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Unread 1st of November, 2002, 01:15
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Gralhruk
Ghost of ORP Past [Epic Admin]

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Later, she sits at the table cleaner than she's been in months and at the same time more polluted. There is only a finger or two left in her bottle and she feels the warmth and tingle of drink in the skin of her face. Instead of her concealing cloak she wears only a simple linen shift, unbelted; the only clean piece of clothing she owns. Her grey eyes are softer than they've been as she stares into the mirror that sits across from at the table, leaning against the wall. The white scar beneath her eyes almost glows against her dusky skin in the light of a single candle.

She looks small and almost vulnerable, the lethal blades hanging from the back of her chair are a striking contrast to her demeanor. Her feet are tucked up against her, arms resting on her knees. The focus of her eyes shifts from the mirror to the small silver pendant dangling from her hands.

Who am I?

It was a simple question to which there was no simple answer. She had run from the life fate had doled out to her; she just wasn't cut out to be anybody's housewife, least of all some baker in her own small home village. She had run from that and, being the youngest in a large and less than prosperous family, she doubted anybody had really missed her though they probably missed the coin they would have gotten for her. Trouble. That's what she had always been; and lazy too, if her mother's word was to be given any weight, always looking for the easy way out.

Her gaze shifts again, and suddenly hard eyes stare back at her from the mirror. The life she had found was far harder than anything she had ever imagined. She'd never be mistaken for a wife or somebody's mother but she'd never be powerless either, or at another's mercy. She did what she wanted, with nobody to tell her otherwise. She had power; power over herself, the power of life and death over others. She could come and go without a trace, take what others protected, find what they tried to hide.

A shadow, but a shadow with teeth.

Light catches the silver of the pendant; the depiction of Hieronous is edged in flame and engraved with darkness. Half mesmerized as it slowly spins, she wonders why she kept it. She had no use for gods, or even for charms. She made her own luck, and her actions were in her name not anybody else's. True, it might fetch a coin or two if sold, but it wasn't for sale. It meant nothing to her and at the same time it meant more than the sack of coins lying next to her bed.

A dream, is all, the rememberance of a dream.