Take more initiative. What was that supposed to mean? Had she not done enough? Had her childhood--or lack thereof--not been enough? Her mind, enveloped in the fog of both the venom and the Lunaria, wandered. She'd spent her childhood training under her father. She didn't have many memories of anything but training. She had to be perfect to impress her father. To impress the others training under him. It was never enough.
She was never enough.
Had it not been for Romule's venom, she would have panicked again. Not being perfect, not being enough, failure in the eyes of her family...they were her greatest fears. Fears made more real with every passing day. It was hard to resist giving in, to keep herself afloat amidst a churning sea of fear and self doubt. Perhaps her aunt disliked her gardening and sewing? Not that she had much time for either, and certainly not after today. Or had her slaughter of the dragon general, Pherae, been her last great accomplishment? Could it even be considered an accomplishment if it had been expected of her? Victory in war. She was a war princess. It was expected.
"Yes, of course, Auntie," she replied, her voice distant and soft. Everything was foggy and heavy; even her eyelids drooped. More training. She'd have to learn the art of the political dance, and it was all Charlie could do to hope her mind would be clear by then.
She was never enough.
Had it not been for Romule's venom, she would have panicked again. Not being perfect, not being enough, failure in the eyes of her family...they were her greatest fears. Fears made more real with every passing day. It was hard to resist giving in, to keep herself afloat amidst a churning sea of fear and self doubt. Perhaps her aunt disliked her gardening and sewing? Not that she had much time for either, and certainly not after today. Or had her slaughter of the dragon general, Pherae, been her last great accomplishment? Could it even be considered an accomplishment if it had been expected of her? Victory in war. She was a war princess. It was expected.
"Yes, of course, Auntie," she replied, her voice distant and soft. Everything was foggy and heavy; even her eyelids drooped. More training. She'd have to learn the art of the political dance, and it was all Charlie could do to hope her mind would be clear by then.
