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13th metal . spam & text . cw: self-harm
[ He winds long bandages around his arms before he goes to take a shower, covering himself from elbow to palm. He makes it look more like gauntlets than anything else, to minimize any questions asked, moves furtively and quickly, dodges out as soon as possible. And he longs for the days when the servants had to bring him a bath, and he didn't care what they saw - let them gossip, let them spread the word that he hurts himself. Let it add to the terror they see in him.
Here, it only adds to his shame and frustration. The voice is gone, and he shouldn't need to control himself this way, but the longer he resists, the greater the need becomes, and he always gives in eventually.
It seems wrong to him, anyway, that his arms are mostly bare of scars. That his chest, too, is unmarked. That the other evidence of his violent life is erased, leaving his skin as ordinary as a child's. Sometimes he remembers the scars and he feels the temptation to bring them back.
He has also often been stepping into the gardens and the greenhouse lately, mostly just sitting still and watching the plants. He recognizes their progress. Tries, though it makes him feel a little ridiculous, to murmur things to them sometimes. To talk to them. ]
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If you have scars, are they important to you? Do you think they matter?
[ video ; private to Charles ]
I told Megamind you wouldn't object to me attending school. I knew it was the kind of thing that you like.
Here, it only adds to his shame and frustration. The voice is gone, and he shouldn't need to control himself this way, but the longer he resists, the greater the need becomes, and he always gives in eventually.
It seems wrong to him, anyway, that his arms are mostly bare of scars. That his chest, too, is unmarked. That the other evidence of his violent life is erased, leaving his skin as ordinary as a child's. Sometimes he remembers the scars and he feels the temptation to bring them back.
He has also often been stepping into the gardens and the greenhouse lately, mostly just sitting still and watching the plants. He recognizes their progress. Tries, though it makes him feel a little ridiculous, to murmur things to them sometimes. To talk to them. ]
[ text ]
If you have scars, are they important to you? Do you think they matter?
[ video ; private to Charles ]
I told Megamind you wouldn't object to me attending school. I knew it was the kind of thing that you like.
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Yes. He kept it from me for most of my life.
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My father was a Misting. An Allomancer, with a single power. He took as many mistresses as he could in order to have children with power. In my world, you can either have one power or you can have all of them - either a Misting or a Mistborn. I was the only Mistborn.
My mother was a noblewoman, only fourteen years older than me. He seduced her with the promise of power. She was shamed by the pregnancy, and her family covered it up. My father was only too happy to take the child off of their hands.
I met her once, but she didn't know me.
[ She seemed pathetic, he wants to add, but doesn't. ]
He kept me secret from everyone, along with the other bastards he'd fathered, until he made a move to become king. Then I was important. It felt good, and I made sure I wasn't a secret any longer. I made his army fear me. But I never stopped wanting more than that. I wanted freedom. But when I tried to get it, that was when I was killed.
It's not freedom, here, but at least I'm not the tool of a powerful man anymore. I'm not a knife. It's better.
You don't have to tell me anything back. I didn't say this because I wanted anything from you. I just think you'll understand.
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I understand. [Enough, anyway. She hesitates - she doesn't want to tell him everything, there's too much and it still hurts too much. But she can offer a little.]
My father wanted to wipe magic out, like it was a spot he could wash away. It must have pained him greatly, to discover he sired someone magical. I hope it did.
I've known those, who would use my kind as tools. I hope you pay him back in kind, one day.
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You should know that power like that - like magic - is something you can be proud of. It makes you exceptional. Different from the rest.
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In my world, Allomancy is... people keep it secret, when they have it. They let the world pretend they don't exist. It's wrong. All it does is let people take advantage of Allomancers, in secret, in the darkness.
The rest are weaker than us. We're more.
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I fought a war so we could live in the light. I was the last High Priestess. Being more doesn't mean winning.
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I wasn't a good brother. I used the Mistings the way my father wanted to use me - callously. Effectively. I would send them off into a fight where it didn't matter if they won or lost, because dead or alive my plans would move forward.
I'm what my world made me. And I was insane, too.
Mistborn is what I know. It's the part that makes sense.
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[And she falls silent because he could be describing her. Leader instead of brother, army instead of Mistings, and it's everything she did. She's what fate made her. And she's known insanity.]
The first real scars I had, I received in ports here.
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Scars on your skin.
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I don't think you were talking about internal scars.
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