One Life: Episode 7 IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT (last page)
babyblue1387:
I’ve never looked at the painting, too afraid to face my immortality, too afraid of the reality that would stare at me. Asilda has not been offended that I’ve never looked at the painting. She knows my reasons, and I do believe that she shares some of them. Though I do not doubt that she has her own reasons for never setting eyes on that painting again.
Morrigan is a different girl altogether. She has always been sure of what she wanted to be, what career she wanted to pursue. She’s always been tall and proud; the protector. Asilda may be quiet and contemplative, but Morrigan is strong and assertive. Asilda and Mira fall in line behind her, not out of fear, but out of love. With her, they are safe, and I have always known and loved this about my daughter. She is the strength I wish I had. She is most like her aunt, firmly planted in the light. Oddly, Morrigan is the youngest of the three, the most assured. When I look into her eyes, I can’t help but see my sister’s eyes. While we may be close, I know that we can only be so close. Her world is different from mine, and I have known that ever since she was a toddler. I didn’t belong to her world, and though she loved me, she could never fully understand me. She could never fully understand why I could never be there for her the way other mothers were. I can walk in light, but she sees the pain on my face after being out too long. She knows that I’ll be carrying an umbrella when we go out for ice cream. She knows that I will never truly smile outside of the house. She knows that I hunt for blood.
But Mira…It is Mira I worry about the most. She has always been the most passionate of the three. Of all my children really. When she was younger, her eyes were usually filled with tears. I tried not to baby her, because it wasn’t what she needed or wanted. I knew she would always do everything with all of her being. I knew she would always love with every inch of her heart, she would dance with every fiber of her being, she would sing with every breath in her lungs. She would also cry with every care in the world and would hate with all the anger in her tiny body. As she got older, I saw twilight in her eyes. I was fortunate that none of my children had been born with my curse, a big risk I knew I was taking. My fear, though is that Mira was born with my nature. She has been my link to the daytime when I could not bear to leave the house.
She has been my companion at night when I return from feeding. We could sit and look into each other’s eyes as I once did with my mother. Words would pass between us and we’d smile. I’d kiss her on her forehead, and then make my way to my bedroom. She’d follow behind me, and turn as we reached our respective doors. Sometimes, when I’d look into her eyes then and see nothing but love, my vision would begin to cloud and I’d turn quickly away from her to hide my tears. We’ve been the closest, and I know that I’ll have to leave her. I know that one day, I’ll bury not just Mira, but all of my children and my husband.
I do not usually dream, but on those nights, nights when emotions rush through the veins of the dead, dreams will come to me. I know my life will be empty and I know that I will be alone. Yet, I can go and sleep for years and return and no one will know me, except my mother. Or I can live and watch over my grandchildren and great-grandchildren as my blood get passed on. I can take companion after companion, or live my life in solitude, alone with my mother. My choices may be as endless as my life, but what I want is nothing more than to be buried with my husband when his time comes. I’ll cling to his body until his bones turn to ashes beneath my gentle touch, and then, when he is truly gone from this world, maybe I will have the courage to live on. I see the grey in his hair, see him rub his hands as he gets older. I am constantly reminded of everything around me moving faster than I am. Constantly, I’m reminded of age and getting older, yet I’m caught in a place that time doesn’t exist.
You’ll forgive me my ramblings about the endlessness of my time? It’s become so much of a habit now that I don’t always realize when I’m doing it.
I’ve always been nervous of my mother living alone after Morgana left. I knew she still struggles with her new life, and yet, I feel so powerless to help her. She does share her pain with me, on occasion. Though we may bear the same burden, I feel as if it’s not doing any good. I knew from our earlier talks that she’d never really be happy with this new life. She was not made to endure, and I can see the chips in her fragile being. She has nothing to occupy her nights. Her activities are limited, as she can only go out during the night.
To cheer her up, I started taking her out at night to see plays and performances, concerts, festivals…. Whatever it would take to see her smile again, I was willing to do it. She found some momentary purpose one night as we looked out over the city.
“Dahlia, there are so many questions we don’t have the answer to. I want to know more. Your father always wanted to know, and when I look at you, I see him.”
She touched my face and I smiled. There were tears in her eyes, and I was afraid of what she would say next. I didn’t want her to do something rash, yet my mind raced with all of the dangerous and self-destructive tasks she could take on.
“I want to travel. I want to see the world and understand. I want to know about me, my nature. I want to find others like us. I have only one question for them.”
I could see the question in her eyes, yet I was unsure if it was a wise thing to ask. Perhaps I have just fallen into this lifestyle too easily. I knew my mother could read the skepticism on my face. How could she not? The protest had all but formed on my lips, my mouth slightly opened, ready to deliver what I saw as reason.
“Your life is so drastically different from mine, Dahlia. You can walk in the sun, you can see the day. You know what it is like to feel the sun on your skin, I don’t! I’ve forgotten it all. All I know is the cold of the night. I never asked for this, and I want my life back. I want back all that I had before, I just want this darkness to end.”
I pulled her into a hug then, words failing me. How could I deny her this one request? She has asked little of me during our time together, and yet I would so easily deny her this one quest. Before she even came to me this night, I knew she’d been planning something. What, I could never have guessed. She whispered in my ear then that she would always call and send letters and would be sure to keep in touch. I couldn’t come, and she understood that, but I so sorely wish I could have. In the back of my mind, one fear reigned supreme, and this I gave voice to.
“What about him? What will you do if you find him?”
The tiny scars on my neck burned as I thought about him. I hadn’t done so in years, and now…. He couldn’t find my mother. I couldn’t let it happen. I wanted to keep her close to me, to protect her, but I knew that any resistance would be futile. She’d already made up her mind, and now, she was just doing the courtesy of telling me where she was going.
“I want to see the world, Dahlia. Will you deny me that?”
I could only shake my head. No, I would not deny her seeing the world. I would deny her pain at the hands of that monster. I don’t know why I was so sure that he’d left this continent, but I was. I was so sure that’d he’d be away, that he’d left once my mother scared him off.
Zggs:
I was hoping we'd get to see her painting...considering you know neither of them want to look at it.
debzi69:
That was great! I just got around to reading all of the last story, and it was great! keep it up
babyblue1387:
Thanks guys! Actually, in game, Asilda doesn't have enough creativity points to do a portrait yet. And another reason I didn't show the painting was because the sims can't capture all of the emotion that would be there. They can't do a subtle smile or playful eyes. Most of Dahlia's horror at the picture would come from inside herself: realizing that after a century, her family may be dead, but she and that picture will still remain, and they will still look exactly the same as they did a century ago. Also that her daughter has this gift and with it, she captured the one thing that Dahlia dislikes the most.
Zggs:
Oooohhhhhhhh....Okie dokie :D
Does anyone know how I can change my .bmp images to a file that's supported by this site like .jpeg or something?
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