Amidst the screams of innocence lost, there laid a pocket of peace within the Altalar District. A house utterly quiet, filled with life in contrast to its neighbors, whose houses fell silent with its absence. This quiet was unlike any other; the house lay rested, but not dead, and certainly not forgotten. The earth shuddered, the ground shook, as the Daendroque District had been eradicated with one fell swoop. Yet even still, the Altalar stood fast in the ignorance of the enemy and the quiet of their footfalls.
There sat a rocking chair in the living room of the house of peace, the only sounds produced being its squeaks as it was gently guided back and forth by the steady pacing of she who sat in it. Vanya stared ahead, her eyes icy blue and glazed over as the morning frost of December's awakening. The snow will fall soon, she thought, in two months' time. And where would the isle be after that? Would snow be the one to cover up the rubble and cadavers which lay discarded on the streets, burying the footsteps of those responsible, acting as an encasing to a forgotten memory? For how long would this crisis be remembered before being erased from history, just as the Great Vampire Wars?
Vanya arose to a stand, the creaking coming to hush as she stepped to the door. Opening it, she greeted the morning air. It was beginning to cool down outside. The middle of September is such an odd state of mind, she thought, stepping out fully. The morning sun kissed her rosy cheeks, and with this greeting, she felt whole again for a moment before falling back into the shadows. Oh, how summer was taken for granted, how the streets laid unbothered, how the lamps lit roads spectacularly; their candlelight dancing in fractals endlessly pirouetted by stained glass. But now the winds softened with change, cooling down the earth to prepare it for slumber; the streets now barren of any save the criminals running rampant to rob innocence; No lamp in sight was lit to such spectacular extremities come nightfall. The isle laid in darkness, and in darkness, it would stay; that is until someone cared to shed light. Whether through a keyhole, or a crack in the wall.
Hope: It is the one thing stronger than fear. A little bit of it kept contained, is useful; beautiful. Too much may spark an uprising. It would appear the Sanguine were given too much. Though, this is where the Sanguine fall short: False hope. The clouds in the skies of their souls rain terror on the innocent, and what is more dangerous, farce glory on the downtrodden and outcast.
Vanya stepped back inside momentarily, staring at the gloves placed in their perfect spots upon the table. She plucked each one up, swift movements concise and precise as she slipped them on one at a time. If light in the keyhole is needed, she thought, so be it.
Thereafter securing her gloves, she departed swiftly, making haste out of the peaceful household and into the isle of chaos. No more would she hide in her home with her family: There was work to be done, advantages to exploit, monopoly to claim. Yes, there were people to save, people to shed light upon who will hold onto it long after their need becomes obsolete. This crisis must end sometime, and if, or when, it does, I will be coming out on top. And the Regalians will remember what happened to them, even if I must remind them myself, every day. What better time to rise to power than the end of the world?
There sat a rocking chair in the living room of the house of peace, the only sounds produced being its squeaks as it was gently guided back and forth by the steady pacing of she who sat in it. Vanya stared ahead, her eyes icy blue and glazed over as the morning frost of December's awakening. The snow will fall soon, she thought, in two months' time. And where would the isle be after that? Would snow be the one to cover up the rubble and cadavers which lay discarded on the streets, burying the footsteps of those responsible, acting as an encasing to a forgotten memory? For how long would this crisis be remembered before being erased from history, just as the Great Vampire Wars?
Vanya arose to a stand, the creaking coming to hush as she stepped to the door. Opening it, she greeted the morning air. It was beginning to cool down outside. The middle of September is such an odd state of mind, she thought, stepping out fully. The morning sun kissed her rosy cheeks, and with this greeting, she felt whole again for a moment before falling back into the shadows. Oh, how summer was taken for granted, how the streets laid unbothered, how the lamps lit roads spectacularly; their candlelight dancing in fractals endlessly pirouetted by stained glass. But now the winds softened with change, cooling down the earth to prepare it for slumber; the streets now barren of any save the criminals running rampant to rob innocence; No lamp in sight was lit to such spectacular extremities come nightfall. The isle laid in darkness, and in darkness, it would stay; that is until someone cared to shed light. Whether through a keyhole, or a crack in the wall.
Hope: It is the one thing stronger than fear. A little bit of it kept contained, is useful; beautiful. Too much may spark an uprising. It would appear the Sanguine were given too much. Though, this is where the Sanguine fall short: False hope. The clouds in the skies of their souls rain terror on the innocent, and what is more dangerous, farce glory on the downtrodden and outcast.
Vanya stepped back inside momentarily, staring at the gloves placed in their perfect spots upon the table. She plucked each one up, swift movements concise and precise as she slipped them on one at a time. If light in the keyhole is needed, she thought, so be it.
Thereafter securing her gloves, she departed swiftly, making haste out of the peaceful household and into the isle of chaos. No more would she hide in her home with her family: There was work to be done, advantages to exploit, monopoly to claim. Yes, there were people to save, people to shed light upon who will hold onto it long after their need becomes obsolete. This crisis must end sometime, and if, or when, it does, I will be coming out on top. And the Regalians will remember what happened to them, even if I must remind them myself, every day. What better time to rise to power than the end of the world?
