Wanders: Ascension
By Eve
Part Three: The Dark Icy Plain of Nothingness
Mother Russia.
A term of endearment used by the people of Russia. It was a term
that they used to describe the one place that they could call home.
It was the one place they could always come back home, no matter
how the conditions were. Russia, the motherland was a source of
comfort to all within her grasp.
Pride.
She wasn't ashamed of where she came from. She had always been
extremely proud to call herself Russian regardless of how horrible
fate has been to her and how she was brought up to act.
They say family is the way your character is shaped. It was a phrase
that for years continued to puzzle her. She never felt anything for
her parents. Her memories of her childhood were always filled with
contempt for both her creators. The blood, the booze, and finally
the abuse would be forever imprinted in her mind. It was their gift
to her, she thought with a bitter expression. If she hadn't left the
camps in her early years, who knows what would have been the
outcome of her life. For sure, it wouldn't have lasted very long.
She never denied the fact that it was her family that had shaped her
persona. She was who she was because of them, no matter how
fucked-up she was. She owned her character shaping to her
grandparents, Sophia and Vladamir, her mother's parents that she
had so willingly taken for granted. Her grandmother had warned
her mother, she remembered sadly. The words that had left her
mouth still haunt her today.
You've already entered a life of lies and corruption, my daughter. Those
diplomats can't be trusted. They never could. It's your life, but why,
answer me this, why are you bringing a child into this?
Lesson number one, never fall in love.
She had nothing against the overall concept. Love was a
wonderful, beautiful feeling between two people who were
absolutely willing to make a commitment to only each other.
Whoever came up with this concept was the biggest moron
in the face of this earth. It only happened to be this way if
your were lucky. The overall thought should have been
written to Love was supposed to be like...
Her parents had been in love.
Or was it lust?
She sighed as the usual questions about her childhood came
to mind, making her way to an elaborate gothic grave. She
had been a mistake. Such a simple concept. She was a mistake
that neither of her parents could get out of. Both sides of her
family didn't believe in abortion or adoption. Her father's side
of the family especially stressed the fact that he had to accept
responsibility for his 'improper' actions and marry her mother.
Leading to the three years of unhappiness she had spent
with her parents.
She didn't even acknowledge them as her parents anymore.
It was simply her 'creators'.
And her childhood was designated as 'the years'.
Year One was the year of the nanny. She had found some form
of comfort in that year. All though she had been a year old, she
understood that she could not strive for her mother's attention.
Her nanny had been her mother twenty four hours, seven days
a week, three hundred and sixty five days a year. And the sad
thing was she loved her. She loved her like her own mother.
Year Two. The year of the parties. Her father being an American
diplomat and her mother, the faithful wife, always seemed to stress
the importance of duty. And it was their duty to keep their image
straight. So therefore it had been lavish parties, one after another.
These were people that were so full of themselves and the identity
they mirrored that they neglected their families who loved them.
Yes, she loved her parents despite everything.
Year Three. The year of sex, drugs, and alcohol. Not to mention
sever abuse. This was also the year of mistakes. Grave mistakes.
At the time, the Americans had been making a deal to unify the
Russian and American defensive force. It was at this time in
which the Society had made it known that they would supress
superior domination in the colonies and on the earth. It was the
year where her *loving* parents had decided through a drunken
stupor and hours of cocaine-influenced sex, they were going to
give her up to a camp. Thus began her winding path towards
destiny.
She knelt before the grave and felt a cool tear run down her
cheek. The wind blew gently, lifting her now fiery red waist
length hair into her face.
It was never over. It was never be. Her destiny, the very
essence of her life, would never let her rest. It was the
cruel curse fate had given her.
Catherine Bloom.
Daughter, soldier, dreamer...
She was the Darkness.
The bearer of pain and misfortune.
She had been reborn.
**
Small Note: Catherine out of all the girls is the oldest and has
enough of her memories left so that she does remember her
mother and father, vaguely.