Post by Vox on Feb 17, 2009 21:06:04 GMT -6
Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.
We open, with a question. It is not a complicated question. It is not even one that contains great depth, or promises a wise reply. But, as with all personal matters, it is of great importance to the lady who ponders it, and who wishes to answer it. There were, in fact, several questions she hoped to answers. But it did not seem ot her that she would get them all resolved. In a day, perhaps.
She sighed, her long eyelashes fluttering half in weariness, half in an attempt to guard her eyes from the dry earth that was expelling dust with every slow pace she took. She had long since given up batting them, long since stopped smirking in delight, vicious delight at her triumphs. "Oh me...What eyes hath love put in my head?" She had not yet lost her sense of humour, however. And this was to her advantage, for without it, she was quite lost. Irony, the devilish gentleman, still courted her, and well it did so, for she leaned on him, giggling wheezily, tittering something into his ear. Sileree Fen let him do the smiling now, of course, but...
The first of the questions concerned her immediate situation. She was sneaking around on the outskirts of the Pride lands she had once been a part of, wondering desperately, though to herself, if she was still welcome in them. It had been so long since she had been sure of her position in the Akina. Or it seemed so, at least.
She was confused, and Sileree hated to admit it, about where she stood with Lothril. And as a generally confident, calm sort of lioness, it irritated her a good deal to be anxious, and unsure. It had been this way for a few months now, and it was wearing her down, both emotionally and physically.
Was she banished? She had committed, in her own opinion, an unpardonable crime, a breach of Lothril's trust and loyalty to her. Lothril, the Queen of the Akina, had accepted her when few others would have. 'Me and all my problems...' Sileree thought disconsolately. She mentally slapped herself, and righted her swooning balance, keeping her head on straight, and her mind relaxed. Her train of thought, which had been screaming toward a never-ending dark tunnel teleported to a quiet station somewhere in the West Country, on a lazy day in July. Laziness was an excellent way to mask anxiety. And she used it, here and now, flicking a speck of dirt of her paw, and verging left, deeper into Kinamasi, feeling the ground get damper with every long stride she took, as she ambled over to a stumpy little tree that might offer her some cover from the sun.
The second of the questions had a great deal to do with a moral problem she had been wrestling with for about two seasons now. Her two most base instincts had come into conflict almost as soon as she had met Thorn. Well, different sets of her base instincts really. The first was, of course, loyalty versus love. She had given Lothril her word, to guard the Akina and her sisters against intruders. It had not been her fault, letting Thorn into the Akina's territories. She had been ill at the time, and she had ignored his growing scent because she recognised it as a male's, and thought it must be Deimos--the then-King. And there was nothing wrong with polite conversation, nothing at all. But...Then she had practically vomited her life-story, her sob-story more like, into his lap. And that was neither acceptable nor appropriate. Sileree burned in embarrassment at the memory. She had been so open, so unguarded. She could never let that happen again. 'Yeah, because last time that happened, you only met one of the greatest things that ever happened to you...' A voice in her head said, rolling it's eyes. This aroused the other voices, who indignantly chorused back at it, 'And it's also landed you in a load of trouble, hasn't it?! Damn fool, Sileree! Badly, very badly done, Fen.'
And then there were the other instincts. To love...Or to live. Live free of complication, seeking Simplicity as best she could, and not make an enigma of herself anymore. But that could not ever happen if Thorn was in the equation. He...Made things more difficult. Sileree paused in her movements. Was that why she left? Was...That why she had told him it had to end? Because he ruptured her bubble, her peace circle.
A pang of apprehension gripped her stomach, and she was rattled by the thought. Why did she not understand the reasons why she did things? Was it...good that she was so unconcious? Was that a mark of her instinctual, natural self taking over, rather than the always-active, anxiety-driven side of her that made everything meaningful, and took most everything personally? Or...Did that simply mean that she was just that much farther away from finding peace with herself, with her surroundings. With others.
The third of these said queries was mainly about lifestyle, and health. She had been on the go for exactly four months, today, and it was not doing her good. True, she was well-fed, as Sileree was herself a fairly good huntress, and she did not have the too-thin, painfully angular appearance that she had showed the world for a great deal of her time here in Kinamasi...But she looked ill. Sileree was not by any means vibrant, but subdued, and cautious. She did not convey the same sharp vivacity as she had once had. Her eyes were dull, down-cast, and hooded. Her frame was listless, her coat lacklustre, and her stride slow and stumbling. It was as if the thought that had kept her secretly buoyant, confident and superior, had been punctured, and was slowly deflating, causing her to collapse in on herself. She was not, by nature, an ambling, confused, lost woman. Forward, purposeful, ambitious, and level-headed, she always knew her direction. But now...Things seemed to be affecting her. She hated it. No, more than that, she loathed it. But in a slow, mournful sort of way. The things she did were accomplished with long sighs, and small glances to the sun, seeing how long she had until it was set, and she could rest.
She was weak, physically, and arrested, mentally. Every moment cost her something. Every second made her more aware, more sharpened. And like a knife, when she was continually grated against the whetstone, she wore herself down, becoming sharper and shaper, thinner and thinner. She would soon disappear, if this kept up...Soon she would leave. And in this she was comforted. Perhaps she would simply end. Maybe that was death. One day she might very well wake up and forget who she was, everything that made her Sileree. Her name, her age, her history, her present, her future, her relationships. Everything...Except him. She could not forget him. Never. But how she wanted to, oh how she wished his image would just leave her be. It tortured her, to think of him being miserable without her. But the thought of his happiness in her absence made her feel even worse. And the fact that these two things bothered her, created a hardened, nasty, cruel desire to hurt something. To take something living, and crush it in her hand, make it shrivel and then become nothing, as she both feared, and hoped, she herself would one day.
The fourth of these questions was perhaps the simplest. The simplest...Oh yes. Simplicity. It is the most difficult virtue to master, for the point of view that all virtues can be mastered with enough study. Sileree supported this mindset. Nay, she embodied it. Anything she worked for, she got. And yet...This slipped from her grasp. An unromantic image may strike your mind just now, and it would not be far from the unromantic truth. An old woman, shrunken and elderly, with trembling hands and eyes cloudy with cataracts stumbling in a shower, a bar of soap eluding her questing fingers. Slip, slip, slip. Slip, slop, clatter, smack, roll, roll, roll. It journeyed, the piece of soap, along the bottom of the porcelain bath, leaving a trail of slippery grime that the old woman would soon slip in, falling hard on the bath's floor, fingers jittering about like arthritic spiders, her dry sobs echoing in the cavernous wash room.
Yes...A quite unromantic, unpleasant image. But it fit. And it hurt.
Simplicity, darling girl! Simplicity, dear child! Come, come, come to the maiden who so wanted to be a mother, but is becoming a crone...For she so wishes you would. She has been expecting you. She has been hoping for your presence. She has been...longing to see your sweet, plain face, your open, pleasant eyes. You were the child she always wanted, the being she wanted to create. Simplicity. The beloved daughter she could dote over, spoil, and who would turn her into a mellow, quiet, useful woman. But instead...Oh, fate, how cruel you can be! Instead she is laden with Havoc, heavy with that son she never wanted, but always knew she would give birth to. It was in her mind. In her body. In her situation. And it plagued her love-life. If that was what it was to be called, because it had long since died, in her eyes.
'Oh let me alone...Leave me be...' A jaded voice in her mind sighed, the mental imagining of what it might sound like in reality echoed about Sileree's mind. Her mind. What a twisted little muscle it was, indeed. It bit at her, and then stroked her. It annoyed her, and then comforted her. It seemed to exist for the sole purpose of stirring her into action, and then holding her back. It kept things going, it kept things moving.
With balance comes stagnation...Was that not what Truth had told her? Harmony, not balance, is what her final objective would be. But could she find it? Could she find it, when just now she felt so listless, languid, and tired? Ah, but she was every bit of her exhausted, but her mind. Restless, it was, needy. It lunged at ordinary objects like a chained dog, snarling in aggression, challenging in it's stance and movements. But if we analyse it's behaviour closely...Is it nothing more than a pet, left to die, chained to a post, and defending it's life? Yes, yes indeed it is. But that makes it no less dangerous. Every killer was once a baby, held in a loving hand. But that did not change what they were, and that did not alter what they were doing, chasing you along a dark alley.
What did it change then? Anything?
'Perspective, my dear pet, perspective...A point of view is nothing more or less than a reality to he who owns it, possesses it. Yes...Nothing more...nothing less...I am nothing more...nothing less...than an object to be gazed at, to be put into a perspective. And what do other see when the look at me? A noble lady worthy of respect, one whose judgement is rarely clouded. That is what Lothril thinks of me perhaps. A delicate flower, exotic and beautiful, and more kind than she lets on...Worthy of protection. Is that what Thorn thinks of me? A wreck of a being, miserable and tangled in her own web of lies and deceit, a constant enigma of instinct and hyper-critical thought, loyalty and betrayal, ardent love and harsh aloofness, so complex and intricate that the details become more intriguing and important the the whole, the small ruined pieces that life adds on with every disappointment become greater than the original sculpture. Is that what I think of myself?'
It was odd, and one finds oneself stating this at more frequent intervals than can be justified, but these thoughts were making her feel marginally less concerned, more relaxed. She was at ease now. For the time, she was free of the harsh grip of worry. Her brow was as smooth as ever, her face free of concern, and she continued on her way, from her pause, walking more slowly, but with more strength. She would not let herself become one with this idiotic behaviour. She was better than it, even if not by much. Deep breaths were taken, and her heartbeat became more regular, her pulse was no longer a string of erratic skips but a steady beating drum. Her legs moved against her chest easily, her generous upper arm and strong shoulder carrying her torso effortlessly with a long reach and a gentler stride than she could have claimed an hour ago. Her yellow eyes were the colour of slightly wilted daffodils, a darker brown than any spring flower could have, but a lighter gold than could be said for any true hazel colour. Bronze, rather.
Oh things were hard at the moment...But there were all the things to live for she had! For the first time in a week, a sardonic smile ghosted across her lips. 'Yeah, all those wonderful, wonderful things I've got keeping me on this g-d forsaken earth. Pride position, whoops I haven't got that one anymore. Family, hmm...Well Truth hasn't seen me since his wife died and her children went mad, Dancer is practically a pleasure-horse, Sutol is dead with her kids getting beaten by their bastard of a father, Edutilos is still trying to deny she even has a son but husband is a real dear with Ilya, Citsemod is still trying to convince us all that the macho politicians will someday see reason and let a woman like her into their circles of power, and last I heard, Lucy's kid Risa still won't talk to anyone or go near apples. My so called lover is one I've never actually made love to, and probably off enjoying himself at the moment while I'm worried out of my mind that he might be in trouble. And I've never been so glad that I don't have friends. They'd probably be fretting over me, like I'm a child.'
But you are eternity and you are the mirror.
NOT DONE
