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Post by Vespyr on Mar 5, 2011 2:37:06 GMT -8
The past week had been a difficult one; the mask inside the box, which had been banished to the corner of the room, commanded her attention in a way that nearly drove her mad—for she knew what it meant if she were to wear it, and also what it would mean if she chose not to. It was a matter of commitment… but not only that. The mask itself made Vespyr uneasy; it was Scene’s face, after all—it was all she had ever known him to be and now it was speaking to her from inside a box in the far corner of the room.
‘Just do it.’
Vespyr would sit in her room, crouched on the desk beneath a chandelier of knives, her eyes focused on some great distance beyond the closed door. In these long hours she would lose herself to imagination. Sometimes a small voice would creep in through the back of her skull—the mask would speak to her through her own conflicted curiosity. A part of her felt compelled to wear it and finish what she had started. The other part wanted nothing more to do with any of it. It was a tug-of-war, a battle of the wills; sometimes the mask would get the better of her and she would venture out of the musky room to peer at the box, sometimes inside the box—but as soon as she caught a glimpse of Scene’s face waiting within she would slam it shut again and kick it aside.
Only it wasn’t his face… not anymore. The mask was an entirely separate entity; it seemed to have a voice and a mind of its own with which it would tug at Vespyr’s strings. It seemed determined to make her insane. Perhaps then she would consent to becoming its slave. But Vespyr wouldn’t stand for it. On more than one occasion she would burst out cursing at the box, crouching down over it with a pointed finger and a bitter tongue and a rather furious disposition. It was silly, of course, to be yelling at a box—but she was often beside herself with emotions she had long-since forgotten about and this mask was the perfect rival to unleash them on. After all, like a wall, it did not strike back. It merely glared at her through the heavy wood casing, grinning as if it already knew the outcome of this conflict. It was confident, to say the least. Vespyr did not like this.
In the end, she threw the heavy box and its contents into a waste dump. Deep underground for thousands of years that forsaken iron mask could seethe in spite for her as much as it wanted; it was powerless over her.
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