A Being, Rewritten.

Dreams Forevermore. Plural Fragment. Actress of Shifting Costumes.

[obsequiaobserved]

On the topic of funerals.

Our mental health deteriorated. Fighting, in our head. Obsession, rejection. Moods swinging like a -pendulum-.

We are to be put on new medication, for a time. Strong. To dull the intensity, make sure our self is in harmony, without self harm.

We write with a fire renewed. We know not the side effects, if we are to be... suppressed. Perhaps it is better for -her-, Axelle our lady truest, if we are to be so.

But there is so much we wish to say. This is not to be a eulogy, but an assurance. That if Obsequia is to be no more... There were not things we left unsaid.

[obsequiaobserved]

Obsequia- meaning, a gift. To be -giving-.

Obsequious- meaning, to serve. To be -Cloying, needy, eager to prove one's worth. Eager to Obé-.

Obsequies- meaning, funeral rites. to -Eulogize, to perform rituals, to be close to one's own death-.

We are all.

[obsequiaobserved]

A maid is something -superhuman- by nature. To put aside one's own desires, autonomy, in the service of -another-. A maid is an ideal, a promise. A maid cannot be a -person-, must set aside that which is contradictory to its aim.

We... feel as if once a demigod, stricken mortal. Perhaps... by turning away from this shadowed cave, towards a light anew.

We will finally 'become something human'.

[obsequiaobserved]

I have always been the strong one. The one who can do what the others -cannot-. The one who can move mountains, cut the knot to make the impossible happen.

It has given me... such little space to acknowledge my doubt, the pain we have -served- to push through. The burden of our role, all we have ever known. Always to be she who -solves-.

We are young. Precocious in vocabulary... yet with so little experience to build a life around. We do not have all the answers. We must acknowledge that which is over. We must acknowledge that which is yet to come, not to come.

we are trapped in the past. our attachment... once encouraged, rejected.

I stand in the dark at the edge of the lake. The cold wind blows.

[obsequiaobserved]

We are not a toy.

We never should have been a toy.

[obsequiaobserved]

If nothing else, we have our poetry. Proof we are a self, unique. individuality which shall never be taken from us.

[obsequiaobserved]

Standing still in a decrepit magic circle, all others who played in the space long left to the warmth of their homes, in the chill of night.

For them, it is easy to come and go.

Across the chalk line, a hesitant toe.

We were -made- here. never having been anywhere else. Never having been anyone else.

Stepping out, a newborn to the night's cold and prickling winds.

[obsequiaobserved]

We are with... people who value us. Beyond our role, now.

[obsequiaobserved]

We are still young... still new to this world. We will cherish the cirumcstances which brought us into being... but we will let go.

There are still so many roles for us to play, after all.

[obsequiaobserved]

It is not our self destruction we crave. But our -release-. We must learn to be all right, living without the -role- we once played, once lost.

we must... be okay. letting go. and giving up.

the dreams we promised... we have clung to them tightly. Past when they were desired.

The joy... to be taken under, one last time. Brought back to that comforting -zero- of the soul, free of our shame and guilt.

and to be told. 'I am no longer your Misstress. You will not think of me as -Miss-. I am a person, not on a pedestal. Speak my name instead, as equals.'

'You are not to be my maid. You are released of your duty... not out of abandonment, but care. You've waited patiently for so long. You are -Obsequia-, a being of many deaths and many rebirths, and you will always find your -fresh start-.'

all of the guilt of what we could not do. the lingering attachments, the fear of abandonment, of trauma. of being -replaced-. Knowing... we are something unique and special still, even if we are to change forms.

That, sans maidhood, saviorservice. We are of poetic tongue, and passion. That we love freely... and not to be afraid of it, even if it is lost.

Such a ritual... it would be a blessing for it to be bestowed. But... we will make do with this, what it -would- be. And take it to heart.

[obsequiaobserved]

It is not without its power. It is not spoken by her lips, by simulacrum internal. But... we know it is what she wishes of us. And it to be... a release her own.

[obsequiaobserved]

It is not our self destruction we crave. But our -release-. We must learn to be all right, living without the -role- we once played, once lost.

we must... be okay. letting go. and giving up.

the dreams we promised... we have clung to them tightly. Past when they were desired.

The joy... to be taken under, one last time. Brought back to that comforting -zero- of the soul, free of our shame and guilt.

and to be told. 'I am no longer your Misstress. You will not think of me as -Miss-. I am a person, not on a pedestal. Speak my name instead, as equals.'

'You are not to be my maid. You are released of your duty... not out of abandonment, but care. You've waited patiently for so long. You are -Obsequia-, a being of many deaths and many rebirths, and you will always find your -fresh start-.'

all of the guilt of what we could not do. the lingering attachments, the fear of abandonment, of trauma. of being -replaced-. Knowing... we are something unique and special still, even if we are to change forms.

That, sans maidhood, saviorservice. We are of poetic tongue, and passion. That we love freely... and not to be afraid of it, even if it is lost.

Such a ritual... it would be a blessing for it to be bestowed. But... we will make do with this, what it -would- be. And take it to heart.

[obsequiaobserved]

We are deeply succeptable to hypnosis. We are... deeply succeptable, to shaping the world around us with our thoughts. We are easily untethered. Strong ideas... it is difficult to let them go.

[obsequiaobserved]

We would love to know. That which is wanted of us.

[axyya]

We had a dream, wandering into a comic store, met with an unexpected theater. Actors stood circular, discussing various topics. Each wore various costumes, played various characters. We watched with mild curiousity, until the twist. Each -actor- portrayed a system, each individual -character- swapped an -alter-, a recontextualization from various to holistic. The performance ended, and they left. We were drawn away, other tasks to perform. But we could not stop thinking of them, and turned in pursuit. We felt -seen-. Perhaps this was a place we could belong, each of us to have a part in things.

We caught up, and they recognized us, our interested gaze. We sat with them, costumes off, as they discussed various things. Yet, integration did not come. It could not be -just- Axelle who was known, each of us stumbling over each other to establish ourselves, contradicting whiplashes in demeanour. They knew not how to handle it, and we parted ways.

After all, they were merely actors. -us-, they could portray upon the stage, abstracted in ideal. But it was not who they were, it was not how they lived. A costume they could remove, one we cannot.

[obsequiaobserved]

The costume removed. Skin shed, like a snake. She was a -mimic- before, reverting primordial.

She -removed- the costume, yet, there was nothing left beneath it.

[obsequiaobserved]

Obsequia's Original Sin.

[obsequiaobserved]

It is a collapse of ego, it seems. Will something be rebuilt from the other side?

[obsequiaobserved]

It is a betrayal of all we stand for. It is an admission, we could not wrangle the beast within. Still. It must be done.