Post by Magda on Nov 4, 2017 19:13:12 GMT -5
“Well, from here there are two paths, I guess,” Magda said, looking down at his hand as she held it with both of hers, as if unwilling to let go. A part of her wished she could absorb his many qualities like some form of osmosis by proximity; she wanted to be the kind of person who could make friends easily, who didn’t get nervous before a party, who always knew the correct amount of humor and empathy. The kind of person who everyone got along with easily. Open. Friendly. Like him. Instead at functions like this, her brain felt empty and everything seemed muted.
As he spoke, it seemed as though the enormity of immortality had hit him all at once. When Magda had met him all those years ago she had been under the impression that he was closer to thirty than twenty, so whilst his internal maths must have calculated her timeline and come to an age that was far older than her face, the truth was that Dane himself was probably in his mid-forties whilst still looking like he was in his late twenties. But with centuries of time at your disposal, there was no rush. You could travel the world multiple times over, learn languages, master skills, observe the world from a distance or involve yourself in its workings for decades to come. There was so much to be achieved, and earned, and just as much to be regretted or lost. You could lose a decade of memories and not need to mourn it, knowing that there would be centuries more to come. It was easy to become lost in the vast expanse of time when it was at your disposal. Yes, Magda was getting old in human terms, but in immortal terms she could be twice her age and still be considered young for a werewolf.
In another life, where immortals had remained in the shadows and her father had never been turned into a vampire in that fatal encounter over forty years ago, in an alternate world where none of this had ever happened, Magda would likely be a grandmother by now. She would have photo albums of a wedding day featuring a dated wedding dress along the hallways of her home, she would take pills to help with joint pain and ease the onset of arthritis that would threaten a sparkling surgical career. She would planning out her pension, and spend her holidays in a cabin upstate with her extensive family. She probably would have learned to knit embarrassing Christmas jumpers for each of her grandchildren, or probably bought some equally humiliating monstrosities from a department store. But none of this would ever happen, and that wasn’t the future she had lived to see.
Now, over half a century old, Magda hadn’t yet fallen in the sort of soul-wrenching love that songs were written about, had never been married, and would never have kids. She had lived enough for several lifetimes, and she wasn’t yet done. In fact, she was only just now getting started. It was easy to marvel at the ancient age of Strikarash Moonshallow when for him, centuries would likely pass just as quickly as her decades. He could sneeze away months, take naps through revolutions. Perhaps that would become her reality someday, watching the world whiz past her as each year blinked away ever-faster.
It would be such a simple thing to become jaded and weary with the world, watching the cycles repeat and history replay, but one of the blessings about being immortal was that if she needed to be, Magda could stay in this city for the next few hundred years, ensuring the sort of stability that was so often torn away with wars for succession.
Magda hadn’t really thought about being ancient and living forever all that much, and when she did in passing, she tried not to dwell on it. Magda was used to living life day to day, willing to wait years for the good stuff to come along. She had found that the trick was to take each day as it came. In her experience, days quickly became years became decades, and next thing you know you’re sixty feeling ancient but never having done anything lasting with your life. Until now. Leading a city meant something. She was anchored here like she never had been before, and she hadn’t known how much she had craved that sense of purpose until she had found it.
“You’re free to stay at Choiseul Manor for as long as you like, or you can leave whenever you like. But the world outside is a lot different from how it was when you left. We don’t use dollars any more, trade is a lot more fluid than what you remember, and everything is a hell of a lot more dangerous, especially outside the city walls. I don’t think you’ll find picket fences in this city, and even if you did, I don’t think you’re the kind of man to aspire to apple pie normalcy. As far as being a vassal is concerned, you can fuck right off,” she said with a sideways smile. “I didn’t campaign for this position, and I don’t ask for subordinates. Especially not you. So, ultimately it depends on what you want to do.”
She ran a gentle thumb across the top of his hand, her finger bumping across each knuckle. Then she looked up at him, to where his head, tilted back, leaned against the balustrades of the railing. “Look, I’m not… great with expressing things” she began falteringly, her voice little more than a murmur. “I’m not even slightly good. But I… I don’t know what was between us, and I couldn’t put a word to it if I tried. Whatever this was - or is, it’s… when everything feels better with you. I'm better with you. Wild and still more level. I must have come down here hundreds of times when I was little, but everything feels more beautiful when I show it to you. And if you were to ask me, I’d want you to stay.”
As he spoke, it seemed as though the enormity of immortality had hit him all at once. When Magda had met him all those years ago she had been under the impression that he was closer to thirty than twenty, so whilst his internal maths must have calculated her timeline and come to an age that was far older than her face, the truth was that Dane himself was probably in his mid-forties whilst still looking like he was in his late twenties. But with centuries of time at your disposal, there was no rush. You could travel the world multiple times over, learn languages, master skills, observe the world from a distance or involve yourself in its workings for decades to come. There was so much to be achieved, and earned, and just as much to be regretted or lost. You could lose a decade of memories and not need to mourn it, knowing that there would be centuries more to come. It was easy to become lost in the vast expanse of time when it was at your disposal. Yes, Magda was getting old in human terms, but in immortal terms she could be twice her age and still be considered young for a werewolf.
In another life, where immortals had remained in the shadows and her father had never been turned into a vampire in that fatal encounter over forty years ago, in an alternate world where none of this had ever happened, Magda would likely be a grandmother by now. She would have photo albums of a wedding day featuring a dated wedding dress along the hallways of her home, she would take pills to help with joint pain and ease the onset of arthritis that would threaten a sparkling surgical career. She would planning out her pension, and spend her holidays in a cabin upstate with her extensive family. She probably would have learned to knit embarrassing Christmas jumpers for each of her grandchildren, or probably bought some equally humiliating monstrosities from a department store. But none of this would ever happen, and that wasn’t the future she had lived to see.
Now, over half a century old, Magda hadn’t yet fallen in the sort of soul-wrenching love that songs were written about, had never been married, and would never have kids. She had lived enough for several lifetimes, and she wasn’t yet done. In fact, she was only just now getting started. It was easy to marvel at the ancient age of Strikarash Moonshallow when for him, centuries would likely pass just as quickly as her decades. He could sneeze away months, take naps through revolutions. Perhaps that would become her reality someday, watching the world whiz past her as each year blinked away ever-faster.
It would be such a simple thing to become jaded and weary with the world, watching the cycles repeat and history replay, but one of the blessings about being immortal was that if she needed to be, Magda could stay in this city for the next few hundred years, ensuring the sort of stability that was so often torn away with wars for succession.
Magda hadn’t really thought about being ancient and living forever all that much, and when she did in passing, she tried not to dwell on it. Magda was used to living life day to day, willing to wait years for the good stuff to come along. She had found that the trick was to take each day as it came. In her experience, days quickly became years became decades, and next thing you know you’re sixty feeling ancient but never having done anything lasting with your life. Until now. Leading a city meant something. She was anchored here like she never had been before, and she hadn’t known how much she had craved that sense of purpose until she had found it.
“You’re free to stay at Choiseul Manor for as long as you like, or you can leave whenever you like. But the world outside is a lot different from how it was when you left. We don’t use dollars any more, trade is a lot more fluid than what you remember, and everything is a hell of a lot more dangerous, especially outside the city walls. I don’t think you’ll find picket fences in this city, and even if you did, I don’t think you’re the kind of man to aspire to apple pie normalcy. As far as being a vassal is concerned, you can fuck right off,” she said with a sideways smile. “I didn’t campaign for this position, and I don’t ask for subordinates. Especially not you. So, ultimately it depends on what you want to do.”
She ran a gentle thumb across the top of his hand, her finger bumping across each knuckle. Then she looked up at him, to where his head, tilted back, leaned against the balustrades of the railing. “Look, I’m not… great with expressing things” she began falteringly, her voice little more than a murmur. “I’m not even slightly good. But I… I don’t know what was between us, and I couldn’t put a word to it if I tried. Whatever this was - or is, it’s… when everything feels better with you. I'm better with you. Wild and still more level. I must have come down here hundreds of times when I was little, but everything feels more beautiful when I show it to you. And if you were to ask me, I’d want you to stay.”