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They knew and she knew that she would never amount to anything. Not even being a child of the Gods could save her. Her life as one of the Nether had proven null and empty. She had wasted life so life had abandoned her. She held back a shuddering sob, tears welling in her eyes, as she whispered into the air.
Please. Give me one more chance.
Give me redemption.
Give me another shot at life.
But there was no answer from the air, or from the sky, or from the Sun. All was quiet in the drowsy glen, the trees rustling and the humming with mystery and life. Life had been breathed into her. She was a miracle, a single dot of perfection in the dying scope of Nethers. No defects marred her lithe form, and her eyes were ablaze with inherent wisdom. It was a gift of her ancestors and Nethers like her. Long dead and long gone, with her being the small reminder of a great era filled with peace and progress.
I will not waste anymore time.
I will fulfill my duties.
But I need my saving grace, first.
Her clan had abandoned her, even though being a lone Raidolon was sometimes acceptable, her heart had been crushed. They had trusted in her and almost worshipped her. Her birth had meant promise; maybe those born of Nethercite were not extinct. Maybe the beauty and grace of them would live on, passing through time and carving their place in history. But after 90 years of waiting for something, nothing was what they were rewarded with. She had been left when the rest had roamed. She awoke to the silence of a forgotten promise, and had looked up at the sky and cursed it.
You promised I would be kept safe.
I promised I would find another.
So I guess we both broke out own promises, then.
Her duty, from her time of birth, was to find another like her. Maybe they would feel the bond of Err’etta, and hopefully try and give birth to yet another Nethercite Raidolon, continuing the line of the God-given ones. But she had done nothing to try and find him. She had walked all day and all night, closing her eyes and maybe hearing a call of another Raidolon. But all was for naught, because 90 years had been wasted, and she had not ventured very far.
I want to meet my own kind.
I want to talk with him, and laugh.
I want to abandon this feeling of loneliness in my heart.
Her time has run out, as Ria’nal lies down on the grass, putting her ancient head down. Her eyes have long been lost to age, her hearing fading, along with her smell. She exhales a small puff of breath, visible in front of her, but she can only see a slight blur in her now dull world. She is nearly 150 years old, and she feels the hands of Death slowly grasping at her frame. She closes her eyes, and the fifth of the eight Nethers in the entirety of Ii'elar Dema'que passes on. An apology lingers on her lips, and her eyes, once sparkling with intelligence, close.
I am sorry that I could not be the saving grace to this dying world.
And so dawn goes down to day,
Nothing gold can ever stay.
Please. Give me one more chance.
Give me redemption.
Give me another shot at life.
But there was no answer from the air, or from the sky, or from the Sun. All was quiet in the drowsy glen, the trees rustling and the humming with mystery and life. Life had been breathed into her. She was a miracle, a single dot of perfection in the dying scope of Nethers. No defects marred her lithe form, and her eyes were ablaze with inherent wisdom. It was a gift of her ancestors and Nethers like her. Long dead and long gone, with her being the small reminder of a great era filled with peace and progress.
I will not waste anymore time.
I will fulfill my duties.
But I need my saving grace, first.
Her clan had abandoned her, even though being a lone Raidolon was sometimes acceptable, her heart had been crushed. They had trusted in her and almost worshipped her. Her birth had meant promise; maybe those born of Nethercite were not extinct. Maybe the beauty and grace of them would live on, passing through time and carving their place in history. But after 90 years of waiting for something, nothing was what they were rewarded with. She had been left when the rest had roamed. She awoke to the silence of a forgotten promise, and had looked up at the sky and cursed it.
You promised I would be kept safe.
I promised I would find another.
So I guess we both broke out own promises, then.
Her duty, from her time of birth, was to find another like her. Maybe they would feel the bond of Err’etta, and hopefully try and give birth to yet another Nethercite Raidolon, continuing the line of the God-given ones. But she had done nothing to try and find him. She had walked all day and all night, closing her eyes and maybe hearing a call of another Raidolon. But all was for naught, because 90 years had been wasted, and she had not ventured very far.
I want to meet my own kind.
I want to talk with him, and laugh.
I want to abandon this feeling of loneliness in my heart.
Her time has run out, as Ria’nal lies down on the grass, putting her ancient head down. Her eyes have long been lost to age, her hearing fading, along with her smell. She exhales a small puff of breath, visible in front of her, but she can only see a slight blur in her now dull world. She is nearly 150 years old, and she feels the hands of Death slowly grasping at her frame. She closes her eyes, and the fifth of the eight Nethers in the entirety of Ii'elar Dema'que passes on. An apology lingers on her lips, and her eyes, once sparkling with intelligence, close.
I am sorry that I could not be the saving grace to this dying world.
And so dawn goes down to day,
Nothing gold can ever stay.
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Yay literary reference at the end <3 Robert Frost ftw! I might use this as my form later, but for now, it's just for people's enjoyment. So yeah. Get to the enjoying, people XD
