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Eons ago, it feels like. Ages, certainly, since she awoke in the Islets, into her body, into a new lifetime. A woman grown, her very name lost save a small scrap of paper with three letters upon it, the deep dark brown of blood long dried. B A T Like a opalescent pane of glass in her mind, she could see shapes, shades, swirls of color and movement when she grasped at the threads of her past. Nothing discernable. Nothing tangible. Just mystery, just silence, lost in the mists. Who she was, unknown. Who she is, unknown. Who she will be, unknown. A cruel irony, a gift of foresight used to help others, but unable to answer her own questions about her past. Perhaps it is for the best. Perhaps she was a monster. Perhaps this is redemption, to right wrongs she cannot even remember. She doesn't feel like a monster. She doesn't feel much like anything, though. The many years past, a path forged through the rocks - the enduring waters carving their channel, ever forward, around, downward. Where that river would flow, she could never have anticipated. With the weight of time so heavy, she takes this moment for reflection. The past is lost, but the seeds of the future have been sown, nourished, and grown fruitful. A matriarch of the Order, she has found love, belonging, acceptance ... a family amidst the ashes of loss and obscurity. What lay behind her does not matter. What lay before her is all that does. Bat'Sheba | |