bethen avilla ; the circle mage (bethe) wrote in thedas, @ 2010-02-06 04:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! narrative, & before 9:45, @ bethen avilla |
Who: Bethen Avilla
Where: Circle Tower
When: 9:30 Dragon; a week before the insurgency, the day of, and days later.
Summary: Young Bethen gets into a fight with a mean girl. Her wish comes true. Then she regrets it.
Rating: M. (Violence. Morbidity. Angst.)
Sally is considered by most of their classmates to be the prettiest of the apprentices. She has long, blonde hair that falls in smooth, soft curls around her heart-shaped face, with brilliant green eyes that shine like gems, and looks like one of those porcelain dolls Bethen once saw in the back of a traveling merchant's wagon. All the girls in their age group compliment how beautiful she is, and how jealous they are that they can't be nearly as perfect looking. The boys, finally growing out of that phase where girls have germs and are untouchable, vie for her attention, as she's beginning to grow curves in her hips and fullness in her chest -- hard to see underneath the padding of their robes, but not difficult to imagine. Bethen thinks she's a complete idiot, though. Sally complains about practicing fire spells because it makes her feel "too hot" (the same applies to cold spells and their relation to her body temperature), and refuses to write her own answers to questions on their homework (an idiom that doesn't really seem to apply when one's home is the same as one's school). She hates reading and talks in the library with no regard to the fact that other people actually want to study. But everyone fawns over her and the enchanters accept that she gives the wrong answers because she smiles and laughs cutely after she does it. She can't stand that girl, but the feeling is reciprocated, even if Beth isn't sure what she did to earn such ire. She doesn't draw attention to herself, and hardly anyone would look in her direction, anyway -- she's nothing special to see, with dark, dull hair, a very plain face, and still too young to have any kind of curves. She is quiet and well-behaved, and keeps to herself and her books, and doesn't make trouble for anyone. But trouble finds its way back to her, for the most innocent of reasons: having a friend. "Saw you with that boy. What's his name? Aurin?" jeers Sally, coming out of nowhere when Beth steps into the apprentice dorms with an armful of books. Two other girls flank both sides, and they corner her like cats pouncing on a little mouse. They have her tongue, so Beth doesn't have words, and all she can do is nod in affirmation. "I heard he's been here forever, and his parents were mages, but he doesn't even have any magic himself!" Sally wrinkles her nose in disgust, though she is still cute, even when making a face. It irritates Beth, almost as much as it irritates her to listen to her prattle on about Aurin like she knows anything. "He must feel so ashamed. They all expected him to be this great wizard, and he just failed. I don't know why they kept him. They should just kick him out. He's not even good at anything and he doesn't have any friends 'cept for those templars. He's just so weird." "H-he's not weird," Beth retorts, but the words are just barely choked out. The other girl laughs, and Beth can feel the spittle from it spray her face, and her followers take it as a cue to join in with their own giggles. "You would say that, wouldn't you?" sneers Sally, that innocent smile converting into something cruel and devious. She takes a step forward, backing Beth up further against the wall. "Of course, weirdos have to stick with weirdos." She feels heat begin to flush her face, and imagines that she would be bright pink if she could see herself now. Anger bolstering her confidence, Bethen finds the voice to shout back, "I am not a weirdo! He isn't, either!" But Sally remains entirely in control of the conversation. "Yes, you are. You have no friends, 'cause nobody likes you, either." She's not at all afraid of this small girl, so plain and boring, always stuck in a book, and spending time with the wrong people, if anyone at all. And who would the enchanters believe if she ran crying to one of them? Everyone liked Sally. They didn't believe she could be so mean to her classmates. Didn't believe she knew just how to strike the right nerve. "But that's why you're made for each other. Bet you two are going to have a lot of weird babies, too, someday." The words make Bethen look like she's just had a bucket of cold water poured over her head. She is speechless again, torn between disgust at the idea of having anyone's babies (because she has not yet grown out of the phase where boys have germs and are untouchable; Aurin is a nice boy, but he is no different from the rest), and fury over being mocked. Her body is trembling with restrained rage, tears forming behind her eyes. "N-no, we're not! We're just friends!" Bethen finally sputters out, but it's too late. Already, Sally and her lackeys have started to sing: "Aurin and Bethen, sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S--" "SHUT UP!" Beth hollers, dropping the books that she had clutched to her chest, lunging forward to strike at the slightly older girl. She is airborne, small fingers out like claws and aiming for Sally's perfect porcelain face. The mouse turns into lion, but only for a few seconds of satisfaction, as she is quickly overpowered and thrown backwards. Her head smacks hard against the stone floor, and she sees stars and tastes blood from where her teeth bit into her lip. It's a short struggle before Sally is pulled away by one of the older apprentices and Beth is still lying there, unable to stop crying, even if it makes her feel weak and vulnerable. She can't make them stop. She couldn't make any of it stop. Bethen hates Sally. She wishes Sally would just drop dead. Sally looks different when she's dead. Her eyes are still open, but instead of a brilliant emerald color, they're milky and dull. Her head rests at an odd angle to her shoulders, sharp and too far forward, while her limbs are splayed on the stone floor. She looks like a broken doll, tossed against a wall and casually discarded by a careless owner who found something better to play with. Shreds of silk cling to her body, her blue robes turning a brilliant shade of violet as blood leaks from the crimson slashes that run over her creamy white flesh. Those silken blonde locks that used to frame her perfect, porcelain face are getting dyed by the cooling pools of liquid. Sally is still the prettiest apprentice, even when her organs are hanging out of the long slice that runs from her ribcage to her navel, exposing everything. Bethen thinks she can see her heart in that mess of pink and red, beating for the very last time before stilling completely. She can't bear to look, but she can't bear to look away. The horror is too fascinating. Too numbing. Her stomach disagrees with her mind, though, and the combination of gory sight and acrid smell creeps up on her. Bethen does well not to vomit all over herself, turning over to wretch up bile that burns at her throat just in time, but it's not as if one more bodily fluid on her robes would make that much of a difference. They're already caked in blood and liquefied human tissue -- none of it her own, and she can't decide if that's better or worse. She's not uninjured herself, but the bruises and the slowly dripping cut on her brow from when she'd been knocked away by the explosion of a fireball and subsequently buried by an avalanche of books isn't the same as being either torn to shreds or blown into fine ashes. Remembering that she's inhaling the remains of her dead teacher, that barely visible fragments of his charred body are lining the insides of her nose and lungs and mouth, makes her gag again. Her eyes are stinging, and she can't tell if it's just the body's reaction to smoke exposure, or if she's finally managed to make herself cry. It doesn't matter why; the tears are already clearing streams down her soot-covered face and she can't make them stop. She couldn't make any of it stop. Time is irrelevant when the world has already come crashing down, but she thinks she's been hiding there for nearly an hour, crouched low in the open corner behind the bookshelves (a place she barely remembers dragging herself before passing out). Nearly an hour, and no one has come through here until now. There is a shuffling sound of footsteps walking through sheets of paper, crunching down on thin sheaves like autumn leaves. Bethen stiffens and holds her breath, though her body shudders as she tries to keep her hiccups silent. The contractions hurt, but the pain in her lungs is smaller than her fear of being found by whatever creature is lurking in the library. Suddenly, the movement stops, and so do her hiccups. That she's caught her breath has emboldened her to sit up just a little, and peer through the narrow gap between the wooden towers again. Sally is still there. So is Matthias, and Geoffrey, and part of Cornelia (though it's hard to tell if that's her left arm or her right leg), possibly a part of Sweeney splattered there against that far wall, black and red and grey all over, like a bad riddle. But she doesn't see what she was looking for -- a sign of life. Bethen is flooded with -- is it disappointment? Or relief? She doesn't know anymore. She just feels sleepy and heavy, that blow to the head probably a concussion, something she doesn't want to fight. She just wants to lay her small body down and rest for a long time. The vivid colors of death and destruction that had stuck out at her before now begin to blur together into a dull, sepia-toned haze as she slips and slides backwards into the world of dreams. This is her only way to escape. But the moment that her guard is down is the same moment that she finds herself staring into the soulless, sunken eye of an unearthly creature, malformed tissue stretching across the darkened sockets, the eyeball itself bulging, like it's straining to be free of that puckered skin. Ribbons of flesh wrap around its upper torso, makeshift shoulder pads, an organic armor made of blood and bone. An abomination. Bethen recoils, realizing what it had been trying to do to her, but it's too late and it has already seen her. It knows it can't have her body. So now it must destroy her. Bethen hopes the demon makes it quick. She wishes her death to be instant, consumed in a fireball. Sally is burned. Or, rather, her remains are. Her small, fragile body is wrapped up tightly in a large piece of silk, then lined up with the rest of those who had fallen (or at least what could be found of them). She is indistinguishable from the other broken children, the unfortunate casualties of a failed uprising. The dead are not buried in Andrastian nations, the only exception being in Nevarra, where people preserve bodies and build tombs to keep them for eternity. Like their prophet, her followers are cremated just as Andraste herself was burned, freeing their spirits to ascend to the Throne of the Maker. Bethen doesn't know what to think, but she has helped in forming a large funeral pyre at the end of the island that surrounds Kinloch Hold, anyway. It's one of the rare opportunities for any of the magi to leave the confines of the building, but it's not an occasion to be celebrated. The weather is cold and everyone has worked hard today in preparation for this ceremony, gathering materials for the fire and moving the deceased. As the last words of the Chant fall from the visiting Sister's lips, silence takes hold of the tiny crowd gathered to pay their respects. Once the moment has passed, First Enchanter Irving is on crutches as he makes his mournful speech, lamenting their losses and trying to turn it into yet another Aequitarian lecture on how magi ought to behave. For once, his words are completely ignored by Beth. She's too busy watching the flames lick the darkening sky, heat waves rippling in the air, like souls ascending into the void. She wonders if Sally's parents know that their daughter is dead. Or if they even care. But Bethen cares, more than she wants to. She even feels a little sorry, a little guilty, for having made that wish, though she knows that it's an irrational feeling. She didn't make the abominations that took so many lives and destroyed their home. And it wasn't as if Sally was her friend, as if the other girl didn't pick on her mercilessly, and probably wanted her dead, too, after she had attacked. But Sally didn't deserve that kind of end. No one did. She wonders if she deserved to be rescued and to live, instead of Sally. Instead of so many other people. The wind on this rocky outcropping is strong and its chill bites at her face and her eyes, making them water. She's crying again, she realizes, and she can't make it stop. She couldn't make any of it stop. Bethen regrets what happened, all of it. She wishes Sally's spirit well, and hopes she finds her peace with the Maker. |