Tenzin's words reminded her of Hosteen Benally, from the Navajo Reservation. It wasn't something she thought of often. That whole memory was tinged with a sadness that she refused to think of. The first dousing of actual hope. Of acceptance. Of love. She shoved it away before her name bubbled up from the deep.
Instead, like someone with tongs careful over a campfire, she extracted the nugget she needed while avoiding getting burned. Many Atharim traditions. And while the American Atharim were not beholden to that of the Old World- and Regus in particular- their...connection still went back far enough that they felt related. Cousins.
But that tradition not only allowed a man like Regan to live, it let him thrive. She wasn't fool enough to think there weren't others out there like him. Atharim or not. But she was beginning to see the whole "shoot first, ask questions later" attitude had dehumanized them. Was ruining them.
She remembered the women held by a rougarou nest in Mexico only a few years ago. The brutal choice she'd given them. A pill or a bullet. One or the other. After horrors unimagined. Yes, she above most others, knew what being kept by a roug meant. The scar on her wrist and under her arm never let her forget it. The promise of being kept as a fuck toy and incubator of monsters.
But that was her choice. To die rather than be that. Not one she had a right to demand of them.
She felt like water was eating away at her feet and she kept slipping. What felt real was slowing being eroded. Not slowly. Not really. Quickly. And she didn't know what to do.
She grit her teeth and stood up, trying to focus on something real. She got lost in making coffee. Or at least tried to. Pot filled with water she only needed to add the ground beans to the filter. She was angry as she tried to pull the bag open and somehow it ripped out of her hands, making a mess all over herself and the floor.
She grabbed the counter, steadying herself. Fuck!, she whispered.
Because she knew what she saw. Sterling. That little girl. Scared and afraid. And a pawn. She saw the innocents she had killed, however gently. That they died painlessly did not make then less dead. Their dreams and hopes less crushed.
She pulled on herself, digging up strength from somewhere. She turned and laughed half heartedly. "Maybe I don't need coffee right now." she said with a quiet laugh. She ignored the mess, instead focusing on Tenzin. Studying her, searching for an answer in those black eyes.
She felt an overwhelming hunger within her soul. Desperate. "How did the people of your villiage...how did they know when someone was too far gone? That they deserved to die?" She didn't realize her voice was whispering and trembled as she asked the question.
Instead, like someone with tongs careful over a campfire, she extracted the nugget she needed while avoiding getting burned. Many Atharim traditions. And while the American Atharim were not beholden to that of the Old World- and Regus in particular- their...connection still went back far enough that they felt related. Cousins.
But that tradition not only allowed a man like Regan to live, it let him thrive. She wasn't fool enough to think there weren't others out there like him. Atharim or not. But she was beginning to see the whole "shoot first, ask questions later" attitude had dehumanized them. Was ruining them.
She remembered the women held by a rougarou nest in Mexico only a few years ago. The brutal choice she'd given them. A pill or a bullet. One or the other. After horrors unimagined. Yes, she above most others, knew what being kept by a roug meant. The scar on her wrist and under her arm never let her forget it. The promise of being kept as a fuck toy and incubator of monsters.
But that was her choice. To die rather than be that. Not one she had a right to demand of them.
She felt like water was eating away at her feet and she kept slipping. What felt real was slowing being eroded. Not slowly. Not really. Quickly. And she didn't know what to do.
She grit her teeth and stood up, trying to focus on something real. She got lost in making coffee. Or at least tried to. Pot filled with water she only needed to add the ground beans to the filter. She was angry as she tried to pull the bag open and somehow it ripped out of her hands, making a mess all over herself and the floor.
She grabbed the counter, steadying herself. Fuck!, she whispered.
Because she knew what she saw. Sterling. That little girl. Scared and afraid. And a pawn. She saw the innocents she had killed, however gently. That they died painlessly did not make then less dead. Their dreams and hopes less crushed.
She pulled on herself, digging up strength from somewhere. She turned and laughed half heartedly. "Maybe I don't need coffee right now." she said with a quiet laugh. She ignored the mess, instead focusing on Tenzin. Studying her, searching for an answer in those black eyes.
She felt an overwhelming hunger within her soul. Desperate. "How did the people of your villiage...how did they know when someone was too far gone? That they deserved to die?" She didn't realize her voice was whispering and trembled as she asked the question.