Inner Dialogue: Shivae

Her palm is full of sand, she's staring at it in concentration, trying to will, ask, the ever-disobedient fire to come and do as she wills, and it's not quite working. She desperate and frustrating, and it's not working, now matter what she does, but she has to find another way. When the fire does finally answer, there's a sharp blast, and she drops the contents in her hand quickly before they burn her where the fire couldn't.

And unshaped mass of almost-glass shatters on the ground, next to a number of other failed attempts, and she sighs. For a few moments she doesn't realise that she's muttering, and then catches herself, cutting of the low swearing in short clipped words. She feel like gathering all the pieces up, throwing them into the fire place, feels like screaming and... Leaning back against the wall, she sighs. She doesn't feel in control.

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Failure

The war turned against us. The unthinkable happened, and in a moment, the voice of my King, his power and control were weakened. His army was left in shambles, so many sheep looking for someone to lead them, to remove again the responsibility of thought. These pathetic beings, more useful without a will of their own than with them.

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