Memoirs: Jealousy
Nov. 26th, 2005 03:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shosenThe Gallow’s End Tavern was full, as usual, when I finally reached Brill. I had spent the last three nights in the Undercity, and was relieved to have escaped from the funereal atmosphere and return to the cheering warmth of the smaller town’s Inn. It was almost welcoming, or at least, it was as welcoming as any Forsaken area ever got. It was away from the Undercity, from the Apothecarium, though. That was all I really cared about right then.
I ignored the other patrons of the Inn and sank into a chair by the fireplace, Pagtuk watching the flames as he stood beside me. My existence as a Forsaken had not yet been a long one. I had been, for the most part, simply trying to adapt, to survive. Whatever anyone asked of me, I did. It was less about earning the rewards than attempting to rediscover myself in a body that screamed its wrongness at me with every movement.
In the tavern, I sat with my elbows on the table, feeling the wood against the seemingly bare bones, and thought of my brief visit to the Apothecarium. I had found it by accident. My sense of direction was incredibly poor, and in searching for the Royal Quarters, I found instead a room of cages and prisoners. I had stood in the corner, ignored by the Apothecary, and watched the people on those cages. I watched the human women, standing there in rags, sobs filling the air but affecting no one. I looked at them, at their soft curves, fully fleshed, warm and whole. And I hated them. I watched, waiting for the Apothecary to turn his attention from the failed experiment to the next weeping subject. I waited, and was rewarded as he grabbed the nearest simpering form and poured a via of foul-looking liquid down her throat. I took pleasure in hearing her gag, choke, and finally scream as the potion took affect. Her perfect skin dulled and began to twist, to melt off her bones, leaving them looking as bare as my own. Her high-pitched whimpers sunk to a low guttural growl as even her humanity fled. The abomination she had become roared at the Apothecary, and I smiled. I understood that rage, that grief, as you realised that everything you were was forever changed. The creature flung itself at the Apothecary, hitting the bars of the cage before crumbling into pieces, disintegrating body no longer able to hold itself together.
“This will not do,” the Apothecary muttered, even as I was filled with a deep sense of satisfaction. A feeling that only grew as he waved a hand and let fire consume what remained of the once beautiful woman.
It was only when the floor was covered with ashes and the Apothecary turned to the next captive that I felt the first stirrings of horror over my own response. What was done to her, after what had been done to me, how could I take pleasure in that? But I had, and the knowledge forced me from the Apothecarium, from the Undercity entirely, and into the Gallow’s End Tavern.
I ignored the other patrons of the Inn and sank into a chair by the fireplace, Pagtuk watching the flames as he stood beside me. My existence as a Forsaken had not yet been a long one. I had been, for the most part, simply trying to adapt, to survive. Whatever anyone asked of me, I did. It was less about earning the rewards than attempting to rediscover myself in a body that screamed its wrongness at me with every movement.
In the tavern, I sat with my elbows on the table, feeling the wood against the seemingly bare bones, and thought of my brief visit to the Apothecarium. I had found it by accident. My sense of direction was incredibly poor, and in searching for the Royal Quarters, I found instead a room of cages and prisoners. I had stood in the corner, ignored by the Apothecary, and watched the people on those cages. I watched the human women, standing there in rags, sobs filling the air but affecting no one. I looked at them, at their soft curves, fully fleshed, warm and whole. And I hated them. I watched, waiting for the Apothecary to turn his attention from the failed experiment to the next weeping subject. I waited, and was rewarded as he grabbed the nearest simpering form and poured a via of foul-looking liquid down her throat. I took pleasure in hearing her gag, choke, and finally scream as the potion took affect. Her perfect skin dulled and began to twist, to melt off her bones, leaving them looking as bare as my own. Her high-pitched whimpers sunk to a low guttural growl as even her humanity fled. The abomination she had become roared at the Apothecary, and I smiled. I understood that rage, that grief, as you realised that everything you were was forever changed. The creature flung itself at the Apothecary, hitting the bars of the cage before crumbling into pieces, disintegrating body no longer able to hold itself together.
“This will not do,” the Apothecary muttered, even as I was filled with a deep sense of satisfaction. A feeling that only grew as he waved a hand and let fire consume what remained of the once beautiful woman.
It was only when the floor was covered with ashes and the Apothecary turned to the next captive that I felt the first stirrings of horror over my own response. What was done to her, after what had been done to me, how could I take pleasure in that? But I had, and the knowledge forced me from the Apothecarium, from the Undercity entirely, and into the Gallow’s End Tavern.