They this, they that. Who even was they? Z'laenna and her father? The talk of what could have been meant nothing to the princess. It was all talk of nice, pleasant things that would never be real. What one wanted to happen was little more than a fantasy, and to hear her father talk of such things was salt in a gaping wound. Talk of a mother she'd never know with a life she'd never have--why bother speaking of it at all? Surely it was another test. Charlie wouldn't care. She couldn't let herself care about such things, no matter how much her heart ached for them to be real.
"Then I'll speak with her when we're done here," she said coldly, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers. She could already tell her father was growing bored of this line of speech, and Charlie was glad of it. Listening to him drone on about what could have been was more painful than she could ever have imagined.
She listened to her father's question, and took a moment to contemplate the answer. War was an armed conflict between societies, using acts of extreme force and aggression that lead to high mortality rates. And control was to influence others, be it thought or behavior. She knew painfully little of both, having grown up without learning any of the politics of her kingdom, save for the occasional skirmish between demons and angels. "I know little of controlling others," she began softly, "only what it's like to be controlled. I've been raised as a pawn in this kingdom, to only gather intel and to control myself and my actions. I know nothing of controlling or commanding others." She felt bile rise in her throat at her own uselessness, which she swallowed down with a grimace. Fighting the urge to clutch at her chest, which at this point felt as though it were being crushed by a dragon, Charlie continued, "I only know the definition of war. I was only taught to fight, if you recall."
Charlie found herself trying very, very hard not to bite her tongue so she could answer further questions. None of this did anything to bolster the princess' confidence, and only proved to show her how useless she truly was outside of her role at birth. Each word left a bitter taste in her mouth, and she wanted nothing more than to scream at her father for not preparing her for such an eventuality. It's no use to dwell. The scar on her face burned as a reminder of the fights she was meant to endure as a child. Nothing had prepared her for any of this, she realized.
She wanted to say how she lacked magic outside of her ability to become invisible and command fabrics, but Charlie knew it would only earn more of her father's scorn. Again she found it hard to speak, and harder yet to breathe. It was painful, and she found herself clasping at her necklace to avoid clutching at her chest. Just get on with it, she thought. When would the yelling she was expecting come? When would he finally voice the disappointment she new he had to feel?
"Then I'll speak with her when we're done here," she said coldly, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers. She could already tell her father was growing bored of this line of speech, and Charlie was glad of it. Listening to him drone on about what could have been was more painful than she could ever have imagined.
She listened to her father's question, and took a moment to contemplate the answer. War was an armed conflict between societies, using acts of extreme force and aggression that lead to high mortality rates. And control was to influence others, be it thought or behavior. She knew painfully little of both, having grown up without learning any of the politics of her kingdom, save for the occasional skirmish between demons and angels. "I know little of controlling others," she began softly, "only what it's like to be controlled. I've been raised as a pawn in this kingdom, to only gather intel and to control myself and my actions. I know nothing of controlling or commanding others." She felt bile rise in her throat at her own uselessness, which she swallowed down with a grimace. Fighting the urge to clutch at her chest, which at this point felt as though it were being crushed by a dragon, Charlie continued, "I only know the definition of war. I was only taught to fight, if you recall."
Charlie found herself trying very, very hard not to bite her tongue so she could answer further questions. None of this did anything to bolster the princess' confidence, and only proved to show her how useless she truly was outside of her role at birth. Each word left a bitter taste in her mouth, and she wanted nothing more than to scream at her father for not preparing her for such an eventuality. It's no use to dwell. The scar on her face burned as a reminder of the fights she was meant to endure as a child. Nothing had prepared her for any of this, she realized.
She wanted to say how she lacked magic outside of her ability to become invisible and command fabrics, but Charlie knew it would only earn more of her father's scorn. Again she found it hard to speak, and harder yet to breathe. It was painful, and she found herself clasping at her necklace to avoid clutching at her chest. Just get on with it, she thought. When would the yelling she was expecting come? When would he finally voice the disappointment she new he had to feel?
