──── aberrant

[cherubim]

playlist

childhood
home by hollow coves

cognizance
toronto by tusks

penitent
lung by vancouver sleep clinic

ambivalence
youth by daughter

moodboard
will i ever
become useful?

"My darling, sometimes we cannot prevent these things. Do not hold it against yourself; you're as useful as either of us."

Please sign this contract; it is imperitave you understand what you are getting into.

name; atia
age; nineteen
gender; female
sexuality; bisexual
weapon knowledge; understanding of dragonstones
do you understand and consent to becoming part of the royal guard? no yes.

[cherubim]

There are only three things Atia knows for certain; she is five, she lives in a small village outside of Caenia, and her mother is a fafnir.
She likes to roll the word around her head sometimes, repeating it and repeating it until it seems foreign. It's a fun word to say, even if her pronunciation is a bit off.
"fff - aaah - fff - neee - rrr" she would sound out, watching her mother smile softly.
"No darling," Vita would say, stroking her daughter's hair. "say fah - fi - near."
"Fah - fee - neeeaar?" She would answer, tilting her head ever-so-slightly. Vita would chuckle, hugging Atia close to her chest.
"That will do, missy. You'll get it soon enough!"

And Atia would giggle, wriggling out of her mother's grip and bounce around, flapping her arms as though they were wings and growling -though it sounded more like a purr than anything else. She would bare her teeth and snarl, pretending her nails were long claws. Vita watched on in amusement, lifting an eyebrow.

"I'm a dragon like you, mum! I can turn into one too!" Atia would exclaim, watching her mother subconsciously turn the glistening stone in her paws ever-so-carefully. It was large, smooth and iridescent with a light blue tinge. If you didn't look close enough, it would appear as an overly-large marble.
Vita would smile, biting her tongue. She couldn't explain it to Atia - not yet. There was still time to let her daughter develop, let her grow.

Dinah, Atia's second mother, would let herself in then, carrying a basket full of fruits and bread and kissing Atia on the head before placing the food down on the table. Dinah kisses Vita's cheek after, draping herself over her wife and making gentle jokes in her ear. Atia would watch on, excited and content, still pretending she too was a fafnir.

(Of course, she already was, right? Surely Vita would have passed down that trait. Surely.)

-

There were whispers in the hallway, Atia noted, as she crept her way around the corner of her doorway. The moonlight gave her white coat an ethereal glow, thoroughly trumping any hope she had of being inconspicuous whilst hunting for her late-night and very much not-allowed snack.
Her movements stopped abruptly as footsteps came closer and whispering grew louder. Atia ducked back behind her doorway, curious, but not curious enough to get herself in trouble. Were her mothers fighting?

"What do you mean you haven't told her yet?" a voice hissed - her mother, most likely. Mama Dinah was always the more silent one when it came to fights - if it even was a fight between the two. There was a period of silence after, almost deafeningly so, before Dinah whispered back a soft "no".

Atia didn't quite understand what the two were referencing, but if Vita was so heated about it then it must be important.

[cherubim]

The stone was cold, heavy in Atia's hands. The little light left in the sky scattered through the dragonstone, still in her flattened palms. It was - lack there be another word for it - breathtaking. Atia was mesmerized, concentration on nothing but the stone.
She knew that concentration was crucial in the process of transformation, but nothing had happened in the last hour, even with her undivided attention.
Surely she was doing something wrong, right? She had her mother's fafnir blood, there was no possibility of Atia being unable to take her dragon form. She even had the fafnir tail, if that didn't prove anything, well, Atia would have to question everything Vita had ever told her of the sacred race! And her mother would never even dream of lying to her daughter, right?
The sun had disappeared completely now, it's dying rays extinguished and the sky bleeding into a deep blue. The stars seemed to wink at Atia, whispering encouragements between themselves.

The girl closed her eyes, dark eyelashes fanned across her pale cheeks, as she whispered a silent prayer to the gods above and curled her fingers around the stone tightly once more. Vita had always told her to reach towards the warmth in her mind - behind her closed eyes, hidden in the deepest part of her consciousness. A pinprick of light, she had mused, that appeared when you settled your physical body.
And yet, even with her mind at ease and body erased of all tension, there was no light. No warmth. No semblance of anything to reach to. The dragonstone had become nothing more than a simple weight in her hand; no magic had been shared.

As her eyes fluttered open, eyes greeted by the moonlit sky, Atia cried.

-

"When should you tell her?"

Dinah sat, hand on her spouse's shoulder, watching their daughter stand amongst the darkened foliage. Vita had stared and stared, almost in a trance, as Atia attempted to do something out there.

(Vita knew exactly what she was doing, what she wanted to do, what she was attempting to accomplish. There was a refusal to swallow the end results; accepting it would mean giving up on her daughter.)

"Me?" Vita hissed back, eyes alight with sour mirth. "I have to be the one to tell her? Because I'm the only parent? Is that it?"

Dinah sighed softly, wishing she would have just bitten her tongue. It seems that she isn't the best at articulating her words into something that doesn't upset Vita these days - especially when it came to Atia's current obsession with the dragonstone. Not that she would know what that was like; unfortunately for her, Dinah was as non-fafnir as it came.

"Sorry love," she started, moving her palm to rub soft circles on her wife's back, "I genuinely didn't mean it that way."

Sighing in response, Vita shook her head softly. "It's- it's fine. I know. I know." She paused, glassy eyes looking up at Dinah with such raw emotion it took all of Dinah's strength not to cry with her. "I just... I had hoped she wouldn't... she would- would have inherited my genes."

It seemed that tears came easily to all that night.

[cherubim]

The moon was high in the summer night's sky, the small crescent providing pitiful light upon the rolling hills.

Atia had her letter, cursive writing wonky, slanted and rushed, but written nonetheless. She tried to quell the tears that threatened to form as she folded up the thin paper, placing the dragonstone upon it as though it were a paperweight on the small table that served as their dining space.

She felt guilty, yes, but she needed to leave; no ruined fafnir had a place with anyone. After all, half-breeds with no expertise weren't exactly kindly regarded. Even if her mother's were highly respected within the small community that was the village Rhit, she could still feel the judgemental gazes and disapproving 'tsk's thrown her way.
Of course, Dinah and Vita were aware of this and made it their mission to quash any negative views upon their daughter, yet it only fed Atia's ever-growing guilt.

Thus, her decision to leave was one well-crafted, planned for a month and carefully considered. She had left room for the majority of possibilities, but was certain she would not get caught sneaking out; the yard next to the house was overgrown and filled with trees. An easy escape, really.

Quickly ducking her way out of the house and down the concealed, Atia kept her head down and white coat concealed with the battered cape given to her a while back. Though ravaged with burn marks and frayed edges, it was helpful for covering the stark white of her fur. It was rather thick and durable as well; a suitable substitute for a tent for the time being.

The grass seemed to stretch on for what seemed like hours, thick and filled with nostril-assaulting seeds. Atia tried to suppress her sneezes, even if she were a good kilometre away from the village. She could not risk a sound; some villagers liked to patrol at night, especially considering the upcoming war and hostility between countries. Everyone seemed to be on edge and to be caught meant Atia would have to face her parents with even more rumours following her heels.

-

The sun started to bathe the horizon with it's orange glow by the time Atia had allowed herself to rest. The large tree she had found was perfect for a secluded rest; the roots had grown in such a way that there was a small alcove at the base, vines draping themselves around the frontal opening as though they were curtains. It was almost too perfect, really, but Atia wasn't in the mind to humour her paranoid thoughts.

Tired and quite famished, Atia set about folding her cloak to resemble a makeshift pillow and opened up her sack, pulling out a single slice of bread. (She had to ration; though there was a number of foodstuffs she had hastily stolen, Atia was unsure as to where she could restock next - if ever.) Gently nibbling at the crust, Atia shuffled her back against the tree, trying to find a comfortable spot where her spine wasn't at an awkward angle. With her cloak behind her head and slivers of sunlight just starting to rise, Atia tried to quell the tears that pricked at her eyes.

[cherubim]

Not every story has a definitive ending. Atia knows this for certain.

Her story continues, as she follows the march for the lost royal blindly, straying away from her carefully crafted plan and the safety of the military. Yet she is wanted with the ragtag group; her axe skills are needed - unmatched. Atia sleeps soundly at night, with the soft warmth of her bedmate beside her, comforting her in ways she only thought was possible when with her mothers.

She supposes she had been forgotten by now, old news to the village. Perhaps her mothers had found a new daughter, one that had the capability to use the dragonstone. That's what she had hoped for, at least. She doesn't like to dwell on the guilt.

Still, she writes letters on the discarded paper found from Rúni, scribbling her apologies and trying not to smudge the ink with her tears (It proves to be a difficult task). One day, she settles on, she will return. She will hand the letters and the hoard of her memoirs to Vita and Dinah, and hope they will understand. Hope they will forgive her. Hope they had('nt) forgotten her.

For now, Atia flits between towns, going across the continent with Mischka leading the way.

She will grow close with dear Ylja, find a sage who will help her grow and eventually be able to use her dragon powers, watch as two old friends pierce each other's hearts, cradling her own. But she doesn't know that yet. What she does know for certain is that her name is Atia, she left her dear mothers to find herself, and she will inevitably prove herself to be worthy of love.