(1939-01-26) The Dropped Bottle
Details for The Dropped Bottle
Esther
Summary: Sometime's, what's broken can't be put back together.
Date: 1939-01-26
Related: Divorce, Before Marriage

Mother Wilheminia taught me a lesson when I was younger. I'd asked her, I think, what happens when something can't be fixed. Her answer stuck with me for years, and I thought it was just because she was a monster, in her own right. I guess I wasn't all wrong. She took down two bottles, one full of syrup, and the other full of some kind of powder, and tossed them both at the floor so casually, on opposite sides. "Oh, look." She said, feigning a careless simper, "How clumsy of me. I've broken it, and it can't be fixed." The first bottle, with the syrup, was gestured to. "This bottle has broken perfectly. No usable pieces. It is not a bottle, it is nothing. Attempting to do anything further with it, will only result in an injury."
The second bottle, she leaned down to. Her long, elegant fingers scooping up a shard of glass, almost the full length of the bottle, shaking the spice off it. "This bottle hasn't broken well at all. It's still not a bottle, not a container. But it's far for nothing." The shank is balanced in her hand; "Because if you're careful, it's gone from being a blunt instrument, to a blade. Now, it's dangerous. And if you can work out how to wield it, might be it's /far/ more useful than a bottle ever was." The lesson cost me fourty minutes of crawling around on my hands and knees picking out little bits of glass from the skirting board. My fingertips still ache when I think about it.

I broke Myrus. I can see that now. I hoped that if I ever did, he'd break perfectly. But he didn't break well, and just like for Mother Wilheminia, he is sharp. Unlike her shard though, he's being wielded by hurt and suffering, and he used it to hurt me. I worry about who might be next to meet this side of Myrus; the part of my cousin I was always afraid of. The part I wanted to protect him - Protect me, from.

I'm through crying. Merlin knows he's not crying over me.

As steel sharpens steel, so does man sharpen man.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License