Timestamp: Day 91 of Fall, 500AV (afternoon)
Location: Darvina Commonrooms
"Tell me a story, my love," her mother had murmured lucidly, half lidded eyes slipping into reality and fantasy. She was frail now, growing thinner and thinner each day. It was no wonder- the woman had refused any sort of food for a while now.
Miana held the bowl of soup at her lap, patiently bearing the scalding temperature at her palm. "Later, mother," she murmured, a slight smile playing at her lips, "for now, how about some soup?" She had lost count of the times she had asked this question- far too many in a day. All which receive the same answer: a furious shake of her head, copper tresses flailing about.
"Don't be silly," she huffed, "I don't want that. I want a story. An exciting story- you remember that story, right?" Her bright eyes regarded her suddenly, and Miana desperately wished that she didn't do so. For inside her lustrous green orbs, she understood at once that whatever reality Syiavi saw didn't include her at all.
A new life would start for her tomorow- a life where her whole self would be tested and trialled endlessly, though she didn't expect her mother to cry streams of tears, she was disappointed still. Foolishly, she hoped that her mother would remember the day of birth and give her some sort of congratulations. Fool, her mind called her, how can you expect so much when the woman can't even see you?
A lump formed at her young throat, she tried to swallow it down but found that her mouth had gone too dry to do so. She struggled to keep her smile. "Just a sip, Syiavi," she pleaded softly, "just a sip and nothing more." The words were hallow and almost mechanical- as if she was regarding a stranger rather than a mother. Syiavi. She calls her name at time like these. Her smile started to slip.
For a moment, her mother seemed to consider this, but her stuborness held on, "No no no, I want a story, not some icky food, come, tell me a story, love. I want to hear your voice."
Miana looked down at the soup, feeling her energy being sucked away. It had been hell trying to get such a feast, she didn't know how much pinions she stole from her step father just to buy the ingredients for this dish. It was her first time making it, and the steamy plain soup was decent enough in taste. But apparently, it wasn't enough. She let out a soft sigh, one that escaped her mother's ears. "If I tell you a story, will you eat for me at least?"
The compromise brightened Syiavi up once again and she turned to the young halfling, smiled widely and eagerly. "Yes yes," she nodded impatiently, "I'll eat it all up, so just get on with it."
Pausing for a moment, Miana took her time in trying to search in her young mind for a thread of a story. She tried to remember the various stories she had digested in the Enclave, of faraway places and beautiful beings that descended from the divine themselves. But looking at the wide eyes of her mother, they all escaped her lips, all becoming irrelevant between the mother and daughter.
A whisper of a story grew in her mind, and slowly, it formed into an idea. She licked her chapped lips, flinching as her tongue ran across the scabs on her lips not made from the elements of Wind Reach.
She gently placed the bowl in the near table, her focus somewhere else. And slowly, she began to bring life into her words.
Location: Darvina Commonrooms
"Tell me a story, my love," her mother had murmured lucidly, half lidded eyes slipping into reality and fantasy. She was frail now, growing thinner and thinner each day. It was no wonder- the woman had refused any sort of food for a while now.
Miana held the bowl of soup at her lap, patiently bearing the scalding temperature at her palm. "Later, mother," she murmured, a slight smile playing at her lips, "for now, how about some soup?" She had lost count of the times she had asked this question- far too many in a day. All which receive the same answer: a furious shake of her head, copper tresses flailing about.
"Don't be silly," she huffed, "I don't want that. I want a story. An exciting story- you remember that story, right?" Her bright eyes regarded her suddenly, and Miana desperately wished that she didn't do so. For inside her lustrous green orbs, she understood at once that whatever reality Syiavi saw didn't include her at all.
A new life would start for her tomorow- a life where her whole self would be tested and trialled endlessly, though she didn't expect her mother to cry streams of tears, she was disappointed still. Foolishly, she hoped that her mother would remember the day of birth and give her some sort of congratulations. Fool, her mind called her, how can you expect so much when the woman can't even see you?
A lump formed at her young throat, she tried to swallow it down but found that her mouth had gone too dry to do so. She struggled to keep her smile. "Just a sip, Syiavi," she pleaded softly, "just a sip and nothing more." The words were hallow and almost mechanical- as if she was regarding a stranger rather than a mother. Syiavi. She calls her name at time like these. Her smile started to slip.
For a moment, her mother seemed to consider this, but her stuborness held on, "No no no, I want a story, not some icky food, come, tell me a story, love. I want to hear your voice."
Miana looked down at the soup, feeling her energy being sucked away. It had been hell trying to get such a feast, she didn't know how much pinions she stole from her step father just to buy the ingredients for this dish. It was her first time making it, and the steamy plain soup was decent enough in taste. But apparently, it wasn't enough. She let out a soft sigh, one that escaped her mother's ears. "If I tell you a story, will you eat for me at least?"
The compromise brightened Syiavi up once again and she turned to the young halfling, smiled widely and eagerly. "Yes yes," she nodded impatiently, "I'll eat it all up, so just get on with it."
Pausing for a moment, Miana took her time in trying to search in her young mind for a thread of a story. She tried to remember the various stories she had digested in the Enclave, of faraway places and beautiful beings that descended from the divine themselves. But looking at the wide eyes of her mother, they all escaped her lips, all becoming irrelevant between the mother and daughter.
A whisper of a story grew in her mind, and slowly, it formed into an idea. She licked her chapped lips, flinching as her tongue ran across the scabs on her lips not made from the elements of Wind Reach.
She gently placed the bowl in the near table, her focus somewhere else. And slowly, she began to bring life into her words.
