May 27, 2015
Another portrait of ms-sadrienne, courtesy of the amazing Raps!
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Another portrait of ms-sadrienne, courtesy of the amazing Raps!
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Portrait of two ancient saplings. I’ve been meaning to screencap this for ages, but I always forget and harvest the node.
Sadrienne, we don't talk much.. ever. In fact I am pretty sure you dislike me. But you were always an exceedingly positive person, and an absolute joy to do PvE with and I love reading your tumblr posts with all of your character development for your little plantling. Continue being amazing. Continue doing all of the things that you do for GW2 and the RP community. We're brighter for having you around.
Sadrienne. What is there to say. That name alone would only pale in comparison to the intelligently witty, marvelously beautiful and amazingly elegant person that you are. It transcends far and in between the characters your write, the projects you do, and that same burning motivation to fill that niche, that no one realizes, but everyone will want. You stay, gorgeous you, and never change. :D
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Splinters.
Wood splinters free around my face and I’m awake again. Nothing but my panicked breathing in cold silence, the pulsing throb of sap forcing its way through my body. Elzy looks up, disgrunted, settles back on her side of the bed. I’m alive--the rest can wait until morning. I’ve at least been getting some rest, even if it is in thirty-to-forty minute blinks. Terror is an experience repeated night after night, no effective known way to stave it off. I sleep. I dream. I wake renewed with fear. I fool myself into thinking that once the mystery is solved, the worry will go away. But can it? Will there be a day where I’m not worried for every sapling that leaves the Grove without a minder? How many have I lectured now? I’ve lost count. They’re all so fool-headed and sure of themselves, certain that nothing can touch them in the “safety” of the Reach. They scoff the warnings of their mentors, escape the clutches of the wardens, and think that makes them survivors. Strong. Surviving is pain. Strength is standing when you’re cut in two. I’m scared to close my own eyes. When dream states take me, I relive it. I relive it all, not as I was---but as who I am. As someone who thinks and feels and knows freedom. As someone who begs to be recognised as a person.
The sapling he nailed into the training box was frightened, no question, but she accepted it. She felt she belonged to the dark, deserved nothing more than those confines. She didn’t mourn the loss of meals or sleep or comfort because those were not owed to her. She wasn’t troubled by the physical pain. To feel pain was to be alive, to be alive was something far more than a sylvari could hope to be given. If she was strong enough, she would muster the magic to escape before her life expired. If not---what worth did she have? That was the power of the box. To feel it chills me. Not just the physical restriction, but the fear of falling back to what was. The mindset of so many years back within reach, tempting and terrifying. A life I understand, and abhor. A simple life. A life without hurt. Perfect loyalty, servitude, no responsibility. No requirement to me more than is asked. Rules. Regulations. No love, no hate. No awkward social interaction, no stress of identity, no moral dilemma. It’s time to get up. The morgue awaits, and new records have come in. They’ll need cross-referencing. No doubt more saplings will have reached the city and need lecturing. The box will be there next time I close my eyes.
How's life, Sadri~?
That... is a difficult question. I’m still coming to terms with the loss of my fronds (though I don’t at all regret the circumstances that led to my electrocution and the resultant burning of my long and until then healthy fronds). I’m still not over Revilion. He’s over me--he has another love. I’ve tried and failed twice, starting to feel that perhaps there is no partner that truly fits alongside me. The nightmares are still happening. I force myself to sleep and wake in terror when my dreams take me back to the place where I am pushed down, forced into a rough-hewn box. Where the lid is nailed down as my face presses up against it. I wake up to freedom, but also darkness. Elzy (my jaguar, she followed me home at some point and simply never left) occupies the other side of my bed, but she’s not a clingy sleeper. She doesn’t like for me to cuddle her. I feel safest around people, and have precious little time to spend with my family, the coalition. Our schedules conflict more than ever. I sleep what little I can. It’s showing at times, but I do what I can to manage it. Thus my choice to remain at the morgue in Fort Vandal and operating in the main wards in Resolve only when I am really truly needed. There’s not much I can do to the dead that can’t be fixed. The same cannot be said for the critically injured.Life goes on, I suppose. I have my tasks, I have things to see done. I will do them. That’s all I can really say, I guess.
Kashti signs on at the best times.