Memoirs: Necessary
Jan. 11th, 2006 07:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shosenI took the box from the banker, and ignored the look he gave me as I sat in the corner and just stared at it. When it had arrived in the mail it had been covered with brightly coloured paper, wrapped in a bow, and topped with a sprig of holly. A Winter’s Veil present, the old witch’s note had said. I had been suspicious, I had learned to become so after her previous gifts, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight of the familiar box under the paper.
It had gone straight into the bank, unopened. While I had not been able to bring myself to look at the contents, I also had not been able to bring myself to destroy them. It would have been easy, there were plenty of bonfires around Orgimmar, but this was a tangible part of my past, and I could not let it go.
The bustle of the bank’s patrons faded around me as I finally opened the lid, afraid that this was a joke and that the box would be empty. It wasn’t, and my hands shook as I took out the worn, well-mended robes that lay inside. Novice’s Robes, marking one who had just entered the service of the Light. I could remember the pride I had felt at receiving them, and the sadness I felt when I put them in this box after earning a higher ranking garment. I tucked them safely away, and then forgot that I had kept them.
Now that they sat in front of me again, I couldn’t imagine how she had gotten hold of them, though I had a vague idea why. I unfolded the fabric carefully, and winced as I realised that I could not wear them not, not even if I wanted to. They were too small, my twisted form too large. I could have altered them, forced them to fit, but it would have been wrong.
Folding the robes again, I set them aside and went through the other items in the box. Ridiculously small shirt, pants, boots, and a small, worn mace. I picked it up, but it felt awkward in my hand, too heavy and out of balance compared to the dagger at my belt. I tossed it back into the box with a frustrated sigh and replaced the robe before closing the lid. One more change on top of a thousand changes, and I was sick of it all.
I put the box back in the bank and then walked out into the city. I was altering myself to fit these changes, and it was wrong. I knew that, but I kept doing it, and eventually I was going to tear myself to shreds. I shuddered as I remembered my recent wish for mindlessness. That was one of the few options I had left, however. I could be enslaved, be destroyed, or I could adapt. That last was the most difficult, and I was used to taking the easy road. Of course, it was also the only option with the possibility of retaining myself. I sighed and leaned against one of the buildings in the drag. My hands were still shaking, and I could feel doubt, fear, and despair threatening to overwhelm me, again.
It was easier this time: spell, pain, power, calm. I rested against the building for a few more moments before deciding to head back to the Wind Ride Tower. I had a message to deliver in the Barrens, and that was as good a destination as any. I had to adapt, but I had no idea how. In the meantime, however, I would do what I had been doing since waking in Deathknell: whatever was asked of me.
It had gone straight into the bank, unopened. While I had not been able to bring myself to look at the contents, I also had not been able to bring myself to destroy them. It would have been easy, there were plenty of bonfires around Orgimmar, but this was a tangible part of my past, and I could not let it go.
The bustle of the bank’s patrons faded around me as I finally opened the lid, afraid that this was a joke and that the box would be empty. It wasn’t, and my hands shook as I took out the worn, well-mended robes that lay inside. Novice’s Robes, marking one who had just entered the service of the Light. I could remember the pride I had felt at receiving them, and the sadness I felt when I put them in this box after earning a higher ranking garment. I tucked them safely away, and then forgot that I had kept them.
Now that they sat in front of me again, I couldn’t imagine how she had gotten hold of them, though I had a vague idea why. I unfolded the fabric carefully, and winced as I realised that I could not wear them not, not even if I wanted to. They were too small, my twisted form too large. I could have altered them, forced them to fit, but it would have been wrong.
Folding the robes again, I set them aside and went through the other items in the box. Ridiculously small shirt, pants, boots, and a small, worn mace. I picked it up, but it felt awkward in my hand, too heavy and out of balance compared to the dagger at my belt. I tossed it back into the box with a frustrated sigh and replaced the robe before closing the lid. One more change on top of a thousand changes, and I was sick of it all.
I put the box back in the bank and then walked out into the city. I was altering myself to fit these changes, and it was wrong. I knew that, but I kept doing it, and eventually I was going to tear myself to shreds. I shuddered as I remembered my recent wish for mindlessness. That was one of the few options I had left, however. I could be enslaved, be destroyed, or I could adapt. That last was the most difficult, and I was used to taking the easy road. Of course, it was also the only option with the possibility of retaining myself. I sighed and leaned against one of the buildings in the drag. My hands were still shaking, and I could feel doubt, fear, and despair threatening to overwhelm me, again.
It was easier this time: spell, pain, power, calm. I rested against the building for a few more moments before deciding to head back to the Wind Ride Tower. I had a message to deliver in the Barrens, and that was as good a destination as any. I had to adapt, but I had no idea how. In the meantime, however, I would do what I had been doing since waking in Deathknell: whatever was asked of me.