Post by Mina Crow on Jun 3, 2006 22:26:30 GMT 12
My name is Juha Yrjö. At least, it was. Now I'm no more than a charred corpse, along with so many others, all of us unnamed. That took place over a year ago, when the Black Plague struck. Since then, life has returned to the city. In the shape of children, in the shape of my sister. She came after me, as I suspected she would. In truth, I think I would have done the same for my little sisko, but now I worry for our mother, left alone in our homeland, her two children lost to this city.
My sister is Mina Yrjö. She calls herself the Crow, nowadays. A bird of mourning, of ill omen. Mina was the one who found my body; she knew me for my necklace, the one she now wears. She knows what it means - what it meant: a symbol of my vision of the world. Different realities, all leading to the same truth. She has corrupted and twisted it, though - it is now her own symbol, a mark of fear and dominion of her tribe. She rules by blood, by fear. Machiavelli was right, yet this is not the Mina I knew. Grieving got over her heart, turned it to stone. She murders indiscriminately, without sparing her victims a second thought. Mina fools herself, pretending she cares for her tribe, pretending she shelters them, when they flinch away in fear every time she all but glances at them. Once, those eyes glittered with love, her voice sang with joy.
I wrote her a letter when the Plague struck. We were doing extra hours on the hospital, but to no avail. Every single person died, and then all the doctors, nurses and everyone else got sick as well. I tried to conceal it on the letter; somehow, I still hoped a cure would be found and everything would end up well. It didn't. And now she mourns over that letter, whispers my name to starless skies, kills in my name. Mina kills for me.
Little sisko... What have you done?
sisko = sister
My sister is Mina Yrjö. She calls herself the Crow, nowadays. A bird of mourning, of ill omen. Mina was the one who found my body; she knew me for my necklace, the one she now wears. She knows what it means - what it meant: a symbol of my vision of the world. Different realities, all leading to the same truth. She has corrupted and twisted it, though - it is now her own symbol, a mark of fear and dominion of her tribe. She rules by blood, by fear. Machiavelli was right, yet this is not the Mina I knew. Grieving got over her heart, turned it to stone. She murders indiscriminately, without sparing her victims a second thought. Mina fools herself, pretending she cares for her tribe, pretending she shelters them, when they flinch away in fear every time she all but glances at them. Once, those eyes glittered with love, her voice sang with joy.
I wrote her a letter when the Plague struck. We were doing extra hours on the hospital, but to no avail. Every single person died, and then all the doctors, nurses and everyone else got sick as well. I tried to conceal it on the letter; somehow, I still hoped a cure would be found and everything would end up well. It didn't. And now she mourns over that letter, whispers my name to starless skies, kills in my name. Mina kills for me.
Little sisko... What have you done?
sisko = sister
