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"And all the sorrows I have seen, they lead me to believe, that everything's a mess~"
The first kill, she'd read in novels, was a peculiar sensation. Some people felt terrific after taking a life, while others felt sick to their stomachs and others felt nothing at all. The authors, on the other hand, never fully depicted how it felt to murder one's own family. They never said the sensation was so excruciatingly unpleasant and frightening that you couldn't move. They never mentioned you'd be unable to absorb what had happened once you'd killed them, or that your face would be completely impassive. They never conveyed how terrible it was to murder one's own mother.
Her hand fell limp against her side and she could scarcely hear the fits of laughter that Saint Charlos' released. Mouth opening and closing in shock, Mystique couldn't even bring herself to appear as though this killing didn't affect her, however it didn't seem as though she needed to since her expression was as impassive as possible. Franx stared at his daughter in confusion and was ready to query her lack of response when his wife spoke up.
"Let's leave her be, dear. The satisfaction of the first kill takes a while to settle in."
Oh, he blinked before grinning, how amusing. Franx recalled the first time he'd killed a slave and understood, it truly was amusing to take ones life as they could only watch. So, he ordered for a few slaves to stay with Mystique before going on ahead along with his wife and Saint Charlos.
It was tense around Mystique as the citizens all fled from her sight but her mind was too preoccupied for her to care about that. At the current moment all she could think about was the pool of red at her feet and the light that slowly flickered from her mothers eyes. A hand touched her foot and as if on command Mystique fell down at the womans side, uncaring of the scarlet staining her rich silk pants.
She was pulled by her collar so that the woman could whisper in her ear, and Mystique made sure her attention was solely focused on the following words. Nothing else was more important than this, not even her own death would distract her from this.
"Mystique," Airy and raspy Talias voice grew weaker by each passing moment, "Sprout your wings and fly, aid this world and all it's people no matter what. Become what they fear, a better version of yourself."
If Mystique was stable enough she might have questioned how Talia could speak so much, but even as her breath was hitched in fear of possibly interrupting, she spoke up just to utter one single word. She wanted Talia to know -- no, she had to know.
"Mama..."
She watched as tears brimmed in the brunettes eyes but never fell.
"My daughter," Hands cupped her face, "I raised you the best I could and I couldn't be happier. Please, listen to my words."
