[It has been three weeks. Charlotte has wept more in that span of time than she had in several years before it. Curiously, her face is dry now. Her eyes do not burn behind the glasses. She does not look away.
She does not pity the members of the audience dragged into Eliza's fate. There is nothing to pity. These are people who make sport out of murder and execution, all because they believe they are the only real people. A fleeting thought passes her by, of the woman she'd helped - but she does not look away, and it is gone as soon as it came.
These people are worse than vampires, she thinks, amazed that she is not trembling. Vampires place a sick sort of value on human life. Sick, grotesque, but it is still there. These creatures do not even do that. They don't hunt for food, they kill for sport. They have given up their humanity. They chant, they laugh, they freeze, they shatter - Eliza, who she should have gotten to know better, who loved her family, who did not deserve this situation, shatters too - and she does not look away.
They are monsters. They are not people, this teeming crowd. They are monsters, creatures that have willingly handed over their humanity to a perversion of England's decades-dead doddering pigeonlike queen. There is something the women of her family line are good at, and have been for centuries: killing monsters. True, her inborn talent is either locked away or gone, but she does have something new. With this, their force barriers cannot hold her or keep her contained. Without her birthright it will just take longer if she has to do it all herself, that's all.
A monster's face shatters (she does not look away), and Eliza's head rolls away from the impact site back towards all of them. How kind of her to start things off. Even in death, she is helpful. An inspiration.
This world is full of monsters. Charlotte has been told she is talented her entire life, and those talents have all been aimed at one set of tasks: the one the women of her family are good at, killing monsters. She meant what she snarled at the Warden. This so-called empire will fall. It must. Creatures like this, already gifted with the power to rip through into other worlds, cannot be allowed to run loose. They must be exterminated. They have discarded their humanity - discarded the sparks of kindness and reason that makes even King and RGB human enough to be people to her, not monsters - and they have chosen, in doing that, their fate.]
You're all dead.
[It isn't clear who she's addressing, or what of several potential meanings she intends to convey with those words, as they're hurried to the Eventide. But she says it. Her eyes are still dry. She might even be smiling. She has remembered her purpose.
CONTENT WARNING AND I AM ENTIRELY SERIOUS, MORESO EVEN THAN USUAL: genocide apologetics
She does not pity the members of the audience dragged into Eliza's fate. There is nothing to pity. These are people who make sport out of murder and execution, all because they believe they are the only real people. A fleeting thought passes her by, of the woman she'd helped - but she does not look away, and it is gone as soon as it came.
These people are worse than vampires, she thinks, amazed that she is not trembling. Vampires place a sick sort of value on human life. Sick, grotesque, but it is still there. These creatures do not even do that. They don't hunt for food, they kill for sport. They have given up their humanity. They chant, they laugh, they freeze, they shatter - Eliza, who she should have gotten to know better, who loved her family, who did not deserve this situation, shatters too - and she does not look away.
They are monsters. They are not people, this teeming crowd. They are monsters, creatures that have willingly handed over their humanity to a perversion of England's decades-dead doddering pigeonlike queen. There is something the women of her family line are good at, and have been for centuries: killing monsters. True, her inborn talent is either locked away or gone, but she does have something new. With this, their force barriers cannot hold her or keep her contained. Without her birthright it will just take longer if she has to do it all herself, that's all.
A monster's face shatters (she does not look away), and Eliza's head rolls away from the impact site back towards all of them. How kind of her to start things off. Even in death, she is helpful. An inspiration.
This world is full of monsters. Charlotte has been told she is talented her entire life, and those talents have all been aimed at one set of tasks: the one the women of her family are good at, killing monsters. She meant what she snarled at the Warden. This so-called empire will fall. It must. Creatures like this, already gifted with the power to rip through into other worlds, cannot be allowed to run loose. They must be exterminated. They have discarded their humanity - discarded the sparks of kindness and reason that makes even King and RGB human enough to be people to her, not monsters - and they have chosen, in doing that, their fate.]
You're all dead.
[It isn't clear who she's addressing, or what of several potential meanings she intends to convey with those words, as they're hurried to the Eventide. But she says it. Her eyes are still dry. She might even be smiling. She has remembered her purpose.
These monsters will all die.]