entering the fray {azaleah}

{ margeaux vyperion }

My grandmother knit a legacy. I suppose that it is in my blood to the same; to rewrite the rules and change what is means to be classified as a venomous 'career'. This is the life I have been born into, and though there are parts of me which long for a serene escape to the natural world, I am bound to proving myself. Yearning for a collected intelligence, all I ask is that people know the little rose has her thorns.

They are inherited from her. Steel thorns protect a pretty face and an insane mind, and I thankful for the parting gift my grandmother left me. She had seen the world come and go and taken it all in her stride. Nothing confused her, nothing lost her because she understood the truth about violence: that it comes in many shapes and forms. Never a lover of the physical violence, she aligned herself with the enlightened and knowledgeable. Her intelligence was lethal.

It is inherited.

In a bed of foxgloves, I stand out. Two is home to the coldest people one will ever meet. Once children swinging on tires and unaware of the brutality their hands can carry out, they went through a change aged twelve and started the transformation from boy to man, from girl to woman. I never felt the need to learn the ways of the blade or rob an innocent of their life—Vyperion means that I am a lady.

Ancestors paid the price in severity because greatness did not come overnight. Heartbreak saw the rise of sacrifices which were a necessary evil, and soon enough, the Vyperion name became one of iron. Between the poisons of the Lyons and Staggs is a medicine, and that is where I lie.

They battle each other wielding swords and shields, but my violence is found in manipulation and friendliness. A little rose will surely be cut and torn by the brutes of my birthplace, and so I find myself alone in the training centre analysing distances and sentence structure. Words are my weapon, and they are the only weapon people can't touch.

Muscles create a storm for the fresh face which enters. A blank girl, a lost girl who separates herself from the rest out of amazement? No, I think that it is something more intrusive and fragile. Easily concealed by wide eyes and a childish intrigue, I can sense her fear from across the training centre. I frown; the training centre is home to those who wish to murder and not think twice about it.

And it is home to those with a legacy.

Wading through the thick of war, I approach the girl with a soft face. 

"They are brutal with a hope that it will make them great." I sigh, leaning into the girl. "When you're already great, there is no need for that brutality." I tilt my head, arching a brow as I stand beside the girl. A watchful eye is cast across the centre allowing for the observation and judgement of the tens of teenagers that try their luck. "My name is Margeaux," a smile twists onto my face, "and you are...?"