Cylus 1st, Arc 722
Rozkia had readily accepted the demands thrust at her. Since, all had been quiet and she’d received no word other than to lay low until she was called upon. The Naaerikk felt.. Antsy, considering the words of her sister. On that same note - the ‘healer’ who’d offered her freedom… She had been a Naerikk. However she’d hidden it, why ever, it made no difference now. Rozkia had seen her deadly beauty, her merciless overkill of the lighting knight. Her calculated abandon - her distaste for the knight clear in her lack of care for his corpse.
And more so than anything Rozkia found herself captivated and awed by it. She hadn’t dared to turn to the corpse, but the mangled chewing and crunching, the slick of blood and the greedy gulping… She heard all she needed to know - there was no way that lightning knight was alive, or even identifiable. Her sister’s beast had made that certain.
In awe she had followed, stumbling over herself as she tried to keep with the calculated strides of the other Naerikk. Once she was free, she’d fallen from her awestruck trance, and had tried to reach out, but she was gone as quickly as she had come, and Rozkia vowed she’d do right by the only sister she knew. Her orders were clear and concise and left no room for argument. Once her sister had disappeared, Rozkia realized she was back in the dust quarter in front of her home.
She’d cooped herself inside for the remainder of the cycle, anxiously awaiting the day her sister would call on her. Anticipating, waiting with the most curious high of emotions. The Naerikk was deep in her delusion - her sister would call for her, she’d need her and that would be enough - until it shattered like a thin layer of ice underfoot.
Zi’da came and went, no word from her beloved sister in arms. And her anticipation had turned into bitterness and childish anger. And to an extent, she was just that - a bitter child. She wanted to see a look of pride and adoration for her strength, the same she’d given the Naer with no name. She was throwing a child's tantrum, silently stewing in the dark room of her apartment when it became apparent that she had no worth as she was.
Her mind, her body… it wasn’t strong enough. She was nowhere near the beauty her sister was. If she wanted to be in her presence, she had to be fit to be in such. If the nameless Naerikk called on her, what could Rozkia offer? And the more she thought about it, the more something raged in her. She kept focusing on how she could be a use to someone. How she could meld to their wishes and their needs to become the perfect pet. The perfect tool. The rage, the bewilderment - that wasn’t directed at her sister. No, that was self loathing - a want, no, need to be the best use in the Naerikk arsenal. Whatever that meant. And no matter how far back she tried to dig, the feeling seemed ingrained in her mind. Would such a thing be… enjoyable? The tingle she felt on her spine, the fire in her veins…
Perhaps she should dig deeper.
Rozkia had readily accepted the demands thrust at her. Since, all had been quiet and she’d received no word other than to lay low until she was called upon. The Naaerikk felt.. Antsy, considering the words of her sister. On that same note - the ‘healer’ who’d offered her freedom… She had been a Naerikk. However she’d hidden it, why ever, it made no difference now. Rozkia had seen her deadly beauty, her merciless overkill of the lighting knight. Her calculated abandon - her distaste for the knight clear in her lack of care for his corpse.
And more so than anything Rozkia found herself captivated and awed by it. She hadn’t dared to turn to the corpse, but the mangled chewing and crunching, the slick of blood and the greedy gulping… She heard all she needed to know - there was no way that lightning knight was alive, or even identifiable. Her sister’s beast had made that certain.
In awe she had followed, stumbling over herself as she tried to keep with the calculated strides of the other Naerikk. Once she was free, she’d fallen from her awestruck trance, and had tried to reach out, but she was gone as quickly as she had come, and Rozkia vowed she’d do right by the only sister she knew. Her orders were clear and concise and left no room for argument. Once her sister had disappeared, Rozkia realized she was back in the dust quarter in front of her home.
She’d cooped herself inside for the remainder of the cycle, anxiously awaiting the day her sister would call on her. Anticipating, waiting with the most curious high of emotions. The Naerikk was deep in her delusion - her sister would call for her, she’d need her and that would be enough - until it shattered like a thin layer of ice underfoot.
Zi’da came and went, no word from her beloved sister in arms. And her anticipation had turned into bitterness and childish anger. And to an extent, she was just that - a bitter child. She wanted to see a look of pride and adoration for her strength, the same she’d given the Naer with no name. She was throwing a child's tantrum, silently stewing in the dark room of her apartment when it became apparent that she had no worth as she was.
Her mind, her body… it wasn’t strong enough. She was nowhere near the beauty her sister was. If she wanted to be in her presence, she had to be fit to be in such. If the nameless Naerikk called on her, what could Rozkia offer? And the more she thought about it, the more something raged in her. She kept focusing on how she could be a use to someone. How she could meld to their wishes and their needs to become the perfect pet. The perfect tool. The rage, the bewilderment - that wasn’t directed at her sister. No, that was self loathing - a want, no, need to be the best use in the Naerikk arsenal. Whatever that meant. And no matter how far back she tried to dig, the feeling seemed ingrained in her mind. Would such a thing be… enjoyable? The tingle she felt on her spine, the fire in her veins…
Perhaps she should dig deeper.
