The Roof, Saturday Evening

[nobloodymessiah.livejournal.com]

It was so sudden. One moment, Eleanor had been carving up a harpie, and the next -- it was gone. So were the zombie piranhas. And Eleanor was ... Eleanor, again. Finally. Somehow.

But the memories of it -- who she had been, what she had done -- were clawing at her. She'd been someone careless and dark, and before that, the Messiah her mother had tried to shape her into becoming. An utter absence of self.

She spent at least an hour in the shower, scrubbing, but she couldn't get that feeling out of her skin, the itch, the memory of other voices speaking through her. As her. In place of her, in the empty space where she used to be, where no one was ...

She gave up, finally, and pulled clothes on -- not the shift. Maybe she would burn the shift. Maybe that would be satisfying.

Maybe she would go up to the roof and scream and find something to break. Or maybe she could sit and watch the stars. Anything, so she didn't feel trapped under a roof right now.

(OPEN. WARNING: thread with Celia discusses suicide of an NPC and its aftermath, in some really harsh terms. (Also, Eleanor's views are her own, not mine.))

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[pasunereveuse.livejournal.com]

Celia was gasping against Eleanor's shoulder -- part in due to the grip, yes, but mostly so that she wouldn't cry. She wouldn't cry, she didn't cry in front of other people, not even Eleanor.

Her cheeks seemed wet all the same.

"How can I not?" she mumbled. "Not me, but -- what I am. I know it didn't happen without cause. And the simplest solution is always the right one, isn't it? Having a magical child is a burden."

[nobloodymessiah.livejournal.com]

"You were not the cause," Eleanor said viciously. "People don't k-kill themselves because they have wonderful people in their lives who are also burdens. That would be stupid and horrible and selfish, to -- to do that to a child you're supposed to love, and i-if it were true, your mother would be an even bigger monster than mine."

[pasunereveuse.livejournal.com]

"I -- " Celia faltered. "Sometimes I wish it had been my father, instead, but then I'd have turned out like her, like the other me, and she didn't understand her gifts at all. But -- I don't blame her. My mother, I mean. It must be difficult. I only had Margaret for a few days, and I was able to magically clean up after her. I c-can't imagine how hard it was for her to have a child who could d-destroy her with a tantrum."

She shook her head, pulling back. "Your mother is a monster, though. Mine was just weak. Yours -- I can't believe the soulless thing she made you. My mother only abandoned me. Yours tried to sacrifice you."

[nobloodymessiah.livejournal.com]

"If your child is difficult," Eleanor insisted, "then you love her, and you show her the way. You don't ... you don't give up on her. That's ridiculous. There's no way that she did, Celia. I don't believe it."

She shook her head, dismissing thoughts of her own mother. "Mother did her damnedest not to love me," she said, "so I was just the same as anyone else, to her. She believed in the greater good. Yours was weak, but -- you didn't make her weak. You didn't."

[pasunereveuse.livejournal.com]

"No, she was weak, and gave birth a problem bigger than she could handle," Celia sighed softly. "And all because for some foolish fortnight, she fell in love with my father, the snake-charmer."

She chewed her lower lip a little, getting herself a bit more under control with each passing moment. "I think Mama wanted to love me, at least," she offered. "That's the impression I'm left with, after this. Papa never tried. I hope there's never any way for him to meet your mother. The universe might implode from narcissistic self-righteousness."

[nobloodymessiah.livejournal.com]

"She did love you," Eleanor said, firmly. "Being weak doesn't affect one's ability to love. Maybe she couldn't deal with life, or a hundred other things you don't even know happened, but that doesn't mean she loved you any less."

She wished she knew more about suicide, that she might argue the point better, that she might convince Celia that she wasn't the reason for her mother's actions. Perhaps there was a way to learn.

As for her father meeting Sofia ... Eleanor considered the idea for a moment. "She'd try to convert him to rational selflessness," she said finally. "Would he try to get into her skirt?"

She couldn't imagine a man that could succeed at that. She wondered if her mother had ever been intimate, ever, with another person. She couldn't picture it.