her mother could hold her... seeing mother smiling down at her, while Fiona reached up to touch the golden strands of sunshine in her small hands. The child who had cried herself to sleep... the child who had to comfort her father in his despair...the daughter who needed her mother. The child who began to hate herself for her weakness... who even still hated her father for his weakness...loved him and hated him...loved mother and hated her... wanting mother to be dead and yet yearning for her to be alive. Until all there was left was strength and rage, the memory of tears a warning, never to be weak, never to feel, never... EVER... to hurt again... I will be the one to deal out vengeance... no... suffering to the weak... I will be the one to be feared... It was the child, the child she thought the darkness had murdered... the child she would NOT be... that reached out a trembling hand and said softly... " I am your daughter..." |
| Who Are You |