Saturday, 14 August 2010
02:07:53 AM (GMT)
OOC: I can sum up my emotions in one word: Meh. I don't know if her character will
change or not, but I realized how emotionless and Rei Ayanami-like I had initially
thought of her in my mind. Bleh. I bet the following writing will be boring, because
indifference was the main emotion I felt when writing all of it.
lol Maybe that's what typically feels when she's not fighting. Anyway, note to
myself: She's deeply conditioned to defend mortal lives even when she doesn't want
to, so she'll probably end up following her family's rules whether she wants to or
not. Bummer for her.
Rain was pattering lightly over the graveyard, sprinkling the fresh dirt and the
stone marker that stood over the buried remains of Eckerd Abel Rothschild. Only one
person showed up to his burial, and no one but the sky shed tears for him.
A solitary figure in a formfitting wine-colored gown stood firmly in front of his
grave, most of her upper body blocked from prying eyes by the huge black umbrella
that rested lightly on her shoulder at an angle. It shielded her from rain and prying
To any who could see her, they would have found her expression unreadable. The young
lady’s normally straight cornsilk colored hair began to curl, as it always did in
rainy conditions. Only then did her mouth curve downwards ever-so-slightly in
displeasure. The rest of her expression never changed, from her calm features to her
She had been standing there for nearly two hours after the burial, even before the
rain started. The aged grave keeper who had watched a little bit from a distance
understood that the woman had to be mourning, and thus, did not disturb her. But
still, he had been alarmed to discover that she still remained there when he came
back an hour or so later to tend to the flowers planted around gravestones. It was an
awfully long time for someone to just stand around.
Just as the concerned man was about to trudge up the hill and invite her for a cup of
tea, she gracefully turned around and began to head down the stone-lined path of the
opposite side, never looking back once. As she descended, all he could see was the
ends of the long white ribbon tied in her hair swishing slightly a couple of times
before she was out of view.
The woman departed as silently as she came. Left in the fresh, damp dirt was a single
stalk of hyssop, the delicate blue flowers no bigger than the raindrops that fell
Elsa Rothchild sat on the plush stool and contemplated her reflection in the
vanity’s mirror as she gently brushed her soft hair. The formal dress that was worn
to the funeral hung on its wire hanger, leaving her clothed only in her
undergarments. As exposed as she was, the various messy scars, burn marks, and
stitches in her skin that made patchwork of her fragile body’s surface suggested
I am the last bearer of my family’s legacy. Should I perish, the Rothschild
family will be no more. Why do I only think of this now?
Elsa slid open the small drawer on the right and carefully removed several cosmetics,
reapplying her makeup as systematically as a surgical routine. She didn’t know what
to feel upon the death of her last blood connection. It was predictable what he
father would have instructed her- Feel nothing at all. But he was deep in his grave
and irrevocably dead. She had made certain of that.
With his influence buried, she was free to do and act however she pleased.
What did normal people feel when their relatives died?
Closing that drawer when she was done, she opened the one on the left to withdraw a
small, velvet covered jewelry box that could fit inside her palm. Gently, she plucked
the dangling ruby earrings from her earlobes and set them inside, closing the box
with a loud snap.
I am free. Free of everything.
Once that was done, she closed that one and finally opened the middle drawer that was
twice as long as the two that surrounded it.
Inside was an old, cracked wooden box, carved with doves and crows along the sides
and long strands of an unintelligible language that looked like a mix of Latin and
Greek. It was larger than the thick leather bound dictionary that she had been made
to study constantly as a young girl. With a frown, Elsa lifted the lid and sneezed
several times as centuries old dust flew upwards and into her nose. After that small
bout cleared, she took out the contents of the black velvet lined box.
Held in her delicate hands was a silver-plated machine pistol gleaming as though it
had been freshly polished even though the contents of the box had not been disturbed
for hundreds of years. She could even see her dark blue eyes staring back at her in
the surface’s reflection. Engraved along the gun’s side was her full first name:
Just because I have nothing better to do for a living than doing what I was taught
and bumming off your wealth doesn’t mean I’m going to respect the family rules,
For the first time in her life, Elsa grinned, though the humor never reached her
I’m going to have fun. I don’t even know what that feels like, but since
you’ve prohibited me from it at all costs, I’ll indulge in every sin until I find
what it was that you kept me from.