Who

Kyriatis

What

Kyriatis does something bad but for good reasons.

When

It is the middle of the night of the twenty-second day of the eighth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Laeiva's Room

OOC Date 04 Apr 2018 23:00

 

kyri3.jpg

… mindhealer?


spacer.png

Laeiva's room

A neat, tidy room, spotlessly clean, and with signs that it once housed children as well as an adult.


One of the things Kyriatis liked about gardening - aside from the feeling of soil in her hands, and the delight of watching things grow under her ministrations - was that it gave her plenty of time along with her thoughts.

Liked, that is, but also hated, sometimes, too. Her head could be a strange place, left to its own devices; thoughts would arrive out of nowhere, and then lurk there, linger, refuse to leave. Over the course of a day, sometimes they'd go from tiny little seedlings to full-grown forests: ideas, writ large.

The idea to take matters into her own hands and find the evidence came to her in such a way, lurking about the edges of her thoughts as she weeded in the cool, winter's morning air. By the time she cleaned up for lunch, it wouldn't leave her alone; that night, awake in bed, it pushed her into action. Someone had to do it. Why shouldn't it be Kyriatis herself?

It was quiet in the corridors, given the lateness (earliness) of the hour, and easy— almost too easy— to steal her way into Laeiva's quarters. (An idle thought occurred: if it was this easy to get in to someone else's private space, it was a good thing she didn't have nefarious intentions!) Laeiva's, rather than Ardstelle's, despite suspicion on both parties: the headwoman, after all, was the one currently missing… and thus the one not liable to be within her rooms.

They were indeed dark and empty: wherever the headwoman was, it definitely wasn't here.

In truth, she wasn't really sure what she was looking for. It was unlikely, she supposed, that even someone insane enough to poison half the Weyr would leave a confession. 'I did it!' would be too obvious, surely. Right? 'I'm a terrible person and I hate you all'. No— terribly unlikely.

Still, Kyriatis felt as if her heart were in her throat at the possibility that there might still be something here, something that would justify this attempt at breaking and entering, a thing she knew perfectly well was horribly wrong. Imagine, she scolded herself, if someone went through your things. Or read your diary! You'd be horrified.

But this, she reasoned, was different. Life and death! And she, a fifteen-turn-old gardener, was going to be the one to find the truth.

Somehow.

The room was tidy, which made it easier, in some ways, and harder in others. She peered under the mattress, and then under the bed; she untucked the sheets and blankets, just in case. She peered into cupboards, and flicked through papers. Nothing.

Indeed, she was almost ready to give up and reconsider this idea when her gaze alighted upon the bin— and within it, something. She crouched in front of it, picking through the contents and exhaling, sharp and hard, as she came up with a handful of scraps, hide viciously shredded.

She couldn't breathe. One word, amidst the scraps, stood out: mindhealer.

mindhealer?

Piece by piece, she pulled the scraps out, making sure she missed none of them. Then, her bounty in hand, she fled from the scene.

Maybe my bad thing is a good thing. Maybe this… I can't believe it. I really found something. I think I actually may have found something!


In the bin are a collection of scraps of hide, the remnants of some document that has apparently been viciously cut into small pieces and thrown away. If it's painstakingly pieced together, most of its contents can be made out. It seems to be a letter. The handwriting is neat and confident but not florid.

It begins, 'Dearest Mother.' The first few paragraphs describe ordinary goings on in the life of the writer - there's mention of her duties at Southern Boll Hold, where she seems to assist the Steward. There's also mention of her continued sadness at the various losses that she and her family have suffered - her own miscarriage, the deaths of S'vian, Linetta and Linetta's boys - but she's coping; she's had help from her husband and friends at Boll, and has taken advantage of a mindhealer's services. She expresses hope that 'dear little Nettie and her father' will be able to stay at the Weyr. Apparently some extended visits have been suggested: she regrets that she can't come to stay at Southern at present, and she'd rather her mother didn't visit Boll right now as her children need a normal routine at present.

In the final paragraph, the handwriting shows less confidence, and there are one or two scrapings-out and corrections. She expresses some concern about her mother after reading the last letter, and urges her - apparently not for the first time - to seek out whatever help can be found at Southern - surely a Weyr has a good mindhealer? It's signed, 'Your loving daughter, Vinsae'.

Add a New Comment