Oh, The Possibilities We've Denied
"It's time, Lyra."
You grunt in annoyance at the interruption from your Semblance training, holstering Argent Blaze. You've got to dress for the meetings. Donning your huntsman gear and packing away an extra you've yet to wear, you are picture perfect.
You arrive with time to spare, your sisters nodding their greeting quietly as father and some of his other roadmasters discuss the state of things. You settle into your place near the edge, passed over for title from an over-eager couple of parents who'd had the gall to bear half a dozen children before yourself. That was a problem that would surely be solved today.
Red and his main apprentice, Neftiri, entered about ten minutes after you. It was all your father could do to say "You're late," before the huntsman had drilled a lethal hole in his chest. Carnage ensued, as Neftiri and Red began slaughtering everyone in the room, children included. Two of your sisters and your mother put up a valiant defense...
Until you turn Argent Blaze, at full blast, on their unprotected backs. "Fuck, Lyra, couldn't have bothered helping before she put a bullet in my arm?" complains Neftiri. You look, and indeed there's a rough hole where one of your mother's pistols cracked through the girl's aura.
"Red, put a hole in her arm through the bullet wound," you order, somewhat callously even for you. Your huntsman nods, and Neftiri has a moment to look stupefied before she howls louder than everyone they'd just killed combined.
Peeking out from the tent flap, Mallo shushes the screaming apprentice and appraises the bloody work you've done. "Excellent, my Lady Lyra. Now, we do need a scapegoat. Red, if you would be so kind?"
Quiet as the grave, the huntsman superior nods again, turning to you as you shift Argent Blaze to it's carbine mode. You fire, repeatedly, until his aura breaks, and then until he breaks.
There is a tiny, dying voice in the back of your mind that crows vengeance, quietly. You embrace the feeling, ignoring the grief beneath.
Positive emotion is a falsehood and a lie. It only repels the Grimm as long as you can hold onto it, and Lyra, it's so terribly easy to lose. Negative thoughts, negative emotions, are just as dangerous, but the best state to commune with the Dark Ones is to have a foot on each side of the line. Do not embrace joy except in the suffering of another. Do not embrace exultation without causing pain.
You breathe; once, twice, before letting the dying little voice free. You cry, keening, agonizing wails. You shed true tears. It doesn't take long for a guard to lift the flap, see the state you're in, Mallo fretting uselessly, Neftiri biting back wails of her own as she keeps pressure on her arm.
Despite your tears, despite your real suffering, when no one sees you anymore, when you are alone, you smile. It's all yours now.
~~~
Oh, oh is this... why yes, yes it is~