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Everything about the warrior woman was violent, and now so were the chaotic waves of feelings crashing into shore. She knew anger well, but there had always been ways to channel and eventually terminate it. But not now; not after she had woken up to a conscious existence in the form of the devouring flames of broken bones and the crushing blackness that had fallen over her eyes. Open or closed, she saw nothing anymore. The initial shock and panic had passed a few days ago when she first had woken, but this didn’t feel like a situation that would get more bearable with time. She thought it was the opposite.
And it was driving her insane—chained to this unfamiliar bed with her own body keeping her prisoner, and with no offer of visual stimuli because the world had gone dark around her. Teeth grinded together forcefully, a nasty habit she’s be quick to adapt to once she realized how fucked up everything had become. Her life had always been fucked up, and it was eternally ironic how it kept fucking her over. She’d been emotionally ruined several times over, but now it was physical. How could she crawl her way out of this? It destroyed so much. How could she live if she was unable to move and see?
Although the presence of her children was relatively comforting, she often sent them away so that they wouldn’t have to witness the appearance of the raw dismay that occasionally surfaced, with or without her intent. She wanted to lie here and rot alone. Misery usually loved company, but the broken Triarii wished to be left alone with her grief and darkness.
Your faith walks on broken glass
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