Abstract Writing Corner

[AbstractTraitorHero]

((I felt the need to write a little snippet badly and decided having one place for any future bits would be quite nice. This was based off a song that just kept me thinking about this all day, the song is colors and the writing snippet here is from Eurydice Vanreths perspective. If this is the wrong place for this feel free to move it!))

My fingers are losing their grip day by day.
An empty pill bottle held tight, given so long ago.

And yet I can't stop thinking about it, can't stop myself from rolling my fingers along it, along the handwriting of that man. Of a man who I shared my life with, of a man who gave me one of my eyes. Of a man who's not around anymore, each time I keep finding myself in this dusty old section of the library with my head rolling and flooding with that bell.

Flooding with Nidaz's bell.
Flooding what took that man away, a replica of what wants to make me just like him, what took those hands away, what took those words away from me. He was never a truly good man, despite how I try to feel. Despite how all those moments digging into someone's corpse with a scalpel, the joy that I felt was so real, so primal, so never ending and I wanted?

I wanted his approval.

I wanted the man who told me I'd never burn in those stars above to come on by and shed the facade, shed the skeletal appearance and reveal it was all a ruse, instead of throwing me off a roof.

The pills were blue, my hands were red and my last name is Vanreth.

All because of a man that's been dead for years.

All because of?

Nidaz.

The man who saved my life, the man whose corpse has abandoned his face and who's abandoned what we had.

[AbstractTraitorHero]

She'd walked today.

She'd found her boots walking her along without any thought at all, beyond a sense of heaviness. Her strong toned frame simmering and smoldering, crackling just beneath. Her feet take her moment by moment towards somewhere old, towards a place, towards a swamp of the broken.

Towards a home gone.

Towards a place that holds the bodies of thousands, unburied and unmourned by thousands. She's one of the few people that can remember any of them, one of the few to even bother to remember them. Countless Non-magi burned, murdered slaughtered, countless people, a city of rusted and burned and destroyed machinery.

A city of progress.

That's burned down.
That's sunk.
That's only just a few houses anymore, magi inhabiting death filled ruins.

She ends up standing before the water's edge, mismatched eyes stare down at her own reflection, at one draconic eye. At the eye that replaced her burned and infected one, at the eye that Nidaz had given her. They move down to her right hand, flesh and blood when it'd been iron when she was a non-magi.

She's privileged to have what she has now.

Yet she came here, because she feels helpless, a deep well of something that stirs in her chest, that stirs and buzzes in her chest, death creeping closer and closer. How can she change things, how can she save things, how can the world change?

What the fuck am I meant to do?

An old broken body trying to keep itself together, trying to survive, struggling and struggling, it's such a torrent that rushes through her, an emotional peak that leaves her shaking.

"H-How."

Burned.
Burned.

BURNED!

So many burned, so many hopes and dreams and people all lost to her, so many things lost, the injustice of it all comes searing through tonight and it feels heavy and harsh upon of her. She knew morally the world was wrong, but it'd been so long since she'd had a moment where she wanted to scream it, to yell it.

But so close to death?

It will continue.

Won't it?

This cycle of hatred.
This cycle of death.
This cycle of magi oppressing everyone.

Her ideas would be disposed with, because they are inconvenient if nothing is done. Her ideas would be washed away like Azura Nomont who everyone tries to forget existed, people would live and die and suffer and she'd have lived a life where she'd helped people.

Where she'd become a better person.

Yet the world be better, it seemed so far off for one old lady, one desperate old woman running out of time, with her empathy grasped onto by her own two hands, chosen to be grasped onto.

While the rest of the world ignores that they even have it.

"How."

How.
How.
How.

She had to be able to, her fingers are pressing deep, and she has to be able to change something. She has to be able to do something, to see a world, to be there for a world where life?

Is worth living.

For everyone.

Where people won't be killed for being born.
Rejected for being born.
Told to burn for being born wrong.

Mismatched eyes stared on down at the water's edge, at a skull of a family in the water, their skulls and corpses long dilapidated and rotten. What's left of them mummified.

Her body fails her.

Her body wants to fail her.

But the mind.
But the essence.

Refuses.


(Eurydice Vanreth)

---

I've been feeling fairly passionate overall in my feelings about Eurydice recently, kind of just found a song late at night and felt a fire burning in my belly, it's been a long while since I've written anything this long on Eurydice. I feel revitalized on her to some extent, even if I feel deeply uncertain how to proceed her storyline with full age nerfs, just put this up because I really enjoyed writing it and decided that I wanted to share it with others.

I hope you all enjoyed reading it!