Post by Navarre nó Mandrake on Jan 26, 2007 21:01:04 GMT -5
There was something different about my older brother that brought out something in me, a sinister thing that was more than just a simple rivalry. We were brothers and yet more; maybe it was because I was so different from him. We were like night and day in everything. He was good and even though I tried to be good for a while, I knew that I couldn’t pretend forever.
Soren was just so compassionate it infuriated me. Call it good natured or kind or whatever you call it but whatever the name it was maddening to me. I hated him for it from a very early age. Everyone immediately loved him for his smile and his sweet personality, always polite and agreeable. Doing good deeds for others and never asking for anything in return.
Soon I saw his kindness as a weakness. He was always so generous and thoughtful and forgiving; the fool!!! I felt sick trying to please others; I felt that they should be at my beck and call, doing what I wanted. It made me stand out in a severe contrast to my brother. My brooding looks and serious face never got me what I wanted. I had to manipulate people to get what I wanted, and after a time I found that I enjoyed it.
By the age of nine I had people fooled into liking me; playing on their weaknesses to get them to think well of me. I had almost everyone at the monastery where we lived convinced that I was a nice kid, just not as sweet as my brother. Everyone except Soren that is, he saw through everything. He knew that I was using others for my own ends and he tried to get me to stop once.
But I had surprised him; I brought to bear all the anger and frustration and rage that I had holed up over the last two years or so and yelled at him until he was crying and whimpering on the floor of our room. He left me alone after that.
As we grew up people began to figure out that I wasn’t the sweet child they thought me to be and that Soren was the sweet one, the good child. He was just a little taller than I and older than me by a year and a half but other than that we were identical except that our personalities were complete opposites. In their eyes Soren was perfect. I however, was a shade, a shadow that not many of them accepted or even wanted to acknowledge. I knew by then that they saw me as cruel and vindictive, a twisted representation of my brother.
Soon my animosity grew towards him until I truly wished to destroy him. It was I who should have been born first; I was skilled at everything that he wasn’t, and I felt justified in thinking that I was the one more worthy of being first born. I drilled myself in each and every one of my lessons while he would often be wandering the gardens or talking with the monks in the courtyard. He should have never been born; I hated him so intensely I often wished it were true.
I detested the thought that Soren, who was so pleasant and inexperienced, was able to claim seniority over me and I mocked him constantly for it. The initiates at the monastery couldn’t understand my hatred towards my older brother and tried to teach me otherwise, to no avail. I wouldn’t listen and eventually they resorted to punishing me for mistreating my brother, a choice that ultimately resulted in catastrophe.
It had come to a point where I no longer used angry words to make him cry. I had thought up new ways to make him scream, thanks to my own punishments. At first it was only a few unnoticeable things but it was quickly apparent that I was torturing him on occasion. But ah, my ever trusting and beloved brother always forgave me and never told on me; always saying that he had fallen or that he’d had some other mishap to explain away his injuries.
But as I got older I became ruthless, finally cornering Soren in our room and beating him bloody one day, leaving him screaming, sobbing and shaking beneath my hands. I don’t much remember what I did that day, only that I had felt strangely exhilarated by his screams, the sound ringing in my ears even as the initiates tore me away from him.
They left me in another room until the next morning, locking the door to keep me away from my brother. I slept peacefully after I finally gave into sleep, waking early the next day to the sound of a key clicking in the door. They told me that they had arranged for me to be taken to the city to stay and that I would never be coming back. I didn’t care either way what they did with me, I just didn’t want to have to endure the goodness of my brother for another day.
Two of the initiates escorted me to the city, my things packed onto the carriage in a small basket; I owned very little, and didn’t much care if they had let me keep it or not. On our way into the city they told me that I was to live at Mandrake House, which meant little to me at the time, but I soon came to enjoy the meaning of that simple word.
I was being accepted as an apprentice of Mandrake House is what they said, cringing at the word like they had mentioned a disease. I wasn’t exactly paying attention by that time, but I later wished I had listened, so that I had known something of where I was going. Instead I was more interested in the journey and the feeling of release that I felt at being able to escape from everything I was leaving behind, including my brother.
Thus I came to Mandrake; and there I stayed, quickly discovering why they had sent me here. I was elated when they started my training and I took to my new studies with an eager and passionate enthusiasm. And as the years passed and my knowledge of what I was grew, I found myself almost begging to become an adept. Looking forward to the time when I could welcome my first assignation and finally call myself a fully fledged Mandrake.
Soren was just so compassionate it infuriated me. Call it good natured or kind or whatever you call it but whatever the name it was maddening to me. I hated him for it from a very early age. Everyone immediately loved him for his smile and his sweet personality, always polite and agreeable. Doing good deeds for others and never asking for anything in return.
Soon I saw his kindness as a weakness. He was always so generous and thoughtful and forgiving; the fool!!! I felt sick trying to please others; I felt that they should be at my beck and call, doing what I wanted. It made me stand out in a severe contrast to my brother. My brooding looks and serious face never got me what I wanted. I had to manipulate people to get what I wanted, and after a time I found that I enjoyed it.
By the age of nine I had people fooled into liking me; playing on their weaknesses to get them to think well of me. I had almost everyone at the monastery where we lived convinced that I was a nice kid, just not as sweet as my brother. Everyone except Soren that is, he saw through everything. He knew that I was using others for my own ends and he tried to get me to stop once.
But I had surprised him; I brought to bear all the anger and frustration and rage that I had holed up over the last two years or so and yelled at him until he was crying and whimpering on the floor of our room. He left me alone after that.
As we grew up people began to figure out that I wasn’t the sweet child they thought me to be and that Soren was the sweet one, the good child. He was just a little taller than I and older than me by a year and a half but other than that we were identical except that our personalities were complete opposites. In their eyes Soren was perfect. I however, was a shade, a shadow that not many of them accepted or even wanted to acknowledge. I knew by then that they saw me as cruel and vindictive, a twisted representation of my brother.
Soon my animosity grew towards him until I truly wished to destroy him. It was I who should have been born first; I was skilled at everything that he wasn’t, and I felt justified in thinking that I was the one more worthy of being first born. I drilled myself in each and every one of my lessons while he would often be wandering the gardens or talking with the monks in the courtyard. He should have never been born; I hated him so intensely I often wished it were true.
I detested the thought that Soren, who was so pleasant and inexperienced, was able to claim seniority over me and I mocked him constantly for it. The initiates at the monastery couldn’t understand my hatred towards my older brother and tried to teach me otherwise, to no avail. I wouldn’t listen and eventually they resorted to punishing me for mistreating my brother, a choice that ultimately resulted in catastrophe.
It had come to a point where I no longer used angry words to make him cry. I had thought up new ways to make him scream, thanks to my own punishments. At first it was only a few unnoticeable things but it was quickly apparent that I was torturing him on occasion. But ah, my ever trusting and beloved brother always forgave me and never told on me; always saying that he had fallen or that he’d had some other mishap to explain away his injuries.
But as I got older I became ruthless, finally cornering Soren in our room and beating him bloody one day, leaving him screaming, sobbing and shaking beneath my hands. I don’t much remember what I did that day, only that I had felt strangely exhilarated by his screams, the sound ringing in my ears even as the initiates tore me away from him.
They left me in another room until the next morning, locking the door to keep me away from my brother. I slept peacefully after I finally gave into sleep, waking early the next day to the sound of a key clicking in the door. They told me that they had arranged for me to be taken to the city to stay and that I would never be coming back. I didn’t care either way what they did with me, I just didn’t want to have to endure the goodness of my brother for another day.
Two of the initiates escorted me to the city, my things packed onto the carriage in a small basket; I owned very little, and didn’t much care if they had let me keep it or not. On our way into the city they told me that I was to live at Mandrake House, which meant little to me at the time, but I soon came to enjoy the meaning of that simple word.
I was being accepted as an apprentice of Mandrake House is what they said, cringing at the word like they had mentioned a disease. I wasn’t exactly paying attention by that time, but I later wished I had listened, so that I had known something of where I was going. Instead I was more interested in the journey and the feeling of release that I felt at being able to escape from everything I was leaving behind, including my brother.
Thus I came to Mandrake; and there I stayed, quickly discovering why they had sent me here. I was elated when they started my training and I took to my new studies with an eager and passionate enthusiasm. And as the years passed and my knowledge of what I was grew, I found myself almost begging to become an adept. Looking forward to the time when I could welcome my first assignation and finally call myself a fully fledged Mandrake.