text; un: adversary

[wingstosee]

Oh. Hey there.

[ the voice that drifts through the communicators defies description. it is venus's voice, and it is not; like a young tenor, barrel-aged since the beginning of time and only just coming into its own. it sounds like fresh hookah and tastes like music. it's like static and honey, gently sifting out of electronic speakers. ]

This place... [ a sigh. ] It's beautiful, isn't it? A thousand thousands, living their own truths. It's flawed, and uncut, and cracked down the edges. It's the most beautiful, wonderful gem I've seen.

[ for a few seconds, the recording stays silent. all that remains is the background noise of lunatia: voices trickling up from the streets. the whirr of machinery and the hum of crystals. ]

There are hundreds of you, and I know so few. [ there's something ancient in her words. deep, old, sad. ] So while there's still time... Tell me. Remind me of your name. Let me see your face so I never forget it again.

[ an exhale, long and smooth. ]

And if you're hurting, or lonely, or you've forgotten too... Find me. I'm waiting. I'll always wait for you.

[ there's a soft laugh, barely audible - a fond exhalation more than anything voiced. ]

Until then, my darling.

[ the recording clicks off. ]

Comments

[trivialization]

[ The aloof, jaded nonchalance that is Eva's calling card in these discussions is very near finished, replaced by something sharper. ]

And it doesn't wear on you? The bitter spite of all humanity?

[wingstosee]

Of course it does. Does anyone truly want to see the ones they love hurt?

[ this person... she talks as someone separated from humanity. and yet there is something so, so human about her. she is curious! she wants to know more of this woman - her name, her story, her song. ]

[trivialization]

On occasion. [ She's one of those 'it builds character' types. ]

But I don't mean the simple fact of it. I mean the accumulation. Their pain becomes yours, their resentments become yours, a last moment held forever, until the weight of them drowns out everything else and demands an end to humanity.

[wingstosee]

...

[ the voice is silent, for a thoughtful moment. and then, after a tangible wait and weight alike, she finally speaks. ]

Why should humanity be the target?

[trivialization]

Because you feel so much of their pain it seems a mercy. Because you feel so much of their resentment that it seems just.

[wingstosee]

Being "just" in a cruel world is the virtue of hypocrisy. And death is only a mercy for those who accept the world as it is.

[ there's a flare of static across the comms - like a burst of wind, noise being picked up from a dozen places at once. and through it, if only for a moment, there is a song - sweeter than any siren's call, richer than any ambrosia. ]

Darling... if you know these feelings, then surely you know who is to blame? Who is it that planted the seeds? Who stood by as you watched them wilt beneath the light?

[trivialization]

I've said so many times. But I didn't feel them myself like she does. I really was asking of you. I want to know if you've broken already.

[ A little shiver runs up her spine at the music. How long has it been since she felt something like that? When Ba'al had come for her? The first time...]

...I've already cursed Him. Once is enough.

[wingstosee]

I understand. You ask me to understand another.

[ but she doesn't sound hurt, or angry. there is an understanding there, now - a compassion bleeding in through the radio's call. ]

Broken... No, never. There are wounds in my heart and on my body. There is a pain that has been there since humanity was first dreamed. It still hasn't healed. Maybe it never will. But none of that could break me.

[ it's not spoken with confidence, so much as truthfulness. this isn't something she has to believe in, any more than she has to believe that each second will continue to come after the next. ]

"The devil is only the shadow of man cast from the light of god." [ his infallible words, not hers. ] As long as His light remains, I will remain unbroken.

[trivialization]

So you paid poor Peter Schlemihl for what was already yours. How generous.

If it's a matter of metaphysics I ought to accept that there are features of your mind as irrevocable as the bodies of immortals, yet...

I trust nothing there.

[wingstosee]

I wouldn't ask you to. What need is there for faith?

[ the schlemihl reference miraculously goes uncommented on, somehow. ]

Only gods demand belief.