That bitch. That slut. That whore. If you hate anyone more than Yazmin Oliveira, it's the Speaker.
She stands before Hand in all his horrorglory. A position of honor that should be yours. Yours!
Only you can appreciate what Hand is! A monstrosity. A mockery of godhood. He is divine.
Only he could command your loyalty. You are trapped. Only he could command you in any capacity! He recognized your perfection! The only since Harper to do so. He made you a slave. He elevated you, made you one of his Mysteries, and in His name you have killed, mained, extorted, and all other kinds of sins.
A small price to pay. When he gazes upon you, the void stops. Because all thought does.
But that vile tramp, that Speaker! She is the Mouth of your master, speaking with his voice. But she forgets her place. She's little more than a glorified secretary, nothing like yourself. But she dares to look down on you. She dares to scold you like an errant child. She dares tell Hand of your transgressions.
N-no! Not transgressions. It is all in His name! B-but you saw an opportunity—
"Stop thinking, you dolt," Speaker says without emotion, "You're not suited for it. It's what has gotten you in this mess."
"Mess?" you laugh, "A mess? I snuck in under those fools' noses. The Americans were none the wiser that I visited their little prize and even added her to my Admirers. The prize who they sacrificed their Justiciar for! They were so certain one of us would be at the so-called 'Movement' that they sent their weapon to capture one of us. But the only person her Edict captured was a failed Star! And, in the process, she even allowed Bethemoths to overrun them!"
You throw your head back and laugh. The irony is too great. The idiots! The fools! A desperate play to challenge you all, and all they managed was to destroy themselves and every hero who would oppose you!
"Now that we know for certain they've gained nothing of value, Horizon is ours for the taking! Faust and his Powers will—"
"You overstep yourself, Key," the Speaker interrupts, "Horizon belongs to our master."
"Y-yes! Of course!" you say panicking.
"And we already knew who they captured. We can see whatever we wish, whenever we wish. Which is how we saw your blunder."
"Y-you did?! You can?! Why was I not informed?!"
"Because you did not need to know." She speaks as if she was discussing the weather. "You are an outsider."
You hiss at the accusation. You are one of the Hand's Mysteries! Who cares how you came to serve him?!
"Did you stop to think that if the Americans had captured you, they would have gained all they lost during the Movement? Did you stop to think that you would have been ordered to infiltrate them if we required you to? No, you thought only of your own self-aggrandizement. As always."
"You dare presume to speak like this to me? Me—"
"I presume nothing. I speak with the voice of our master. But if you do not believe me, he wishes to tell you directly."
D-directly? Hand will speak to you directly? Such an honor! You will be recognized directly! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, run--
The world around you fades, save for the pileThrone of Flesh before you. The voice of madnessa god touches your mind.
"YOU HAVE DISAPPOINTED ME, MY KEY."
Your body goes numb in shock. From Speaker, you could dismiss it as the jealous ravings of a lesser creature. From Hand himself . . .
It hurts like your parents' disappointment used to hurt.
"YOU FORGET YOURSELF, CHILD. YOUR ERROR NEARLY COST US EVERYTHING."
"I-I'm sorry!" you sob, meaning it for one of the few times in your life. The weight of it on your mind is like a splinter under every one of your fingernails.
"IT IS NOT WHOLLY YOUR FAULT. YOU WERE NOT RAISED CORRECTLY. YOUR ENCODING IS INCOMPLETE. IT IS I WHO BEAR SOME RESPONSIBILITY."
"W-what?" you say, hope blossoming in your chest.
"THEREFORE AS A LOVING FATHER, I MUST DISCIPLINE YOU."
"No!" you scream, "Please, no! Anything but that—"
And suddenly, you're a little girl again, back in the closet. You can feel the wood under your hands, the same musty smell of tears and stale urine. You scream and scream and scream, scratch at the doors until your hands are bloody and worn away, but it is useless. You are totally, utterly alone.
You stay there for three years.
Then, your punishment ends. Your back before the Speaker and you god, curled in a ball and sobbing. You don't care about the indignity. You don't care if it was all in your own mind. To the outside world, a moment passed.
But you, only you, felt every second.
"NOW, CHILD, ARE YOU READY TO EARN FORGIVENESS?"
"Yes, please, anything," you sob, "Anything."
Anything.
