(I'm writing this thread from a first person perspective. If you hate that, that's fine, here's your heads up.)
25th of Cylus, Arc 717
Care. Compliance. Patience. Filial piety. Respecting your mother, unconditionally. Obeying your father. Everything I've grown to hate. Alistair, they always told me. Yes, I could only reply. And thus the slew of commands came, eternally, arbitrary as they were - conditioning me to be compliant, always, even in the face of ludicrous actions. My upbringing was as such that it mirrored a military education, with loyalty the sole purpose, regardless of whether or not I grew competent in my coming of age. That was fine. My father never wanted my competence - he wanted to rule Venora, whether or not I was holding the title of Duke.
Care. Compliance. Patience. These are laws I obeyed even unto my own dismay. I watched as my father butchered the dog my mother had bought for me, before my eyes, in his vengeance of the slight she'd made against him - she'd taken other men, lovers, and that could simply not do. My father is a proud one - how dare Willow take others? It only meant he was not good enough. For all his faults, it was only at that point where he broke, and I was expected to pick up the pieces.
Care. Compliance. Patience. That's what they always told me. It didn't matter how sour things had gotten between them, it didn't matter how fucking brutal my father was. My reactions mattered a lot more than their actions, and not even the Duchess or Duke would dare interlope in my father and mother's crude, disreputable, and frankly disturbing affairs. So why would anyone else? They watched as the two derailed all else around them, damaging their children and the Duchy's future, too fearful to say a thing.
Perhaps my grandfather would have said something. He was a proud man. But he was old then, as he is now, and he was always the Duchess's second - how could he challenge her authority? The dynamic in noble relations was always so . . . odd, in that respect. The ruling Lord or Lady called all the shots, regardless of their competence. Their spouse, married off to them to serve as their chancellor and trusted advisor, was always as if a wallflower in these affairs. No one will ever remember Karl Venora nee Warrick, despite the man he is, and has always been; calm, decent, kind.
The type to... carefully, patiently comply. Whether or not all around him was corrupt and rotten, and whether or not his grandchildren were being neglected by their mother and molested by their father - none of that mattered. He was just so grounded. So worldly. He did not realize the monster he'd been secretly harboring, beneath him, growing strong. I suppose I embody the rose more than I thought I did - for I eventually did bud, and quickly, dramatically... into a beautiful thing. Not in the way they expected me to, though, no. I left my humanity behind.
25th of Cylus, Arc 717
Care. Compliance. Patience. Filial piety. Respecting your mother, unconditionally. Obeying your father. Everything I've grown to hate. Alistair, they always told me. Yes, I could only reply. And thus the slew of commands came, eternally, arbitrary as they were - conditioning me to be compliant, always, even in the face of ludicrous actions. My upbringing was as such that it mirrored a military education, with loyalty the sole purpose, regardless of whether or not I grew competent in my coming of age. That was fine. My father never wanted my competence - he wanted to rule Venora, whether or not I was holding the title of Duke.
Care. Compliance. Patience. These are laws I obeyed even unto my own dismay. I watched as my father butchered the dog my mother had bought for me, before my eyes, in his vengeance of the slight she'd made against him - she'd taken other men, lovers, and that could simply not do. My father is a proud one - how dare Willow take others? It only meant he was not good enough. For all his faults, it was only at that point where he broke, and I was expected to pick up the pieces.
Care. Compliance. Patience. That's what they always told me. It didn't matter how sour things had gotten between them, it didn't matter how fucking brutal my father was. My reactions mattered a lot more than their actions, and not even the Duchess or Duke would dare interlope in my father and mother's crude, disreputable, and frankly disturbing affairs. So why would anyone else? They watched as the two derailed all else around them, damaging their children and the Duchy's future, too fearful to say a thing.
Perhaps my grandfather would have said something. He was a proud man. But he was old then, as he is now, and he was always the Duchess's second - how could he challenge her authority? The dynamic in noble relations was always so . . . odd, in that respect. The ruling Lord or Lady called all the shots, regardless of their competence. Their spouse, married off to them to serve as their chancellor and trusted advisor, was always as if a wallflower in these affairs. No one will ever remember Karl Venora nee Warrick, despite the man he is, and has always been; calm, decent, kind.
The type to... carefully, patiently comply. Whether or not all around him was corrupt and rotten, and whether or not his grandchildren were being neglected by their mother and molested by their father - none of that mattered. He was just so grounded. So worldly. He did not realize the monster he'd been secretly harboring, beneath him, growing strong. I suppose I embody the rose more than I thought I did - for I eventually did bud, and quickly, dramatically... into a beautiful thing. Not in the way they expected me to, though, no. I left my humanity behind.
