[ The word greed brings to mind the description he was given of one of the ancients. He's pretty sure one of them was described as being particularly greedy, but that she tended to also share her wealth. Abundance, opposite of Destruction, as he remembered. He doesn't envy her going against uncle Burning Spice.
Either way the story is haunting to say the least. Given this was allegedly the story of why they were here, he was making some connections that he almost wished he didn't make. He's turning it over in his head, wings curling to wrap around his shoulders as though the delicate things would protect him at all.
He wants to ask why. He wants to ask... why take it out on innocent people who had no hand in sealing him. But he looks up at his father- his father who had committed atrocities out of loneliness and pain, and he realizes that it just didn't matter. They sat by and let him rot there just like the fairies let the Beast Cookies rot inside the Silver Tree. Guilt through inaction, maybe.
Understanding made it no less scary to grapple with. That's not even touching the implication of his soul not being his own. He stares quietly at the shadows, the carnage they depict.
"Don't worry my dear, you'll be safe in here." Pavlova feels the phantom touch of his mother's hand on his cheek as she hid him away. The screams rang in his ears. The panic of the Garden's other cookies. He'd wanted to help evacuate them, but...
To this day he's not sure if that was his mother's final act of love for him or if she simply refused to let go of him or anyone else. He may never know.
He rubbed quietly at his eyes, willing away the dampness. He's already cried too much. He's supposed to be cheerful. Pavlova lets out a breath and looks to his father once more, checking if there were more or if he could speak now. ]
no subject
Either way the story is haunting to say the least. Given this was allegedly the story of why they were here, he was making some connections that he almost wished he didn't make. He's turning it over in his head, wings curling to wrap around his shoulders as though the delicate things would protect him at all.
He wants to ask why. He wants to ask... why take it out on innocent people who had no hand in sealing him. But he looks up at his father- his father who had committed atrocities out of loneliness and pain, and he realizes that it just didn't matter. They sat by and let him rot there just like the fairies let the Beast Cookies rot inside the Silver Tree. Guilt through inaction, maybe.
Understanding made it no less scary to grapple with. That's not even touching the implication of his soul not being his own. He stares quietly at the shadows, the carnage they depict.
"Don't worry my dear, you'll be safe in here." Pavlova feels the phantom touch of his mother's hand on his cheek as she hid him away. The screams rang in his ears. The panic of the Garden's other cookies. He'd wanted to help evacuate them, but...
To this day he's not sure if that was his mother's final act of love for him or if she simply refused to let go of him or anyone else. He may never know.
He rubbed quietly at his eyes, willing away the dampness. He's already cried too much. He's supposed to be cheerful. Pavlova lets out a breath and looks to his father once more, checking if there were more or if he could speak now. ]