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What connects a sword to a man?
Perhaps its hilt, held in a tight grip as its wielder hacks and slashes and wades through the blood of war. Connected by the shared desire to destroy protect. Made to act as an extension. The sword doesn’t have a say in this matter—it exists to be used and discarded.
Perhaps its sheath, its scabbard, strapped to its owner, awaiting its use. Bound and guarded by nothing but the soft leather of love—or, loyalty? Devotion, maybe. Something of the sort. Hanging by someone’s back out of a pure desire to protect them, and... ah, it’s protection all over again.
Seraphim sighs. Her breath puffs white as the moon casts its light onto Tricolour. Its eyes peek out through the waning crescent, watching her do nothing but sit and think. A cool breeze brushes over her body, sending blades of grass running over her palms. Salty air enters her senses, and she furrows her brows in mild discomfort. Despite the time, she can't rest. A heavy weight rests on her shoulders, putting her thoughts in disarray. Her mind is split between two worlds.
She turns her head towards...
The Past
She recalls a faint memory: a conversation as She tended to the plants in her garden. It was too warm. The Sun shone on the beads of sweat dampening her skin, but she never complained, for it was a rare moment of peace. In that instance, she was not a mere bodyguard, a 'second in command,' or someone deemed 'lesser.' In that instance, they were the same, regardless of whether she believed it or not. Equals, despite her own inadequacies.
Seraphim?
Ah- er, yes, my Queen?
Didn't mean to startle you, haha! No need for such formalities right now, either. Just call me Jophiel.
Of course, m–...Jophiel. Apologies.
Don't apologise, dear. I was just curious... what's your favourite flower? I'm rather fond of columbines, myself.
...I like carnations.
→
The Future
Her mind is overrun by thoughts of the meeting, or, of her apparent lack of faith towards her own Queen—blasphemous, frankly, but she can't exactly help herself. What he said was true. To aid Yggdrasil is to gamble with the lives of Pandora. Who is to say that they won't be greedy? Who is to say that peace in their time can be achieved through something as simple as trading? What a naive way of thinking. She knows if she were in their position, she would just keep wanting more and more.
It’s all just... "paranoia" to them, and yet none of them have even tried to prove me wrong.
Unfortunately, that's just what tends to happen when you present yourself so aggressively.
Aggression is the only way they'll listen.
You understand me, surely? I saw you talking to Saparata.
Hm. Maybe, yeah. I just wish there was something I could do about it.
...You're the Lady of Colour, Seraphim.
↙︎
Figure it out.
...
'It.' Figure 'it' out, but what is 'it?'
Stop pretending to be so dense.
A bug rests on the edge of her mind, just outside her vision, crawling with its fly-legs. It sinks its mandibles into the soft tissues of her prefrontal cortex, chewing and regurgitating. It speaks, it scares, and it urges. Seraphim bites the inside of her cheek, her hands balled up into fists. Conflicting desires overwhelm her.
You know what he means.
Maybe.
Gravel crunches under her footsteps as she trudges aimlessly across Tricolour's coastline. When did she start walking? She watches as waves burn through their peaks and crash themselves into glittering sand. The moon continues to scrutinise her with its ink-blot eyes, illuminating her animal nature. She looks down at her palms, calloused and scarred with a lifetime of change, and she does not recognise who they belong to. Who do they belong to? Seraphim—who is she?
She is a knight. She is a wielder of divine justice, sworn to oath. Her purpose is to guard and shield. If she cannot guard, then what is she? A protector does not harm. A protector does not kill. No, wouldn't that be against a protector's purpose? A protector is a pacifist. To be violent is to be defective, and of course she's defective, but she can at least try to go against her nature. With her life-long goal lost, what even is she?
What is she?
What is she?
What is
Seraphim?
She is
You are fire. You burn and you destroy. Your spirit uncontrollable, you ravage what exists of humanity, reducing all to ash and soot. You are a force of ruin, and yet, are you not also essential to life itself? You are fire. You are humanity's warmth. You are a symbol of divine purification. You eliminate the body and liberate the soul. Is this not what you were always meant to be?
You are fire.
You are fire.
You are
a sword,
and a sword can kill and a sword can protect. A sword can kill to protect. The sword of a knight is an object of loyalty—loyalty to its lord and loyallty to its faith. When Archangel Michael confronted Lucifer, he was not once "on the fence," for he was already sure of his convictions. Perhaps, this is what she should have always been, and what she will be. Conflict should have never existed in her mind. She has always had more than two options.
So be it. She valued peace and security, did she not? Surely She'll understand, wherever it is She'll end up. If peace can only be achieved through violence, if she has to betray one person to save a thousand, then so be it.
But she won't just blindly follow his orders—no,
she won't remain strapped to any "owner" this time.
The sword
stops in
its tracks.
It makes
its final
decision.
Disguise
its rationale
as impulse.
It will defy its fate as a mere tool, and it will
exchange who owns the role of sacrifice.
She deserves not the
humiliation that comes
with getting skewered
through the skull. She
deserves not the shame
of getting fooled—for She
was never a fool.
Perhaps, in this way, it
can pay its final respects.
Perhaps, in this way, it
can apologise. Flowers
for a grave that has
yet to be dug out.
A due to the
living. The
thread
snap
s
.