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 Posted: Sat Jun 16, 2007 11:39 am
the following posts are snippets of grace's life, from leaving russia to arriving in gaia. they are shutterclicks and nothing more; icicles falling from rooftops and shattering, and these pieces are what remain.
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Posted: Sat Jun 16, 2007 1:45 pm
most 13 year olds didn't worry about the things that grace had to worry about. most of her peers worried about their studies, and finishing exams on time and with perfect grades; they worried about extra cirricular activities, and making their parents happy.
but grace had to worry about finding food to eat, clean water to drink. grace's main priority, worry, and concern, was finding the taktarov family and killing them off, one by one, just as they'd done to her family. surely they wouldn't cast a single thought upon the frail, meek, little girl when she wandered through their village. outwardly she was a beggar, but within her cloak were weapons that, while they could annihilate her enemies, could not annihilate the hole growing in her heart. beneath that hood were eyes more icy than even the coldest glaciers that northern russia boasted, and they showed not a shred of remorse as, one by one, this wraith-like girl did away with the small village oc the taktarov clan.
through rage and heartbreak, grace began to tap further into the magic that was nestled deep within her core; until this travesty, the most magic the girl had done was move things here and there, or to borrow threads from nature and learn to heal small scrapes and bruises.
over the next few years, grace bordered on abusing her magical powers, and it was through a large, paradox backlash (for using too much in too public of a place; for having little to no regard for those around her) that grace found herself tumbling through time and space, and even worlds, which brought her to a land called gaia...
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Posted: Sat Jun 16, 2007 4:22 pm
...the journey from there to here was like vertigo amplified in ways words couldn't explain. it was like pieces of her gut and core were stretched from the northern to southern poles of the earth; like the spaces in between were filled with white noise and razorblades. the nausea, too, was something otherwordly. it felt like it took years, to be transplanted into this strange world she'd now be forced to call home, but in actuality, it only took a few minutes.
grace was thrown violently to the ground in the middle of the woods. there were homes nearby, but when she mustered up the nerve to knock on the doors (she who could never stand to ask for help) there was never an answer. she wandered for hours, until she found a small town that had a small home which was vacant.
she took this home for her own.
never one who was a social creature, it took a lot within grace to be able to go into the cities and shop; by the time she'd reached this land, her clothes were but tatters hanging to her emaciated frame. she wasn't going to lie: she'd robbed every last taktarov that she'd murdered, so money was not an issue for the young girl. she replenished herself with much food and drink, and bought herself a wardrobe -- something she'd never done before, because she never cared to.
"i'm going to have to at least... try to fit in," she murmured to herself, idly walking home after a day of shopping, laden with packages and bags.
she slowed, however, the closer she got to her home. ears perking up, grace held her breath and held her position. she spied through branches as some young punk was trying to break into the home next to hers.
silent as a mist rolling off an ocean's surface, grace set the packages down, and withdrew a knife from her boot. she walked heel to toe, heel to toe: a steady advance that had her back to a tree nearest to this home, while the 20-something boy tried with all he could, to get the window to this home open.
he barely had time to blink, to spit out another curse of failure, before grace was upon him. she pressed her body full against the back of his, and slid her arm over the man's shoulder, like a hug across his collarbones from behind.
"you shouldn't steal; you shouldn't...." she paused in her chilled croon, and yanked the blade of her knife across the man's throat. "...break things that don't belong to you." she let his body fall to the ground, and eyed the bloodied blade with disgust, and sighed.
"you shouldn't break things..." it was a whisper by then, and she was no longer looking at some hoodlum's corpse on the sidewalk to a stranger's home. she was looking at the broken, blood-soaked body of her father, and her older brother (who was also her very best friend). she was transported backward six years all over again.
shaking it away, grace brushed angrily at tears that had snuck up on her, dragging the backs of her hands over her eyes. stop that, crying is weak! she chastised herself, and went about cleaning up this most recent mess she'd made. she called forth the strands of matter and life, twining them together on a mage's loom within her mind, to create a pattern that would clean up the mess, and rid these woods of the body.
afterward, she scrambled to pick up all her packages she'd let down, and locked herself into her home for days.
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