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Timestamp: Night of the 22nd of Autumn, 513AV
It was dark. A dark so deep that even with Akajia's gift, Rosela could not see through it. Despite this, the darkness did not bother her; in fact, it felt trembling and excited, as though bursting with potential. A blank canvas, a new bolt of fabric.
As a child, she'd once drawn on the murals of her home. The slaves had ushered her away and washed it off before her parents saw, but she'd gotten a stern talking-to from her Nani. Her child's mind never did fully understand why no one had appreciated her additions, only that young ladies did not draw on walls.
There was no one to drag her away now, however. The child-Rosela drew with steady hands the facade of the shop she would one day own, taking care to color in with her chalk the ivy and the purple satin dress in the window. It did not concern her how she drew the tops of the doors and windows, only that they were there by her making. It also did not concern her that there was no true wall behind her chalk, allowing her to essentially draw on the air itself. All that mattered was the act of creation, and the simple, sweet act of creating that which no one was there to take away from her. The lines seemed to glow faintly, her slice of Syna against the dark.
She set about making a fence-like border, an semi-circle row of nameless flowers. They sprouted from the black, formless floor, supported only by two simple leaves at the bottom. A tune echoed through the space, startling her, until she realized it was the lullaby her Nani would sing to her when she was sad. Her Nani wasn't there though - she was many years long gone. Suddenly suspicious of what the darkness beyond her shop, she dusted off her frilled white skirt and peered imperiously out into the dark.
No one had any business here. This was her place.
She became aware of shifting movement in the dark, and a quiet, shuffling noise. Stamping her foot, she called out, "Come out! You're not supposed to be here!"
The shapes seemed to momentarily freeze in fear of her voice, before quietly resuming. "I said...oh." She stopped and swallowed nervously once before returning her arrogance to the forefront. In the faded light of her drawn flowers, familiar forms could now be seen among the masses; bodies. The shifting, dark bodies of slaves.
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Timestamp: Night of the 22nd of Autumn, 513AV
It was dark. A dark so deep that even with Akajia's gift, Rosela could not see through it. Despite this, the darkness did not bother her; in fact, it felt trembling and excited, as though bursting with potential. A blank canvas, a new bolt of fabric.
As a child, she'd once drawn on the murals of her home. The slaves had ushered her away and washed it off before her parents saw, but she'd gotten a stern talking-to from her Nani. Her child's mind never did fully understand why no one had appreciated her additions, only that young ladies did not draw on walls.
There was no one to drag her away now, however. The child-Rosela drew with steady hands the facade of the shop she would one day own, taking care to color in with her chalk the ivy and the purple satin dress in the window. It did not concern her how she drew the tops of the doors and windows, only that they were there by her making. It also did not concern her that there was no true wall behind her chalk, allowing her to essentially draw on the air itself. All that mattered was the act of creation, and the simple, sweet act of creating that which no one was there to take away from her. The lines seemed to glow faintly, her slice of Syna against the dark.
She set about making a fence-like border, an semi-circle row of nameless flowers. They sprouted from the black, formless floor, supported only by two simple leaves at the bottom. A tune echoed through the space, startling her, until she realized it was the lullaby her Nani would sing to her when she was sad. Her Nani wasn't there though - she was many years long gone. Suddenly suspicious of what the darkness beyond her shop, she dusted off her frilled white skirt and peered imperiously out into the dark.
No one had any business here. This was her place.
She became aware of shifting movement in the dark, and a quiet, shuffling noise. Stamping her foot, she called out, "Come out! You're not supposed to be here!"
The shapes seemed to momentarily freeze in fear of her voice, before quietly resuming. "I said...oh." She stopped and swallowed nervously once before returning her arrogance to the forefront. In the faded light of her drawn flowers, familiar forms could now be seen among the masses; bodies. The shifting, dark bodies of slaves.
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