Cassandra

Cassandra Seer Personality History

You could be great. Glorious. Your word as beautiful as your song. Soothing, like water. The dragons you could help … the clans you could guide … be my Charge, and I will protect you. We will change the world.

His words flow like water in the stream, gentle among the tinkling of stones in the bottom. They vibrate across her feathers, enticing. She sees in the water all the visions he offers -- worship and song, silks and gems.

She turns her head away, but the visions still resonate in her crest, whispering.

All it takes is to accept being my Charge.

I will not, I will not, I will not.

His voice twists, becomes cold.

Then they will continue to disbelieve.

The sense of his presence leaves, then, fading with the water. She remains as she was, seated on the edge of the steam with her crest lowered and head turned away. It's a well-visited stream, but she can be assured of solitude. No one comes near a white coatl. Ill-fated, they say. Liar. Blasphemer. Insane.

Insane, am I? No. No, I will not bend to that.

He says she needs him to make a difference. She will not stand it. If the world should turn against her -- and it will; he had promised her that -- she will not let him win by breaking. If all she can do with the things she sees is take action herself, become hard, wield claws, summon magic -- she will.

She rises, shaking herself; shaking off the hum of prophecy in her feathers. It always sounds louder when she's near water. She shan't let that break her either. She would find him, deep in his shell beneath the ocean. She would take what she saw, the curse he'd given her, and remake it as steel, and ensure his curse ended. Her brother would know the way; he, at least, still believes.

Cassandra stretches, legs and tail and then her crest, lifting it to the sky and glittering with the magic of prophecy. Make her see others suffer, would he?

He's forged his own doom.

Snippet by purplejabberwock.