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writing_shadowsRight, Solace. You need to get a grip.
I'm sitting in a tree on the estate today. The wind tug slightly at my hair - Wind In The Treetops is affectionate today - and I can hear the hounds howling in the distance. For once, I feel safe. For once, I know I'm home.
OK. Enough. Stop wallowing. You don't have that luxury.
I'm right, of course. I nearly always am.
Oh, don't give me that shit. No, you're not right. If you were right, would you be in this mess now?
Maybe I have a point.
Too damn right I do. If you were always right, would you insist on throwing yourself on your back for any Storm Lord with enough of a macho strut? Would you run after any Uratha who smiles at you, mewling for approval and affection? If you were always right would you have even got yourself knocked up? Or used a silver loaded shotgun with your prints all over it? You're not always right. In fact, frankly, most of your life is powered by sheer stupidity.
That's a little harsh. Even coming from me and I know I'm not always the most tolerant. I wince a little at the words, even as they float through my head. Badly formed excuses run through my mind; I don't want to regret lost nights and that amazing giddy high that comes from a proper first kiss. I don't want to let go of the stupid half hope that I feel when Arthur smiled at me, or Melody puts her arms around me. I won't regret Beth. I sure as hell won't regret the blood on the wall or the ruined wreck of that bastard's head, even if I die for it in the end...
Stop it.
I stop it.
You don't have time for it. Not for regrets, but not for justifications either. What have you actually gained from any of those liaisons? What advantages? And what baggage do you now carry? Because I'll bet it's more than you had before.
Please remember, Solace, you're not playing this game from a position of strength. You're a traitor to your own people, and alien to these. You don't have room for manoevere. You need to play to win. And you need to remember you're alone.
Alone.
The wind ruffles my hair again and I smile.
No. I'm not alone. I'm never alone. I never have been.
OK. That's fair.
Still, in a way, the wind in my hair, the shadow in the forest and the ghost in the well, they keep me further apart from the rest of the world. Who else would understand? They would just see the wrongness of it all. And aside from the spirits, aside from Johnny (blood of my blood, light in my heart, warmth in my soul), I am alone, really.
And that's OK.
This is the path I chose.
I chose to not be Perfect or Pure. And I keep making that choice, from the first time I let Michele take my hand, and onwards. I can't go back to the Ivory Claws now. I don't want to go to the Firetouched. I won't belong to one of the Pure. I won't step back into that cage.
But I don't belong anywhere else. I can't be Forsaken. I just can't. I say the wrong thing, think the wrong thoughts. There's nothing useful or special about me here and sometimes it feels like whenever I try to be useful I only come across as weird. I don't want to go to the Bale Hounds, if only because their gods make me feel physically sick and every one I've met has lacked even the raw animal cunning of a Firetouched. I can't just walk away from the People entirely, because the world is filled with things with sharp teeth and I don't want to feel them bite.
See! You're getting it, at last. I mean, I could have done without the self pity, but at least you're accepting the reality of the situation.
So what now?
You get a grip. You stop letting your heart do your thinking for a start. That won't get you anywhere. Cut that out, metaphorically at any rate, and start thinking.
You're in this game alone, Solace Gascoyne-Cecil. You're out there alone, your mother is coming for you, and there is a great storm rising. Many will die and you can't stop that, so stop caring. Just remember that you want to live.
Remember, this is a game, and you play to win. Otherwise, you just die.
I tilt my head up and smile at the sky.
That sounds like something out of a book.
"You win, or you die,"
I'm sitting in a tree on the estate today. The wind tug slightly at my hair - Wind In The Treetops is affectionate today - and I can hear the hounds howling in the distance. For once, I feel safe. For once, I know I'm home.
OK. Enough. Stop wallowing. You don't have that luxury.
I'm right, of course. I nearly always am.
Oh, don't give me that shit. No, you're not right. If you were right, would you be in this mess now?
Maybe I have a point.
Too damn right I do. If you were always right, would you insist on throwing yourself on your back for any Storm Lord with enough of a macho strut? Would you run after any Uratha who smiles at you, mewling for approval and affection? If you were always right would you have even got yourself knocked up? Or used a silver loaded shotgun with your prints all over it? You're not always right. In fact, frankly, most of your life is powered by sheer stupidity.
That's a little harsh. Even coming from me and I know I'm not always the most tolerant. I wince a little at the words, even as they float through my head. Badly formed excuses run through my mind; I don't want to regret lost nights and that amazing giddy high that comes from a proper first kiss. I don't want to let go of the stupid half hope that I feel when Arthur smiled at me, or Melody puts her arms around me. I won't regret Beth. I sure as hell won't regret the blood on the wall or the ruined wreck of that bastard's head, even if I die for it in the end...
Stop it.
I stop it.
You don't have time for it. Not for regrets, but not for justifications either. What have you actually gained from any of those liaisons? What advantages? And what baggage do you now carry? Because I'll bet it's more than you had before.
Please remember, Solace, you're not playing this game from a position of strength. You're a traitor to your own people, and alien to these. You don't have room for manoevere. You need to play to win. And you need to remember you're alone.
Alone.
The wind ruffles my hair again and I smile.
No. I'm not alone. I'm never alone. I never have been.
OK. That's fair.
Still, in a way, the wind in my hair, the shadow in the forest and the ghost in the well, they keep me further apart from the rest of the world. Who else would understand? They would just see the wrongness of it all. And aside from the spirits, aside from Johnny (blood of my blood, light in my heart, warmth in my soul), I am alone, really.
And that's OK.
This is the path I chose.
I chose to not be Perfect or Pure. And I keep making that choice, from the first time I let Michele take my hand, and onwards. I can't go back to the Ivory Claws now. I don't want to go to the Firetouched. I won't belong to one of the Pure. I won't step back into that cage.
But I don't belong anywhere else. I can't be Forsaken. I just can't. I say the wrong thing, think the wrong thoughts. There's nothing useful or special about me here and sometimes it feels like whenever I try to be useful I only come across as weird. I don't want to go to the Bale Hounds, if only because their gods make me feel physically sick and every one I've met has lacked even the raw animal cunning of a Firetouched. I can't just walk away from the People entirely, because the world is filled with things with sharp teeth and I don't want to feel them bite.
See! You're getting it, at last. I mean, I could have done without the self pity, but at least you're accepting the reality of the situation.
So what now?
You get a grip. You stop letting your heart do your thinking for a start. That won't get you anywhere. Cut that out, metaphorically at any rate, and start thinking.
You're in this game alone, Solace Gascoyne-Cecil. You're out there alone, your mother is coming for you, and there is a great storm rising. Many will die and you can't stop that, so stop caring. Just remember that you want to live.
Remember, this is a game, and you play to win. Otherwise, you just die.
I tilt my head up and smile at the sky.
That sounds like something out of a book.
"You win, or you die,"
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