S
SarahSyna
Guest
3650 (A Spire oneshot)
Also posted to Fanfiction.net and Lionhead forums under the name SarahSyna.
For clarification, my girl was named Lionheart ingame, but I always think of her as 'Seraph'.
Just kind of a random thing I wrote ages ago.
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[This account was found written on a sheaf of paper loosely bound by string. It was hidden in the rags of a pillowcase taken from the sleeping quarters of the Spire. It was first published in the book Tales of the The Spire by Lillian Weathers, later credited to the Hero Seraph who came forward after the book's release]
I have counted each day in this notebook. Each long day that stretches for years, each night that lasts for centuries. Twenty-four hours of eternity and they never end.
Three thousand, six hundred and fifty. Just shy of ten years. Ten long, bloodsoaked years. Ten years without my family, my husband and my baby girl. My little girl… Does she know her mother loves her even from across the sea? Does Eric tell her stories about me? Does she have my dark eyes, my nose, my black hair, or does she have his light colouring instead?
Has she a new mother now, or is she still waiting?
Ten years and a lifetime has passed. A lifetime of black walls that glisten with the cold damp and an ache from the building itself. Too many spirits have been broken here, too many living deaths of those who couldn’t stand against the Commandant. Against Lucien.
But who could? Who could stand against Lucien now? I can barely hold myself together, and I am meant to be a Hero? A Hero and yet I cannot stop them from taking my memories, from taking away me whenever I try to fight.
But I do fight.
Each task is worse and I barely remember. My thoughts, my words, all leaving me, all gone. Only the scars remain.
But they help in a way, a strange way. Each scar is a memory of a world outside, a world so far away from me now it may never exist. But each scar is a reminder, a reminder of Oakfield, of Bowerstone and Bower Lake. I’m not here for my own purposes now, I’m here for all of Albion. For Hammer’s father, for Hammer herself. For my Eric, my Eliza. For Rose.
It’s not lightly that I was given these scars. It’s not lightly that I’ll forget what they mean. The fiends of Wraithmarsh will have my soul before the Commandant of Lucien’s Spire will have my obedience.
Three thousand, six hundred and fifty has not broken me.
Three thousand, six hundred and fifty one will not either.
Also posted to Fanfiction.net and Lionhead forums under the name SarahSyna.
For clarification, my girl was named Lionheart ingame, but I always think of her as 'Seraph'.
Just kind of a random thing I wrote ages ago.
-----
[This account was found written on a sheaf of paper loosely bound by string. It was hidden in the rags of a pillowcase taken from the sleeping quarters of the Spire. It was first published in the book Tales of the The Spire by Lillian Weathers, later credited to the Hero Seraph who came forward after the book's release]
I have counted each day in this notebook. Each long day that stretches for years, each night that lasts for centuries. Twenty-four hours of eternity and they never end.
Three thousand, six hundred and fifty. Just shy of ten years. Ten long, bloodsoaked years. Ten years without my family, my husband and my baby girl. My little girl… Does she know her mother loves her even from across the sea? Does Eric tell her stories about me? Does she have my dark eyes, my nose, my black hair, or does she have his light colouring instead?
Has she a new mother now, or is she still waiting?
Ten years and a lifetime has passed. A lifetime of black walls that glisten with the cold damp and an ache from the building itself. Too many spirits have been broken here, too many living deaths of those who couldn’t stand against the Commandant. Against Lucien.
But who could? Who could stand against Lucien now? I can barely hold myself together, and I am meant to be a Hero? A Hero and yet I cannot stop them from taking my memories, from taking away me whenever I try to fight.
But I do fight.
Each task is worse and I barely remember. My thoughts, my words, all leaving me, all gone. Only the scars remain.
But they help in a way, a strange way. Each scar is a memory of a world outside, a world so far away from me now it may never exist. But each scar is a reminder, a reminder of Oakfield, of Bowerstone and Bower Lake. I’m not here for my own purposes now, I’m here for all of Albion. For Hammer’s father, for Hammer herself. For my Eric, my Eliza. For Rose.
It’s not lightly that I was given these scars. It’s not lightly that I’ll forget what they mean. The fiends of Wraithmarsh will have my soul before the Commandant of Lucien’s Spire will have my obedience.
Three thousand, six hundred and fifty has not broken me.
Three thousand, six hundred and fifty one will not either.
