01. oh, i'm only what you've made me | vesshia krahve.
day one / not a weapon ( prompt 26 from 2018 ). 382 words. warnings: minor vomit reference, vision loss and references to shadowbringers. i'm using a generator that gives me a prompt each day from previous years and you can find the masterdoc for my ffxivwrite here. vesshia comes to a realisation. is it the correct one? time will only tell.
it burns. the bile that rises up. the weight inside her. light-aspected. light-burdened. a relapse back into stagnation. it all burns. she's not meant to carry this. not built for it. a vessel not quite equipped for what is being asked of it and is now fracturing at the seams. physically, it aches but its left her reeling with the realisation it's always her. it's always placed upon her shoulders, rested in her lap, pushed into her hands and she has no choice but to yield. where the world asks, the warrior of light will surely follow, will surely complete the task required of them no matter the cost. sacrifice or self-destruction. nobody cares to see the hero beyond the mantle. beyond the weapon they wield.
it all comes to a head later when a mismatched gaze directs itself towards the everlasting light. the sky burns bright once more and failure cracks open her heart more than the light inside her ever did. her body couldn't sustain it or maybe the anger had built in her until she wasn't willing to hold it but nonetheless, it's left its mark.
vision loss. all pigment drained out by the light she'd held. "count your blessings," they told her, "it's just the scarred one." as if that sweetened the bitter taste on her tongue about which eye had suffered the consequences. gold stripped away to grey. gold like her father's, like her brother's. would the journey ever stop taking?
one of them deems to approach. vesshia doesn't recognise who, not when they approach on the left. and why wouldn't they? even with her eye scarred in the years prior under zenos’ blade, it had been a movement she had trusted from them. something she had allowed her companions to do. a trust built over time. safe in their hands, she had believed herself to be but in the here and now, where she's no longer burning incandescent but hollow and numb, like a layer of permafrost has settled into her bones, she growls out a warning. they halt in her steps. she doesn't turn. not even when the footsteps back away and the door shut behinds them, leaving vesshia still staring at the light-filled sky until her eyes water, until they too, begin to burn.
