She's been told now and again how the Chantry uses her. They do, but she chose it, and it’s been a fair trade. Food in her belly, clothes on her back; books, training, a cause. A little box in her room and a routine,
She owes them: Everyone who pays their tithes and hopes for a bit of peace.
"So I should have it dictated."
Filth's better among friends. Otherwise it's just the unfortunate drivel you find tucked away beneath the bunks. (The awkwardness always to wonder: Is this really the best they could get their hands on?)
"Do you ever," She begins, tries to decide whether to follow through. He's unhappy enough without adding her own mess. But grand statues crumble, grand visions fade. The con dies with the artist. "Think of how this shall be remembered? If anyone will at all. How small this business might seem, a few decades hence."
One way or another. Life will wind on, or the Venatori will stamp them out raw. Either way, she'll be long-gone; Yngvi, as any beetle, may survive a time beneath the boot.
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She owes them: Everyone who pays their tithes and hopes for a bit of peace.
"So I should have it dictated."
Filth's better among friends. Otherwise it's just the unfortunate drivel you find tucked away beneath the bunks. (The awkwardness always to wonder: Is this really the best they could get their hands on?)
"Do you ever," She begins, tries to decide whether to follow through. He's unhappy enough without adding her own mess. But grand statues crumble, grand visions fade. The con dies with the artist. "Think of how this shall be remembered? If anyone will at all. How small this business might seem, a few decades hence."
One way or another. Life will wind on, or the Venatori will stamp them out raw. Either way, she'll be long-gone; Yngvi, as any beetle, may survive a time beneath the boot.