|lucy, the good hunter (paleblood) wrote in the100,|
@ 2016-04-07 09:02:00
|Entry tags:||!mount weather, edmund pevensie, leia organa, mindy macready / hit-girl, sam massad, sandrilene fa toren, simon jarrett|
You know, back home, people don't travel much. Perhaps to the shore, if they're wealthy, but we never were, and besides, immigrants at the seaside? That aren't working on the boardwalk? Horrors. For the most part, you grow up with the expectation that you'll do either your father's or your mother's profession, and you won't leave the town that you were born in because what's the point? What are you looking for out there?
Well, I was looking for my sister. She'd run off a few nights before, and when we woke up to her empty room and missing traveling clothes we knew where she'd gone. There's only one place desperate people go to where I'm from, and that's Yharnam. Laila had been sick - dying, really, honestly, but none of us had voiced it. It was just Laila's malady, Laila's affliction, and then it was Laila's gone. I went after her, because I'm stupid and hopeful and thought that maybe Yharnam couldn't be all that bad, and it wasn't, actually, it was worse than bad.
I'd never been out of Aldergate before. Neither had Laila. I never found her, you know. I looked everywhere. And then all that mess happened - magic unto prophecy unto ancient rune unto hubris - and then I was here. Mount Weather! Brand new place, brave new world. Do you know how far I've traveled now? So much farther than my father or mother did, even with that ocean they crossed back in the yesteryear. So much distance to have so little to show for it.
I suppose what I'm rambling about - sorry, my point's buried under self-pity - is that for all the reasons that this place is so strange to me, so unknowable, so unlike home, it's nonetheless SO LIKE home. All these people coming in and out of our lives with nary a trail to amble on or a string of fate to pull, and what are we left with? A hope, and our feet itching to follow, if we care to. I always care to.
I miss them. I miss her. Is that too sentimental? Well, others were always better at the stiff upper lip.