[Flashback] For Lack of Life

[Iredeth]

Winter 35, 507 A.V.

Iredeth sat on the floor, crossed legged, her skirt forming a canopy between her knees. She stared at a point in the air before her with half-lidded eyes. She was performing what she called her after-magic routine. She had just animated a new doll, which lay a few paces away from her. She had put a lot of work into that one, trying to infuse it with as much personality as she could. It wasn’t exactly a failure, but it wasn’t a success either. All the doll could do was move when commanded to do so. It had no free will, no thoughts, no feelings… Of course, Sirella had warned her student that it would take much more skill than she currently had to fully animate an object, but naturally, Iredeth had tried to do so nonetheless. Now, she was meditating to regain her strength and refocus her mind. Her after-magic routine.

She let her mind wander through that single point of air, infusing it with great importance, and weaving her entire concentration around it. She focused on her breathing, inhaling and exhaling on a count of five. The air that passed through her nostrils was pure, with a distinct moist quality to it. With every breath I take, I take life. With every breath I expel, I release life. She let her thoughts flow along with her breathing, coming and going as they pleased. She retained no one thought for longer than it would naturally stay in her mind. One day, my dolls will breathe just as I breathe and they will understand what it means to breath. If only every person could understand what a blessing it is to inhale and exhale life through their lungs. She shifted her hands subtly, letting them drop from her knees to the cold, stone floor. She felt the chill of the granite and tried to let it seep into her hands, to gather the cold and hold it to her heart.

If only they knew what it means to touch and feel and to understand what they touch. My dolls do not know it, but they do not have the means to know. The people have the means, but they still do not know. She pressed her palms against the floor, moving her hands further and further forward, until she leaned across her crossed legs, her body almost horizontal to the floor. She stayed in this position for a few chimes, and then stretched lazily, arching her back and bringing her arms behind her neck. She lowered her head as far back as it would go. With the veins standing out through the pale skin of her neck, it looked as if her neck would snap at any moment. Not pale enough. Not pale enough to be a real Symenestra. She chased the bitter thought away, suppressing it before it ruined her concentration. Her body formed an elegant backward arc – a bird on the cusp of flight.

[Iredeth]

She snapped her neck forward, bringing her whole body with it. In the same motion, she uncrossed her legs, coming to a kneeling position. She bent her body to the ground, her forehead touching the floor. The cold stone sent a chill through her head and down her entire body. Her forearms were pressed against the ground. The joy of movement. They do not understand it. It is only when they lose the ability to move that it hits them. She brought her head up, straightening her back until it was precisely perpendicular to the floor.

So few understand. But those few understand with their whole being. They worship life. They worship blood. Iredeth closed her eyes, a shiver running through her whole body. She prayed in her thoughts – prayed fervently to the God of Blood. She prayed with her whole being, suppressing no emotion, leaving no thought unspoken. Unable to restrict her prayer within the limits of her mind, she began to speak in a monotone voice, “The scared blood of life flows through every being – whether it is red or not. It must be preserved, cherished, loved…”

She did not belong to the Symenenstra people. She did not belong to the Benshira people. She did not belong to a Web. She was responsible for nobody but herself. Naturally, she could not hope for Viratas to recognize her. “It must not be spilled in vain… Only shed for the protection of life itself.” There was only one person who she would shed blood for. Only for Sirella. Only for the woman that had raised her, given her shelter, taught her to sew and to animate, taught her to live, and to cherish life. Iredeth would die to protect her, because that woman had given her the once thing nobody else had ever been willing to give her. She had given her love.

“Blood speaks of life and death. It sings of sins and blessings,” she intoned, her gaze focused once more on an unidentifiable point in front of her. “Every drop is precious, but not all cries are holy.” She had memorized large portions of the Viratassa, poring over it as a little girl, trying to find the answer to her seclusion. At first, Sirella had tried to discourage Iredeth from reading the holy text. It contained a lot of information on Webs, families, and communities. Surely, it couldn’t be healthy for a girl as lonely as Iredeth to read it. But Iredeth had read nonetheless and she had learned from it. She learned the meaning of family and love and care. She learned the ties that blood formed and she learned to balance her dislike for the race which had forsaken her with her love for life. In time, Sirella came to see the benefits of teaching the girl about Viratas and about Symenestra culture. Now, Iredeth couldn’t be more grateful to Sirella for having opened that door.

[Iredeth]

Iredeth relaxed her shoulders, hunching them slightly. She placed her palms squarely on the floor in front of her and leaned forward. With her head almost touching her hands, she began to slowly lift her legs – still bent at the knees – into the air. Her arms shook a little, but she managed to keep her balance. She breathed through her nose, allowing her whole body to feel the tiny current of air leaving her nostrils. Focusing on her breathing, she fully straightened her arms and curved her back, bringing her knees to her stomach. Her toes pointed out behind her like those of a dancer.

She stayed in the position for a chime, counting off the seconds in her head, trying to ignore the strain building in her elbows, wrists, and back. As soon as she got to sixty, she attempted to lower herself gracefully to the ground, but her arms gave out and she tumbled down in an awkward heap. Sprawled on the floor, she had the inclination to laugh. And so she did. She flipped over to her back, limbs splayed out every which way, and laughed. She let the laughter wash away the tension from her body. She let the sound into the dark recesses of her mind, attempting and failing to clean up the cobwebs. But even as she knew that laughter could not ease all the strings that were held taut inside her, she was grateful for the ones it could ease. Every part of her body seemed to be alive with the laughter. If someone were to come into the room they would surely think that she had been seized by convulsions.

As the peals of laughter died away, something alike to madness glinted in her eyes – a quiet madness that had awoken for the briefest moment and was no returning back to its lair. Iredeth lay there for a few chimes, staring up at the ceiling with vacant eyes. It shouldn’t be this easy to fabricate joy and spend it so quickly. Why doesn’t it last? Why am I so exhausted? She reached out blindly with one hand and grasped at a cloth arm lying near by. She jerked the doll toward her and held her out at arm’s length, inspecting the creation. Who am I kidding? The animation process was not a success. It was a failure. A complete and utter failure. She looked into the button eyes of the doll and hurried to add out-loud, “But you are not a failure, darling. It is I who failed. I’m just not so great at magic yet. But I will be one day and then I’ll give you the ability to move and think and speak. You’ll be as alive as me.”

The rag doll stared at her blankly and Iredeth returned the vacant look, almost mirroring the doll’s expression. The two were eerily similar. After all, Iredeth had made the doll in her own image – the only doll which she had based on herself. She always chose a model for her dolls and tried to infuse the doll with not so much a physical resemblance to the model, but with an emotional and mental one. Some might have thought it a hard task to accomplish, but Iredeth saw dolls as reflections of people and all she had to do was provide a mirror.

[Iredeth]

She brought the doll down to her chest and wrapped her arms around it. She stayed in that position for about five chimes, staring at the ceiling and clutching the doll in a death grip. Then, almost reluctantly, she laid the doll on the ground. Finally, she gathered air into her lungs and expelled it in one, big sigh. As soon as the breath left her body, she flung her arms forward and drew herself up onto the bolls of her feet. Standing fully erect, she took another breath, bringing her arms out in front of her. She measured the distance from where she stood to the cavern door with her gaze. Judging the space to be sufficient, she tipped forward and in a flurry of hands and feet, did a forward flip. She came to rest a few paces away from where she started, landing a little unsteadily on her feet.

After taking a moment to steady herself, she did another flip, this time taking care to keep better control over her feet. The next time she tired the flip, her skirt flew into her eyes, causing her to fall to the floor in a tangle of fabric. But she got up and tried again and again and again… The next landing came almost perfectly to her. She proceeded to work on these flips for the better part of a bell, trying time after time to stick the landing on two firm feet. But every time she tried, she always found herself wobbling slightly.

After what seemed like an eternity of seeing the world shift between being upside down and right side up, she lowered herself back onto the ground. Assuming her initial position, she crossed her legs at the ankles and let her elbows rest loosely on her knees. Her breathing slowed as she willed the tension out of her aching hands, which had been scraped across the deceptively smooth floor one too many times. She gave her hands a distracted glance, barely noticing the thin cuts that were beginning to ooze blood and the callouses that would surely form as a result of the exercise.

Teach the mind to think, the hands to work, and the body to move. The heart will teach itself to love. Sirella had spoken those words more times than Iredeth could count. They seemed to be the older woman’s mantra – one that she chanted as answer to most of Iredeth’s questions.

[Iredeth]

When Iredeth was a little girl, she had cried at night, unable to comprehend why she was so alone, why everyone hated her, why Mama had stopped coming to see her… And Sirella had sat next to her, stroked her hair and said, “Teach the mind to think, little one, so you can understand.” And Iredeth had taught her mind to think. She had read every book Sirella could offer her. She had stayed up all night memorizing the Viratessa. She had wanted desperately to teach her mind to think, so she could understand. She still did not understand.

Iredeth had watched Sirella work at her sewing with naked amazement in her large eyes. How did her fingers move so quickly? How did she not prick herself with the needle? How could she create such beautiful garments from such simple cloth? Sirella had given her a needle and a piece of fabric and she had said, “Teach your hands to work and you’ll create things twice as beautiful as this.” And Iredeth had worked with the needle for years, pricking her fingers with it, and watching the blood flow freely until she developed the foresight to stop the bleeding by applying pressure to her finger with a cloth. She was still teaching her hands to work, working out more complicated designs, trying to perfect her stitching…

As Iredeth grew older, her sadness slowly began turning into anger and hate. She found herself wanting to hit something, to pour out her frustrations in blood, and to see fear in the eyes of the people who dared mock her for being who she was. Sirella had sat her down and explained to her how she could channel that anger. She had taught her meditation and acrobatics and had said, “Teach your body to move and you will know how and when to move against an enemy, even when that enemy is yourself.” Whenever Iredeth practiced acrobatics she remembered what Sirella said, because she knew that she was her own worst enemy. The hateful thoughts that lived in the recesses of her mind needed to be expressed in a controlled manner – a manner that would not spill blood needlessly.

[Iredeth]

Iredeth lost herself in a deep, meditative trance. Nothing mattered. Nothing existed. Even she no longer existed. For a blissful moment, she was a part of the air, a part of the stone, a part of the blood that flowed through every living being. And then, just like that, she heard herself expel a breath of air, and her concentration was broken. She blinked, her amethyst eyes full of a longing for what she had gained and lost so quickly.

She needed to feel that peace again. She needed to understand the freedom that came with not being attached to anything. The stability of the stone beckoned to her at the same time as the carefree joy of the air whispered words of promise into her ear. What would it feel like to just get up and leave? Leave everything behind. Leave Kalinor. Leave Sirella. Even leave myself far, far away. To be no more than blood flowing through veins, or air rushing through a cave, or stone slumbering beneath quite footsteps.

Iredeth stood up, picking up the doll on the way. She held it by the hand as one would hold a child and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “We’ll be free one day. You and me, together. I know you can’t answer me, can’t even fully comprehend what I’m saying… But one day, you will. And you’ll be happy. And I’ll be happy because you’re happy.”

Iredeth looked toward the opening that lead out of the cavernous room and began to walk, still holding onto the doll’s hand. “We won’t ever have to go back to Kalinor. We’ll find a home somewhere else. We’ll find a place where nobody asks who we are or cares, for that matter.”

Just as she passed into the bright, Winter day outside, she added, “And the heart will teach itself to love.”

She wasn’t sure that hers has, yet.

[Colombina]

The XP Wand Is Waved! Welcome to the humble city of Kalinor and the fellowship of Symenestra (or Dra-'s). So pleased to have you! This was a beautiful lyric thread. I enjoyed reading it and look forward to what you do in the future. Iredeth's Loot Lore of the Viratassa Lore of Self Awareness 3 XP Acrobatics 1 XP Meditation Colombina is pleased!