letter
Dear Cassondra,
If I told you run, would you listen to me? If I told you that if you didn't go now, if you didn't take a chance and just...run, that you'd spend the rest of your life running. Running from everything that could matter, into everything that hurts. Because by the time you get you're so fucked up that the hurt starts to feel good. That you're afraid to live, afraid to love, just...afraid. You'll kill. You'll get good at it,it will earn you a reputation – they'll fear you. But your violence won't be what scares them, not really. It'll be what they see behind those pretty grey eyes of yours; the scars that won't heal, the dreams you can't shake...and you'll be alone. So fucking alone. Because who could love a broken, cold murderer? You'll die alone, and when death comes...maybe you'll welcome it. It's not so bad, really. Dying, I mean. Everything just...stops. Fades. Things hurt less, and you find yourself thinking, wondering if things could have been different. Don't let yourself do that – you don't want to die thinking about what could have been.
So, Cass, please...run. Fight for yourself...or you'll be fighting everyone else's battles the rest of your life. Just run, and don't look back. Save yourself from the scars, because once they're there...they never go away.
Love, Cassondra
The woman closed her omni-tool with steady hands. She closed her eyes and leaned against her desk, a heavy sigh escaping from pale lips. She couldn't say why she'd written it, or really, what good it would do her. The past...nothing changed the past. What she'd done, what she'd seen, what she'd allowed to happen...it was all simply set in stone.
Duty seemed so far away – the Reapers an even hazier thought. Shepard ran her fingers over her dog tags, griping them until her knuckles turned white. She ground her teeth, and, as she stroked the cool metal, began to mutter.
"Doesn't matter...shouldn't matter."
She was better than this. Stronger than her memories. Or at least she should be. But when all was said and done, the ideal stood strong while the woman crumbled, and wasted away. Putting the 'letter' out of her mind, Shepard unscrewed a bottle of brandy, and poured herself a glass, eager to start forgetting again, if only for a little while. In the end, she was who she had made herself into – no more, no less. Not a hero – just a woman with scars to spare.
A/N: Oh fanfic. I swore I'd never post another one, but here we are. Themes meme, entry #1 – a brief look into the mind of my Cassondra Shepard -Earthborn, Renegon, Sole Survivor -. Posted for the benefit of a recent friend.