#rennae

Drive:\Users\Crown\Collected Aardvark Files\Rennae\Two Days Before\Musings_About_The_Test.txt

First/Prev/Next

I'm twenty-two and I'm dying, and just because it's necessary doesn't mean that it's fun. It's a slow death, because that's the point. I could stop dying at any time. I could sit up, pretend I have anywhere close to the regality that I used to, and say, "Stop." Or, "I changed my mind", or "We'll find another way", or-

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter because I won't be saying any of those things. My mantra for the pain, when it crests on me like a wave and I can no longer tell which way is up, is "I want this. I want this. I want this." I say it out loud, so no one can use my silence and my pain to claim that I want to be let out.

My friends are outside. They tried to argue about it—said if it was supposed to be a test that they are love-worthy it wouldn't work unless they could comfort me, because they were not worthy of love if they didn't. I said they were idiots. That love-worthy was marketing, that it wasn't a test of my love for them but of the willpower of those that surround them. That said willpower would be larger if I didn't have to worry about them. Then the guards came down on my side, with their spears pointed the other direction, and my friends subsided.

I hope they believed me, though. Most of what I said was even true. It's not a test of love, it can't be, because otherwise it doesn't make sense. Sending someone to a slow, painful death to save your own skins doesn't prove you deserve to be loved! And the response to the initial "no, no way" we gave- well. They almost killed Tenny. Fighting them isn't the answer, not without weapons and armor which they took away.

It's not a test of whether they're worthy of love, it's a test of my willpower and my pain tolerance and my endurance. (And my spite, and my love, and my sunk cost fallacy vulnerability.)

I'm twenty-two and I'm dying and it is worth it to save the world and it is worth it to save my friends. Who are going to get the help they need (because I will not fail in this) and who are going to save the world, and who are eventually going to forget about me and move on and be happy.

It is worth it. It is worth it.

Rhys : Rennae, right? From one mage to another, what sort of magic is your favorite? Surely there's a kind that holds your interest?

Please welcome to the blog, alternate characters! These characters are all from other universes of the mod’s, and in an experiment, will be askable for the near future!

Each of these characters all have stories of their own and are interactable in an ask blog manner! Though, no storylines will be happening with these characters on the blog, so keep that in mind

The Original Crew is still askable and will be around for asks and role play, but while I figure out the next storyline for them, the blog will be mainly focused on these lot as askable characters!

P.S: The color of their names indicate if they’re from the same universe or not! Have fun!

Rennae: Well, because I go to a witching college, I DO have a lot of teachers I learn from. Though, my top three teachers at my college are... I'd say Professor Schmidt, Professor Johannes and Professor Adler. Professor Schmidt is a vampire professor from Germany, I believe. He teaches us the powers of transformation and how to manage them. Professor Johannes teaches us how to work through visions and psychic elements, while Professor Adler is just a math teacher, cause you gotta have those in the schools. Though, I heard that she once saw the beginning of the universe and has since been scarred. She looks awesome, though!

Tell me how you did something incredible.

Tell me how you went to sleep smiling.

Tell me how it all worked out.

Tell me how you healed someone.

Tell me how someone saved you.

Tell me how you found a miracle.

Tell me how you got rich!

Tell me how you made someone's day.

Tell me how your dream came true.

The door opened, only to be slammed again by its owner, the hunter curling up against the frame and digging her fingers through her hair to help quell the intense grief. She had silently pleaded that there soon would be a knock against the frame as she cried. A sorry. Something. Anything.

Nothing.

Her suspicion had plagued her mind since the start of her twenty-ninth year – that they, the person she cared most for "doesn't give a shit about me."

"Is my friendship that much of a fucking burden?"

Her recent thoughts tormented her mind as she laid there against the wooden passage, letting out heavy, troubled breaths, them being merely absorbed by the silence of her empty abode.

When she got up, she was maddened, driven crazy, and the first thing that caught her attention was a couple of bags in the corner of the room. Swallowing whatever emotion that was trying to break free, she marched over to those articles, picking them up at the neck, gripping them tightly like they were snakes, and she opened the door, tossing them outside, muttering to herself, "Fuck you..."

Again, "...fuck you..."

And then, "...fuck me," an exasperated admittance, a low cry as she shut the door again, crawling onto her couch to rest.