| The Passing of Mirabela (IC) |
[Jul. 16th, 2006|12:26 pm] |
*you see a note tacked onto the door by the Gilded Rose Inn in Stormwind*
Mirabela Lightweaver (the Grey) passed away this past Friday in Westfall. Her ashes were spread over the Westfall countryside at her request.
It's a funny thing, life --- for some it comes easily, with goals and achievements and a sense of purpose and fulfillment. For others, it's a struggle. And no matter how much they excel at what they do, the struggle and frustration that they're not good enough is still there.
Mirabela was the latter sort of person. She was the best person she could be by her own standards. She followed no one but her heart and her own sense of right and wrong. No matter how much she wanted to belong and love and be loved, it was never ever meant to be. For she could never find the happiness to be content with herself and who she was. She was always just short of "good enough".
For some, success comes easily. They know that success is whatever you make of yourself. Whoever you are and whatever you do, as long as you're happy, you're successful by your own right. But Mirabela could never understand that.
So passes the beautiful and graceful Mirabela Lightweaver (the Grey), girlfriend of Wendall Moosha Harken and protege of Agerjag the Paladin, Sword Sister to Kennia Silvercrane and soul sister to Syddan and Kya Nali. She'll never know how much she was loved and how much her presence in the world made peoples lives richer and happier.
She leaves no family or guild.
((Mirabela the character and librarian is not gone. Mirabela's death is the result of a series of unfortunate RP events.... now I the player will begin with Mirabela, the person with no past and no future)) |
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| The Boy of my Dream |
[Jul. 1st, 2006|10:18 pm] |
As a little girl, I had one or two girlfriends. They were casual friends. I had a sister, who is now dead, with whom I was not close. She was Mother's favorite, whereas I was Father's favorite. It's strange at how dysfunctional my family was. Now I understand it as I look upon it as an adult, and compare it to other people I know.
So I think it's for this reason that loneliness is a very big "problem" for me. I don't deal well with loneliness, yet I'm also very picky about who I let into my life and who I open up to..... I suppose it's a result of the rejection of my mother towards me; even though, perhaps it was her "retaliation" to my father for a failed marriage. When I describe my mother to people, I describe her as hairy with big teeth. That might be a bit of an exaggeration; but when I think of her, I remember how cold I felt inside when she hugged me. It felt like she did it out of duty and show, and never out of love.
When I was 10 years old I had a dream. I think this dream stemmed from the fact that I was such a lonely child. In this dream I had a friend. We were about 7 years old. He was my best friend, playmate, and soulmate. We would sit on the grass in the playground and talk for hours. We'd run and play hide and seek and pirates in caves that we found. We would hold hands, and he would show me new things about the world. He always had bugs, vistas, wondrous discoveries that only a fellow 7 year old could appreciate.
This little boy in my dream took away all of my loneliness. My heart was filled with happiness and laughter as we ran and played, and stopped strangers in the street and talked with them. The sky was blue, and the grass was green, and there were wildflowers which covered the hillsides in this dream. We hiked through the meadows for eternity, filled with life and each other.
There was a shop, owned by an old man. In the shop, I remember, was a small waterfall. Tiny. About the size of a soup bowl, piled with colorful rocks. It was on the counter, and I remember sticking my finger in the water and playing with it as the water fell over the pebbles. My dream friend and I had wandered into this shop. When I turned from the waterfall, I discovered that he had disappeared.
That's when I awoke from my dream. I felt an emptiness. This little 7 year old boy of my dream made me feel happy for the first time in my life, and now he was taken away. I sobbed, but inside I understood that it was just a dream.
The dream was real for me inside, however, and the grief that I felt so real, that I never forgot it, or his face.
For all these years I've been looking for this 7 year old boy who made me so happy that night in my dream.
This morning I awoke. The air was crisp and cool on my skin, and the morning breeze smelled fresh with the perfume of wildflowers. I took a deep breath and stretched my body. I was filled with happiness and love. As I stretched out, I felt someone next to me. I turned. He was snoring away. As I looked at him, I realized -- by some chance of miracle, I've found the only person in the world who can complete me. I've found the boy from my dream. His name is Wendall Moosha Harken. |
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| The First Date |
[Jun. 14th, 2006|08:30 pm] |
Dear Wendall
I believe people kill and hurt others in the name of the Light. To me it's an excuse, a crutch.
I do not keep this a secret. My paladin trainers and Sensei, with whom I will begin my mentoring training with soon, understand how I feel and accept it.
That which is in me comes from me and no other. I am ony as "blessed" as my own hard work, common sense, and inner sense of decency give me
== Mirabela ==
She put her pen down, and stared off into the distance, dreaming. She took herself to last night and their first date... sitting on top of the waterfall in Elwynn Forest. The world was theirs. Everything else had dropped away and out of sight or importance. Mirabela's eyes grew soft as she thought of his gentleness, and how his eyes looked at her. She felt loved. Important. She felt like for once in her life someone needed her, and would be there for her when she needed him.
She blinked and forced herself out of her daydream. It would be dangerous to open her heart to this man so easily. She was sure to be hurt.
She went to the wash basin and threw cold water on her face. Then she neatly folded her letter and tucked it into an addressed envelope.
Today she would have to try not to think about Wendall. |
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| *A lightly perfumed letter to Wendall* |
[Jun. 11th, 2006|08:07 pm] |
Mirabela smoothed out a clean sheet of paper and took out a pen from the desk in her room at the Inn. She smiled at the wildflowers, which she had put in a vase borrowed from the Innkeeper.
She chewed on the end of her pen, reading Wendall's letter for the millionth time. Then she wrote.
Dear Wendall,
Thank you so much for the lovely flowers! They brighten my day, and remind me of the wildflowers when I was a child in Westfall.
Sensei will be gone until next Thursday, and after that I think he will expect my paladin training with him to begin in earnest.
Wendall, do you know that I do not believe in the Light?
== Mirabela ==
Mirabela folded the letter. It had the the slightest feminine hint of her perfume. She tucked it into an envelope, put Wendall's address on it, and dropped it into the nearest mailbox.
Later that night, Mirabela received a response:
My Betrothed
I have heard a few things about you not believing in the light, which surprises me being that your a paladin. I was wondering if you might explain that to me a bit further?
When your training begins know that I'll be there to support and help out in any way I can. Cooking meals and making sure you are well taken care of
Until toorrow... and our first date.
- Wendall
Wendall..... Mirabela's happy face..... the sunshine in her morning, the smile on her face, the profound beauty in her evening sunset. Maybe he was her reason for living, her purpose. Maybe with him the insignificance of her life might finally blossom and be made significant.
Friends? Well.... yes and no. They were more. Lovers? No. Girlfriend/boyfriend? They had much more than that. What they had was deeper in a way that neither of them could explain. So they settled on "betrothed".
With that out of the way they made arrangements for their first date. |
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| Today I received a box of fresh wildflowers |
[Jun. 11th, 2006|01:14 pm] |
Last night I had the most restful night I've had in a long long time. You see, I recently made friends with a man named Wendall. We've only known each other for a couple of days, but he's so nice to be with. I call him my "happy face" because he always seems so happy. He puts a smile on my face, and I feel like I haven't smiled forever. The first time we met, we walked to the wishing well in the Mage District in Stormwind. He introduced me to his turtle, which I named Claire. Heh, she looks like a "Claire". Of course then Claire had to follow me to the top of the well when I was tasting the water, and proceeded to fall in. Poor Wendall had to reach into the well to knock her into the water bucket so we could save her.
The second time I met with Wendall we went to the Darkmoon Faire. What fun it was. For some reason, there was a gnome that latched onto us, and decided we were his best friends. He was cute and nice..... albeit a little on the annoying side, and oh did he smoke up a storm. Smoke makes me sick. That was a showstopper for my ability to have any kind of reasonable relationship with this gnome.
Wendall knocked his head when he was shot out of the cannon, and he wasn't right the rest of the day. On the walk back to Stormwind, I saw a rabbit, and it made me think of the rabbit that the wolf attacked, and made me sad. To top it off, a mage ran by and sent a fire bolt seering through a helpless deer, and then the mage ran off, laughing.
As Wendall was resting, I went to visit Father's grave. I miss him so, and I miss my innocent childhood. If I could only turn back the clock on time and be 12 years old again, playing in the fields of Westfall.
Last night Wendall wanted to talk to me, so he took me to his house in Eastvale. I've seen men take women there and do things that I won't mention. So I wasn't crazy about going there; but Stormwind seemed like even more of a madhouse than usual, and there wouldn't be an inch of privacy anywhere in the city, I knew.
Well sure enough, there was a group of people at the Eastvale house. They were up to some kind of no-good, and glared at us for interrupting whatever they were up to. We nicely left them to their own devices, and decided to climb Ridgepoint Tower. We talked quietly together, watching darkness cover the trees of Elwynn Forest, and then I must have fallen asleep. I dreamt that Wendall was on some sort of mission to collect something or other. It was an innocuous dream, but interesting that I dreamt about him. When I awoke, I was still on the top of the tower, alone.
This morning I walked back to my Inn room in Stormwind, and at my door was a beautiful gold-colored box. It was tied with a pink satin ribbon with a lace border. Inside was a bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers. At the stem of each flower was a tiny glass vial of liquid. Attached to the box was a folded note. On the outside of the note it said "Mira!". I knew right then who had sent these beautiful flowers. It was from my "happy face". I opened the card:
Dear Mira,
Thank you for taking the time to exlain things to me last evening. I really enjoyed the time we spent. I also appreciate you coming and consoling me while I was at the orphanage. That especially meant a lot to me. Well, hopefully I'll see you soon!
- Wendall Harken
Wendall makes me feel afraid. |
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| The Rabbit (IC Story) |
[Jun. 7th, 2006|12:59 am] |
Today I saw a wolf knock down a rabbit. The rabbit rolled over on his back, and I thought the wolf was playing, and was glad that the wolf didn't harm him. The wolf ran away when he saw me.
I turned back to the rabbit, who had rolled over onto his feet and tried to hop away. When he did this, his body flopped clumsily, in a comical way; and I almost laughed. When I knelt down to look, I discovered the wolf had bitten off his back leg. In its place was exposed red flesh.
The rabbit, panting hard, hopped clumsily off into a bush. His hop was so clumsy, several times he rolled onto his back and had to re-right himself.
I was afraid to touch the rabbit, not knowing if he would bite me. There he sat under the bush, with one leg missing, watching me.
"Does he feel pain?" I wondered. I looked in his eyes, and saw hopelessness. I saw in his eyes an understanding that he would sit there under the bush for days and days until he would finally die of hunger or be attacked and eaten. He knew that in this place he would meet his end. And his eyes pleaded with me, "please go away and leave me alone."
"It would be a merciful and just thing to kill him." I thought.
But I didn't have the courage to put that poor rabbit out of his misery. And instead, I cried. The tears poured out, and I was filled with grief and uncontrollable sobbing. I cried for a tiny rabbit. I cried for my father, who had died to keep me alive. I cried for the people who I saw fighting each other every day and cheering after hurting or killing another. I cried for the suffering of the lowly, the poor, the insignificant beings in the world that no one but I cared about. But I, a paladin, had not the courage to help. I cried because I now understood that that rabbit sitting under the tree waiting to die was me. |
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| In Search of Self |
[Jun. 6th, 2006|02:14 am] |
 | Mirabela in search of herself |
Mirabela sat on the hill overlooking Westfall watching Brandywine, her beloved horse and constant companion grazing in the fields. She had been gone from Stormwind for days now...... Her mind didn't know a beginning, and there was no end. Something had happened to her after the Tiger Charity Ball. She couldn't put her finger on it.... all she knew was, after the ball, she had disappeared inside. She couldn't find herself, and it seemed that she would never.
Was it the letdown of her matchmaking experiment being such a failure, or was it seeing her own life alone, and being hit with a sudden sense of inconsolable loneliness? Or perhaps it was finding that, today, on her 21st birthday, she not only had no one to love and to love her, but she had no real livelihood, no goals in life, no destiny.
She admired Brandywine and his contentment with his life with her. He never woke up and asked "why?" He never asked "where will I be tomorrow? who will I love?" Why couldn't life be so simple for her.
Life seemed to be passing too quickly. It was years since she'd visited her father's grave. She remembered visiting him every day after he'd died. He'd used his last living breath to bring her to Stormwind to safety from the Defias attack on their farmhouse. There at the gates of Stormwind he'd collapsed, finally at peace that he'd saved his beloved daughter. In the dark of the night Mirabela had dug a grave for him..... using the plot of another grave in the tiny graveyard, and in her imagination giving him the gravestone that was there.
At that time, Mirabela vowed to give her father's sacrifice meaning, to follow a path of righteousness and honor.
But here she was.... she couldn't follow the Light... couldn't buy into the hypocricy of it all. It wasn't her way. She was too strong-willed and questioned too much. She was an outcast as a paladin. When she walked the streets of Stormwind, she saw people rushing to and fro..... they all had places to go, things to do, lives to live.
She thought about her best friend Kennia. Kennia was strong -- both in body and in spirit. She was beautiful. She was full of self-confidence that Mirabela admired. Kennia knew who she was. She had a job, and a life mission, and a wonderful husband in Tai Jiang. Kennia also had a dark, mysterious side to her, which Mirabela knew would someday take Kennia on her own private path in life. But Kennia embraced that side of herself. She didn't run from it or fear it.
Mirabela was so ashamed for what she felt.... the loss, the aimlessness, the disinterest in living. She would never admit it to Kennia. She would never be able to face Kennia's disappointment in her for that. So she ran. She ran as far away as she could get, from it all. To look for herself. |
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| The Light |
[May. 5th, 2006|02:12 am] |
Mirabela stretched. Her right hand held her aching back, and her left hand held the reins of her beloved steed, Brandywine. The air was dry and hot, and the hills of the badlands made mining both rewarding but also difficult work.
She sat on the red dusty ground, and watched the scavanging beasts pick at fresh bones. She picked up a pebble and threw it sideways. It flew straight forward, and then, as though programmed to, it took a sharp turn to the right before bouncing back down to the ground.
She looked around her. Here was a world where no living being could possibly, logically live. No apparent water for miles, no respite from the incessant beating down of the sun, no kindness or gentleness anywhere. Just animals who lived from meal to meal, killing each other and fighting for the scraps.
And yet these beasts all managed to otherwise live at peace with each other. When one died, his body wasn't spit upon or discarded, it was consumed, his bones left as a reminder that someone had once been born, and died.
There was a balance to everything, she mused to herself. Yes, her life was precious to her -- not to live forever, but to live in such a way as to preserve the balance in nature, without suffering or causing others to suffer.
Brandywine nuzzled her, reminding her to feed and water him. She poured a flask of water on his back, and used a clean wet linen cloth to cool him down.
Ever since leaving Alkan she had been searching. For what? Her identity, her spirituality? Yes, Alkan had been her whole life, and had provided her with the guidance that took her down the path of the paladin. But now she didn't see that path anymore. Yes, she still had the gifts that other paladins had. She spent many long hours in discussions with her trainers. If she was to be of any use to the Alliance she'd have to train in the skills she was best at, she understood that.
"What exactly is the Light? I still don't understand." She'd say for the millionth time. Her trainer would sigh, "Mirabela, I can't lead your life for you. I can't answer your questions for which there is no tangible response. I ask only that you see the evidence for yourself."
She'd look down at her hands, her trusty sword, which Kennia had so lovingly made for Mirabela, and that had been her companion through the most physically gruelling period of her life. Its surface was pure light. You could pass your hand through it, and its grip and weight, Mirabela could tell, were made to perfectly fit her. Kennia was a true artist as Mirabela had never seen.
She thought about all of the people that she knew and loved, and her family. She thought about the cycle and the briefness of life, and the Light. No, she still didn't believe it. Light or no Light, the world would still turn, creatures would come and go and evolve and become extinct, and justices and injustices would continue. It was not her way to go down the path of the imaginary, when the real world was proof in itself that whatever was was. |
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