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Plump Ponderings
~ Miss Cherub Chubb ~




Wildwind

Eight years of my life, going on nine I've given to this place, and what has it given back? Instruction? Yes.. Tutelage, scholarship, understanding of the arcane, a constant companion and friends who share your goals.. all true. But also there has been pain, fear, terror at times.. Nightmares sometimes more real in the day than when sleep finally takes you. Weariness, bone numbing fatigue, when a feather quill digs ridges into your fingers simply from the weight of hours you've spent crouched in the near dark scribing scroll after scroll, only your terror at not having enough keeping the sleep you so desperately crave at bay. That too is true. Sad, cruel.. tragic even, but true.

Men

The males of this species appear, for all intents and purposes, to be starkly predictable creatures. Driven by base desires and a need to dominate. Time and again it has been demonstrated irrevokably to me and upon me. I am a believer. From father's hand and brothers' words I learned. As others looked to another and another, I confirmed. Simple fare does not entice them. Nor does a faint heart require them to dominate.. though at times they do. Time and again.. time and again. Always the same, better then to distance and put such things aside. Long have I done so and long have I felt this ache, one of many in this dark place, run by dark men. Better to hunch and skulk than attract the notice of such as they. Better to drift by, unobserved and unaccosted. Hale and whole to scribe another day.. To wonder what might have been.. Had I held another life.. Another's life.

Women

I am unwilling to unfairly condemn my opposing gender and not my own in kind. As there is but one breed of males, of females there seem to be two. Theirs and Mine. Theirs holds power over both genders, the one for the inherent attraction they perpetually manifest, the other because of the power they hold over the former. Prone to flaunt and shamelessly advertise their wares, both secure and luxuriating in their obvious effect, a seldom subtle manipulation practiced frequently upon the males. Whatever else they may be in life, it pales when compared to the all-consuming blaze of their blatant sexuality. I detest them. Not for the flesh they wear, but how they wear it. Not for the power they hold, but what use they put it to. All beings crave power. The strength to preserve their life and provide that which they wish above all else, whatever it may be. I do not deny any this desire. I merely wish I was not of the breed which holds neither the power to control my life nor the strength to change it. Neither the ability to attract or deflect a male's attention, for good or ill, in any way. For I have had much in my life I would have changed, and many faces turned away in order that I might have preserved what little scrap of my true life remained. I am no more than a shell of what I was.. and I know it. And I detest myself for that.

Terms

Proper terminology is often the realm of the more educated among folk, this I understand. However I find it peculiar that even those who remain in the realm of terms which should be commonplace for them so often select a misnomer in place of the more accurate word. I am not unfamiliar with exaggeration and inventiveness in the formation of insults, but it just seems odd to me that 'slut' and 'whore' should leap so quickly to mind when so many other terms are available and offer the same, if not greater results. I do not offer my virtue frequently either freely or for coin. In fact I do not offer it at all, nor have I ever, therefore I am neither a slut, nor a whore. I lost both my virtue and my innocence by way of theft and neither can be regained. As a result however I am often a bitch, but that is not the term they throw in my direction. I was a plaything. I was used capriciously and selfishly by others. I was abused in a way that effectively destroyed me. I came here seeking greatness and I have been carved out and left in a dark closet to dry. It hurt. First to have been taken in that way, and then to have been left, used up and useless, presumably replaced by a younger more.. entertaining prospect. When my husk was finally so hollow and dry that neither sound nor tear could be wrung forth it was abandoned like the cast off rind I have become. "What is it?" Such a pointless question. "What isn't?" Is so much nearer to the truth.. How better to sum up the ruin that is my life? What is in a name? Nothing. I am not my name, I am neither innocent, nor a child. I am a crone before my time and I resent it, which only serves to prove it true.

Magic

I have so much that I wish to forget. So much pain and hurt that I wrestle with constantly, surfacing at inopportune times.. feeding preposterous reactions.. I had forgotten how much I love magic, how I crave it. That is the reason I first entered Wildwind, and more importantly it is why I remained despite everything that happened there. For all its darkness I have gained one thing I do love, one small light to cling to in the fluctuating shadows of the world around me. I may not have great power at my command, but I have always said that it is the smallest spells which can make the biggest difference.. Heaven knows I'm different.

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