21st of Spring, 514 AV
Dragoon Training Grounds
Dragoon Training Grounds
“So I would first like to know what drew you to using such a weapon,” Mac asked, trying to conjure up basic conversation. She was surprised by how subtle he was, so shy and quiet even after they had gotten to know each other so well.
Either way, Lenz obligingly connected with his request and answered him without plausible hesitance.
“If you must know, this was a gift from my mother. It’s a double bladed dagger to be specific and after her… death… I have always cherished it.”
She stumbled over such a sullen and dark word. She had spat it out of her mouth as if she had just eaten something volatile or poisonous.
“She died?”
“Yes, but I’d rather not dwell on it, if you don’t mind,” she rushed on, trying to change the subject. Nothing else came to her mind, however. She remained empty, a vast and barren wasteland, having been deprived of all inspiration or influential guidance.
She had been her own guardian, her own teacher, her own mother. She had to take care of herself. She might have been of legal age, having the slim knowledge of how to take care of herself, but after losing her mother like she did, it did damage to her heart, scarring it with a serrated edge of the world’s sharpest knife, digging through the hull and puncturing the base. Blood squirted out in thick streams of tears, cascading down her chest and smothering all hopes or desires of a perfect and happy future.
She had watched her mother die a terrible and gruesome death. Vital organs torn to shreds, thrown across the ground like worthless items. She had been mauled, pinned against the wall as her shrill screams of terror blistered her eardrums and taunted her thoughts.
Her dreams were tormented by the desecrated thoughts, no merriness or love, no laughter or simple joy, all having been cast away like a useless toy. She felt broken, unwanted and no longer free from the demons that swarmed around her like a thick and black fog. She felt insecure and vulnerable, obviously reckless, finding herself in difficult situations.
She had, indeed, gotten herself in some pretty challenging situations over the past couple seasons, what with travelling through the wilderness and then emerging to meet such a city as the anarchical ruins of Sunberth. This was most certainly not the sun’s berth, more or less the rise of freedom. It was chaos, something she took advantage of the night she went out to have the fun she had dreamt of since she was a child.
She almost got herself wasted, but instead revealed herself in such an uncanny and inappropriate way to steal some man’s money. It was a stupid, childish scheme that almost caused her to cost her life.
She was hanging onto the last threads of consciousness before she managed to trek her way back to the tent after having washed her face from all the blood that had encrusted upon her nose and mouth. Her eye had been bruised, swollen shut by the malevolent hands of her assailant. She was beaten and broken, torn to shreds inwardly.
Her self-esteem had plummeted through the earth’s crust, formulating a hold deep enough to never be dug up again. She felt terrible, the claws of despair scratching at her memories, condemning her thoughts of all the remaining sanity and solitude. She had wished to die right then and there, but she had managed to becoming inspired, insight broadening the darkened corners of her crucified heart. She could have sworn she had been talked to by a god or goddess.
It was enriching, her eyes widening to a new idea on life. She was going to protect not only herself but the ones she loved, admired and cared for. She wanted to attain a level of happiness in the way of righting the wrong and punishing the ones who created such a pathetic place. So here she was, trying to attain said goal by learning how to defend and fight for not only her life, but her dignity and soul.
“I understand why you wouldn’t want to speak of her.”
“Do you?” Lenz shot back. “Do you really? You have no idea how I feel and why I truly don’t want to speak of her. You just assume you know, to try to make me feel better, like I belong. You comfort people without knowing a damn thing about what they’re going through.”
She disallowed the trespassing tear that strode down her cheek, but it was defiant, leaving a trail of wet substance in its wake.
“You haven’t a clue, do you? Everyone does it. They do it to try to make the hurting person feel better about themselves. Well, I? I’m not so gullible.”
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