═════════════════════════════ To Forget. "Your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing." AMBIENCE “We will find each other in the next life.” Spoke the child of Fury, tone laced in the thick sound of rasped sickness. “Do ya’ really think so?” Sempronia panned up for Mordrael, his once bright golden eyes dimmed, complimenting his pale features. The machine was failing him. He was very well a walking corpse, and it was this fact alone that the Greed-born dreaded all too well. “We found each other in this life, right? I’m sure we will come together again, perhaps we’ll find Alviem, or even Carmine along the way.” A bitter silence dragged on from her, features wrinkled together in a looming sense of apprehension. The words should have comforted her, made her feel hopeful, but they didn’t. A pit merely sat within her stomach before she croaked out rather hushed, “I will wait for you, then. I promise, Mordrael.” “I will look for you.” Sempronia recollected the words exchanged as she sat at the foot of his freshly dug grave, she often ran from things: from people, from consequences, from herself. And there she seemed to ponder why Mordrael didn’t do the same, why didn’t he just ... Run? Why would he subject himself to suffering at the hand of justice? No. He was always suffering, wasn’t he? That is where we found ourselves one in the same, consumed by the very thing we came to admire. We were walking corpses. It horrified the Silven; she couldn’t stand the thought of the reality of her situation. Her diseased thumb continued to rub over that golden locket, tracing every groove of the old chain. It was the only piece she had left of him. His mangled remains no longer held a trace of his old face- his face. Sempronia had forgotten his face. She shuddered at the thought, panic taking hold of her shaking frame, golden eyes pricking over in a sudden burst of streaming tears, his features had slipped from her fingers like wisps of sand, and this alone had sparked something within. “I uhm .. I- brought you the flowers.. You wanted. I didn’t forget this time.” She barely managed to speak, gently laying the lilacs atop the dirt. They were crumpled, their beauty far faded. She couldn’t take care of anything, could she? It was evident enough that she couldn’t even take care of him. “I– I’m sorry, Mordrael, oh gods. I’m so sorry.” The words were choked out, barely a breath within her hollow demeanor. No longer could she carry the numbness with her, it had long since melted, that shield now crumbling along with his face. She couldn’t protect herself from the truth, she wanted to run. To rip herself from everything she’d come to know and start anew, she hated it, it was suffocating, she wanted to forget him, to forget Alviem, Carmine, Llewyn; she wanted to forget herself. Her head now bowed atop that coarse dirt that now hid the eyes from his horrid state, uneasy pleas for a breath sucked in, to no avail. Time had hardly mended her anguished state, a flame of despair in her eyes. But as the tides changed and clashed, and as the storms grew with patience, wrath behaved similarly. It festered inside, leaving a sour feeling of utter poison within her core. She came to grow tired of running, chasing something that would ultimately never satiate her. Purpose came in a foreboding sign, her purpose lied with him, to hunt, to avenge. Gyrivenn had taken everything from her, raising his iron fist of a false equity to rob her of the things she’d come to know. She grew to acknowledge that Justice is blind, not heartless. So, it was this she knew, she could not run. Not again. Not like she had from those who found themselves burrowed into her life, no. The tears ceased, twisting into an expression of a looming indignation, she was starved. Hungry for purpose, for destruction, and she would not rest until she fed this determined avarice. She would carry this grief in her blood for ages yet to come. What was she doing? Why was she here again? Oh. That's right. She was looking for Alviem and Carmine. She was terrified of him leaving as well, to have him slip from her grasp, just as they'd done with Mordrael. To have Carmine be dragged from their home, to have her forget and detest her. Sempronia feared this all too well. She had vowed she'd do anything to stop them from leaving her, her selfish want for company- but what of her now? She writhed in agony, where was Alviem? Was Carmine okay? The thoughts rushed through her pounding head, anger and grief being the driving hand that held her together, a crumbling mess. She had to get up, she had to fight, she had to find them. She began rising to her feet, golden ichor pooling from her battered frame, she was in utter misery, but she always had been. This was no different, no, she had to keep going. She could avenge Mordrael, he would come back. She could bring him back. Stubborn was the fool as she continued to fight, nothing but the clattering of metal and clashing blades filling her ringing ears, everything Gyrivenn said sounded akin to the disturbing, muffled noise whilst underwater. Sempronia did not heed, did not listen. For she was her undoing, but within this chaotic mess of tears and drive for blood, for revenge, she felt alone. She missed them. She longed to be back in Crookback, to sit atop the floor as Mordrael, Alivem, and Carmine made jabs and talked about nonsense. It made her forgetful of her pain, of her anguish. One foot came up. She was prepared to give a bitter lunge back for the Justice-born, but her anger faltered, nothing more than a... Sorrowful dread marking her features. Fear. A single moment of fear placed itself upon the Silven in her final moments. She didn't want to attack him, what was she doing? She could be back there- they could still be there. Why was she here? She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to die. She was so sorry, she didn't mean to make the bargain, that rambling madness had all but taken over. Despite her inner pleas, her sword drove forth, drawing silver ichor from Gyrivenn's side. Terror. A horrific terror had finally replaced any semblance of wrath. She should have felt peace in her final moments, relief, a knowing of how that pain would finally cease. But she felt nothing of the sort, impending doom was all she could feel with the mixture of grief, of fear, and of anger. I'm sorry. The final words echoed true through her fragmented mind as the claymore swept downward for her neck. A shallow, empty feeling of loneliness embracing her as darkness abruptly flooded her burning eyes. OOC NOTE: I don't usually write or post my writings on the forums. But I did want to write something for the flood of chaotic rp that has happened, and the recent death of Sempronia. I wanted to recap an important moment, her final thoughts, and her drive. I really appreciate all of the roleplay I've been able to facilitate and participate in on this character, and hope that this conflict has provided roleplay to some of y'all. :) <3
