03-12-2022, 03:37 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-12-2022, 03:39 AM by Meera Alam.)
Meera smiled thoughtfully as she observed the patient. An orderly brought over a cup and saucer after serving the patient. Meera took both gratefully, flashing the face of her motherly mask at the no-name-intern. It was such a simple thing to go along with pleasantries – but it was the one aspect of the mask that Meera supremely hated.
The patient spoke a singular thought after tasting the tea and Meera nodded along.
“Sadly, that sentiment rings true for many a subject,” Meera cooed as past visions of blood and brain danced along her mind’s eye. The Light of God almost shone through, the memories were so pure. Still, Meera held to the mask. She smiled despite her restraint.
Meera sipped at her tea. Had it spoiled? The patient had been right. It was not as good as she remembered. She chanced a glance at the orderly to make sure he had not switched out her tea bags.
No.
The orderly looked innocent enough. Meera let the idea go and turned once more to the patient. This particular subject had been an exercise in metal conditioning, so far as Meera had been concerned. How could she reshape this soul without God’s Scourge to assist her?
It had been a test of her faith. That’s what it had to be.
Meera would have to rely on her own mental aptitude to steer the woman onto the prescribed path. That was it. There were eyes watching – souls that would know if Meera had strayed from her Atharim mask.
Once they knew, it would all be over.
No.
Meera had to do this ‘fair.’ She had to manipulate the patient onto the proper path – without the Light of God.
Meera shuddered.
“Mara,” Meera spoke in those honeyed words of her motherly mask, “I am ashamed to admit this… But, I am a huge fan of your work. The descriptions and those scenes – my heavens – one would think you lived through such horrors. What is your inspiration?”
It came easier now that Meera had adopted the voice. If only the patient would ignore the lapse in personality.
The patient spoke a singular thought after tasting the tea and Meera nodded along.
“Sadly, that sentiment rings true for many a subject,” Meera cooed as past visions of blood and brain danced along her mind’s eye. The Light of God almost shone through, the memories were so pure. Still, Meera held to the mask. She smiled despite her restraint.
Meera sipped at her tea. Had it spoiled? The patient had been right. It was not as good as she remembered. She chanced a glance at the orderly to make sure he had not switched out her tea bags.
No.
The orderly looked innocent enough. Meera let the idea go and turned once more to the patient. This particular subject had been an exercise in metal conditioning, so far as Meera had been concerned. How could she reshape this soul without God’s Scourge to assist her?
It had been a test of her faith. That’s what it had to be.
Meera would have to rely on her own mental aptitude to steer the woman onto the prescribed path. That was it. There were eyes watching – souls that would know if Meera had strayed from her Atharim mask.
Once they knew, it would all be over.
No.
Meera had to do this ‘fair.’ She had to manipulate the patient onto the proper path – without the Light of God.
Meera shuddered.
“Mara,” Meera spoke in those honeyed words of her motherly mask, “I am ashamed to admit this… But, I am a huge fan of your work. The descriptions and those scenes – my heavens – one would think you lived through such horrors. What is your inspiration?”
It came easier now that Meera had adopted the voice. If only the patient would ignore the lapse in personality.
"She had tortured hundreds, maybe thousands, in the name of understanding and reason. Torture made sense. You truly saw what a person was made of, in more ways than one, when you began to slice into them. That was a phrase she'd used on numerous occasions. It usually made her smile."
- The Wheel of Time, The Gathering Storm, Chapter 22, Robert Jordan