" how do i make it stop? i have to make it stop. " — mel medarda / @hextrusted
leizu almost wishes she could feel sympathy for the woman sat before her.
perhaps some part of her does. some younger, more naive part of her buried far below the countless mangled corpses of her past selves: below layers upon layers of protective falsity. a childish part that had been blind to the reason behind her suffering — the suffering of everyone in the scorned city of zaun. a part of her that believed the way she lived was merely a way of life. it was the way things were. the way they had always been. fighting day in, day out, just to survive: living life as though it were a constant battle. but as a child? she knew no better. knew not that change were possible, should those who had the power pulled their gold adorned thumbs from their arses.
no longer was she a child, though. she hadn't been a child since her age passed into the double digits. awareness had hit her like a swift kick to the gut. that their suffering was not necessary. that its elimination could be possible — it was merely essential to keep them in line. to keep them pliant. they didn't care for their suffering. not that they endured it, not that they could change it.
the innocence leizu had grown accustomed to feigning had been disregarded in favour of apathy, features that were often kept strategically delicate to portray naivety now blank with her disregard.
" what changed? " voice missing its typical velvet tone, it was instead laced with a subtle ire — a rare display of true emotion.
" why now do you have the desire to stop it? "
