Post by Siobhan Connell on Feb 14, 2018 22:29:03 GMT -5
War.
It was brutal, bloody, and downright debilitating. But it also spurred an adrenaline rush like no other, and it was that that often times drew Siobhan in. She wasn't a dainty lady as had been the original hope of her birth, she knew, as she grew and though her body grew into the lithe and gentle form of her gender yearned for, her mind and her actions grew more boyish by the moment. She was a knight. She fought. She wrestled. She drank and she spoke much more like a warrior than a princess (which, oddly enough, she was in a sense of the word). She knew it was an odd topic of choice amongst her family, not living quite up to the plan that had probably been in place the moment she took her first breath, but by she didn't even care anymore. She was defending her people, the same people who half of them accepted her actions and choices, and half of them did not.
She came in from the barracks, a garrison she had been leading through a few of the battles, bringing them home as another set took their places to defend. The soldiers stayed where she had instructed them but she herself wanted to be home. To sleep in her own bed, to even wear those froofy nightgowns that she had in her closet for sleeping and wandering the corridors. Her body was battered around and sore, there were some bruises, some new scars, but she was still alive. And she had some hair raising tales to go along with each mark that marred her flesh. She was drawn a bath, she cleaned herself up, she donned a more comforting outfit for home, and headed straight for the kitchen to grab a bite, and to take a seat, and just breathe.
It was brutal, bloody, and downright debilitating. But it also spurred an adrenaline rush like no other, and it was that that often times drew Siobhan in. She wasn't a dainty lady as had been the original hope of her birth, she knew, as she grew and though her body grew into the lithe and gentle form of her gender yearned for, her mind and her actions grew more boyish by the moment. She was a knight. She fought. She wrestled. She drank and she spoke much more like a warrior than a princess (which, oddly enough, she was in a sense of the word). She knew it was an odd topic of choice amongst her family, not living quite up to the plan that had probably been in place the moment she took her first breath, but by she didn't even care anymore. She was defending her people, the same people who half of them accepted her actions and choices, and half of them did not.
She came in from the barracks, a garrison she had been leading through a few of the battles, bringing them home as another set took their places to defend. The soldiers stayed where she had instructed them but she herself wanted to be home. To sleep in her own bed, to even wear those froofy nightgowns that she had in her closet for sleeping and wandering the corridors. Her body was battered around and sore, there were some bruises, some new scars, but she was still alive. And she had some hair raising tales to go along with each mark that marred her flesh. She was drawn a bath, she cleaned herself up, she donned a more comforting outfit for home, and headed straight for the kitchen to grab a bite, and to take a seat, and just breathe.