musing way week 9: the strongest woman I knew

[Locked to doctor_sydney, lion_cub, ironmaiden, old_csat]

The strongest woman I knew -- has been lied about for the majority of my life to everyone that had any care for her. The Centre told us all that Mrs. Parker, Catherine, had committed suicide that night. That she was sick, and weak. That she had chosen to kill herself, to leave her daughter and her husband. [The second at least is true.]

She was not weak. She was good, and kind, and compassionate. Open and warm and infinitely generous -- and for it they murdered her, almost in front of her young daughter. I will never stop hearing her screaming. She was better, and stronger, than any of the ambitious, monstrous, power-hungry men that had so much power in all of our lives. She was trying to save us -- Angelo and myself, Dannie/Einnad, surely Kyle (she would not have left him in Raines' hands), Miss Parker – from what the Centre intended to do to us all. What it did to us all, without her there.

She was brilliant, as well. Tracing the patterns of what she had hidden away before her death has been by far a greater challenge than evading Sweeper teams and search patterns. That her hidden boxes and retreats have lain untouched since 1970 is nothing less than a testament to the sharpness of her mind – and, I suppose, the loyalty she had from those that supported her aims. That her work kept some of the Centre's stolen children safe for so long – until my escape, at least – is every bit as impressive in its own right. Escaping the Centre's reach can be near impossible, after all. They have their tendrils everywhere.

There are moments that I think that the only way to escape them is death. I refuse to accept that thought.

I will not give in that easily.

musing way week 10: without something you crave

[locked to ironmaiden, old_csat, lion_cub]

I live each day without the things I crave most. I suppose that makes this both a familiar question, and an easy one to answer. There is some good in everything? I live with the barest scraps of knowledge of who I am, where I came from. Without the gentle strength I know my mother's presence would be. Without any ability at all to know my younger sister – this may in some ways be a blessing. If I cannot know her, the Centre cannot find her to exploit her as they have my brother and myself.

...Kyle.

I live for both of us, without the knife-edged power of his presence and the delightfully wondering joy of his new discoveries. I miss him more than I can stand, on some days. The brilliant clarity of his understanding and the dark edge to his smile. I would give almost anything to be able to feel even his pain again, though I would never wish him to hurt.

Without the woman who I – despite all reason, in spite of all our history – can do nothing but love, and miss, and desire. Pulling her along after me is no salve for how much I wish things could be different.

With only the barest, filtered presence of the only father I can remember having. I miss you, Sydney.

I hope, one day, that the answer to this question can be something entirely frivolous, because I already have what I truly want.