Your Mother's Daughter

"L-Let go!" The voice is shrill and demanding but also overwhelmingly desperate. Its source is a delicate-looking girl with bright crimson hair and strange black markings dotting her body. Really, nothing remarkable. What is of some interest is the weight condensed in such a small body. Marjukka can feel it as the girl wriggles in her grasp. If she was not busy blubbering, she might leverage it to slip free.

Of course, that isn't enough to explain why her hand is acting as a vice around the girl's wrist, and her eyes are filled with a bone-chilling coolness. Not even the paladin can say how she's found herself in such a position. She'd been weeping when she noticed she was being watched; then they were here. It's as if her body had been commanded and moved on instinct rather than her own will. The blade in her other hand reveals the culprit, but it doesn't answer the crucial question: why would it react so strongly to a child she's never met?

The girl's other hand beats against Marjukka's chest, and her legs aimlessly kick. The great force behind the blows is surprising and adds to the girl's strangeness, but her grip remains unwavering. "Cease your mewling and squirming, and I might. I mean you no harm."

"As if! If you aren't gonna kill me, then let go!" The girl's resistance only grows, but even when it earns a sharp CRACK from somewhere in Marjukka's body, the paladin doesn't so much as let out a pained sight.

Even were it not for the sturdiness of her constitution, the pain would not reach her. Sweet whispers worm their way into every corner of her mind and urge her to strike. And how can she resist? This body is but a tool to carry out the lingering will of her goddess. Yet, this yoke is no strain; the certainty is a comfort. It is liberation from the doubt and despair that creeps into her every thought, for a tool has no use for thought. All she must do is obey, and as the Blessed Lady guides her to raise her blade, her soul soars! Her facial muscles cry out as they are made to express the lily joy that they have nearly forgotten how to.

But when her eyes catch the girl's, she sees the terrible truth. There is only horror — as if she's thrust her anguish upon her. That anyone could look at her so is not something that she can make sense of, and the way it sends her reeling would make one think that she felt every blow at once. Both her blade and the girl fall to the ground as Marjukka's eyes squeeze shut, her face twists and her hands become preoccupied with blocking her ears.

"Forgive me...Forgive me...Forgive me...Forgive me..." How mad she must seem to be the one begging and blubbering now, but it's not the girl she asks for forgiveness. Not wholly. No, it is those whose breath fills her lungs, whose hearts thunder in her chest, and whose tears she cries. To surrender to such mindless pleasure is to forget them, and to be looked at with such great dread dishonors the name she no longer deserves.

When the paladin opens herself to the world again, the girl is surprisingly still in view. Her position has changed little from how she landed, being stuck to the forest floor in shock. Marjukka turns her gaze to the sky and speaks more softly. "Be off now. This shade will trouble you no longer."

The words make something click, and the girl begins to pick herself up slowly. She scowls, eyes brimming with indignation, and she considers retaliation. However, the desire to remove herself from the situation is greater than her desire to avenge her wounded pride. So, she turns and runs, but she doesn't make it far. "Eek!"

"And where are you going in such a hurry?" Another voice, gentle and warm. Familiar. Even without looking, the paladin knows who the girl has collided with and wonders what has brought Iridia of the Starcrossed Hammer here. She examines the scene with a hum. "I do hope you haven't been causing our dear Marjukka difficulties."

The girl positions Iridia between Marjukka and herself, holding onto her skirt as she stabs a finger towards the paladin. "She's mad! The bitch attacked me on sight!" She sneers and spits the next words like venom. "Probably why she's out here all alone."

Iridia pats the girl's head and smiles. "Come now, Sacrament, all but your nerves seem to be intact. It was the commotion that drew me here, however." Her eyes gaze turns to Marjukka. "Might you shed some light as to why that is?'

"I did meet her with hostility but inflicted no harm." Marjukka's eyes wander to her discarded weapon and fix it, mesmerized. "It is because of my weakness that she has grown temperamental, and that child unfortunately drew her ire. Why, I cannot say, but it matters not. A faulty wielder is at the root of a weapon's wickedness."

Iridia and Sacrament's eyes also turn to where the blade lies. The way the water bleeds from the crystal gives it the appearance that it's trembling with rage. Sacrament grimaces, but the sight doesn't deter Iridia from coming closer. As she does, it grows more restless, seeming like it will fling itself at her at any moment. It isn't given the chance, however, as Marjukka's hand wraps around the hilt. She lets out a shaky breath, but the fierceness it manifested before is staved off.

The guildmarm's gaze lingers on the blade before returning to Marjukka. She places a hand on her shoulder, offering an understanding look. "You'll find your way and acclimate to each other again. These things take time."

"It'd be better off snapping in half!" Sacrament peeks from behind Iridia to stick her tongue out and blow a raspberry. When Marjukka's eyes flick to her, she shrinks back a little but is able to maintain her confidence better with the buffer between them.

Iridia sighs and shakes her head. "As you can see, this little one can also be quite ill-tempered, but she'll come around if you have some patience."

Marjukka looks at the pair with something odd in her eyes. Something green and out of place on her. With the way they act and their shared features, it's easy to envision Iridia and Sacrament as mother and daughter, and that fact eats at her because it's something she can't have. Later, she'd always said, and now later had come. Who would take her now? What would be the point in this broken world?

"She is lucky to have you." She averts her gaze in shame. Shame at her envy and that she still entertains such selfish desires. "But she is right to loathe us. It is stranger that you still reserve goodwill for one who has engendered your child."

Iridia waves a hand dismissively, but her smile feels more taunting than comforting. It doesn't make sense. "I shan't hold a grudge for what might have been. Besides, a little scare now and then does her some good."

"I wasn't scared!" Sacrament whines and stamps her foot, eliciting a chuckle from Iridia. "She just caught me off guard."

It's unbearable, nauseating even. Their affection and this woman's clemency are a fire that burns too bright for her. It stings her, and just a lick of the flame scorches her flesh. Oh, but worst of all is their eyes. They pierce her and recognize all that she is and is not. She wishes to blame this feeling on the Depths, but such a pathetic excuse can't even fool her. It hates them, but she fears them.

"Even so, your kindness has put me in your debt. Whatever you ask shall be done; have I the strength to see it through." It's not a desire to return her goodwill but a desperate plea to absolve herself of sin.

"First, I want an apology. Then, I think I'll have y—" Before Sacrament can lay out her list of demands, she's stopped by Iridia squeezing her cheeks together. The woman's eyes gleam as she speaks. "Your offer is most generous. I'll have to think it over, but you would do well to remember that the Starcrossed Hammer exists to serve the Risen. Do pay us a visit sometime if anything from our forges can be of use or your sword requires maintenance."

An intense wave of revulsions drowns Marjukka's mind. This, she knows, is the blade's influence, but trusting it to another is unthinkable to her. Worthy or not, she could not bear to lose Her gift. "I'll keep it in mind. For now, I have troubled you enough." The paladin's eyes flick to Sacrament, and she places a hand over her heart while bending forward slightly. "You have my sincerest apologies. The depths of my regret cannot be expressed with mere words, but action shall prove my penitence is no lie."

Sacrament huffs and crosses her arms, less than satisfied with such a painless resolution. Iridia ruffles her hair with a chuckle. "Now that I've retrieved this, I should be off now. May all your endeavors be blessed."

"Can we visit Auntie Chef?" Sacrament asks as the pair's voices fade into the distance, leaving Marjukka alone again.

No, not alone. Her most faithful companion lies in her grasp. She runs a hand along the edge, and her blood flows into its waters. Its whispers intensify, but they no longer carry anger—only a sense of longing. Not for what they were but for what they could be. After all, what every child seeks is acceptance. But how can this wreck offer anything of the sort when she can scarcely accept herself? It begs and begs, but to understand it has taken after her is too painful. Instead, let her be an imposter. Let her alone be shunned rather than them both.

Let it not inherit the sins of the mother.