Feb 24, 2021 13:34:21 GMT -5
Post by fleur on Feb 24, 2021 13:34:21 GMT -5
(flashback rp / set 32 years in the past)
It was the summer everything changed.
Mostly, Ezra didn't mind being in the church, listening to his father's sermons while his mother knitted beside him. They spent so much of their time in the pews that he could practically recite the verses from memory, which he was sure was the point of him being there so much. After all, wouldn't it be just right for the junior to follow in the footsteps of the senior? It wouldn't be so bad… right? He could practice celibacy until he found himself a sweet, wholesome wife that would bear him several children, and he would never be in search of work here in Columba, not with Ezra Sr's legacy guaranteeing him a spot in the church. It would be a rather ordinary existence, but that's just what he was-- ordinary.
An ordinary son with two ordinary parents living in an extraordinary world. That's what he'd been conditioned to believe up until now.
When the trio left the church, the sun was warm and the streets were rife with those out to enjoy the nice weather. His father would stop every now and then to chat with a churchgoer, who would say something meaningless, and they would share hollow laughter before the family continued on their way, Ezra Sr reminding Ezra Jr that that man was a fairy and fairies were created in spite of the gods. They were disorder in an orderly society.
Ezra Jr, however, was convinced his father hated them because he wasn't one.
"And there's no worse type than the fire fairies," he was saying for the billionth time, just as they reached their home. "The spirits were so disgusted by their creations, they gave sin form. They put fire in their children so their souls would burn for all of eternity."
If you asked Ezra though, he would say playing with fire sounded pretty fun.
They lived out on the outskirts of town in the sloping countryside-- far from sin, his father would say, but his mother often would smile her cunning smile and say it was because she loved the fresh air in the mornings. The villa was quite massive for three people, but it often entertained other members of the congregation, all elder men who sipped on communion wine they pocketed after the services. Ezra did his best to avoid them, slinking off to his room or down to the riverside, but sometimes he would have to sit in with them, fake a laugh, or clink a glass of colored water to theirs, his father lying through clenched teeth that his son was finally of age to indulge with them as he, too, drank from his chalice of lies.
Tonight, they would have no guests.
"Sundays are a day of rest and for us to spend time as a family," his mother said. They ventured out to the gardens, where Ezra would assist her in tending to her plants, which were all thriving in the bright sunshine, while his father knelt near the fountain and prayed for the billionth time that day. She hummed as she worked, something she often did that filled her son with warmth and comfort, but this time she was interrupted by a bout of coughing, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. When she pulled it away, splatters of crimson decorated her skin. "Ezra, fetch your father," she instructed before he could see.
The doctor removed his glasses and sighed, his expression grim. Naomi could tell the prognosis wasn't looking good, but still her features were soft and her smile infallible. "Please, Victor, just tell us what this is." Her hand held her husband's, drawing strength from him.
"You have both been wonderful friends to me and to our community, so please believe me when I express how sorry I am to be the one to bear this news." He hated to be the one to say it. These were good and righteous folk, ones who stood in the spirits' good graces. What could they have done to lose Their favor? "Naomi, this illness has spread throughout your entire body. There is nothing I, nor any other doctor, can do. I am truly sorry, but you should prepare yourselves. Gods willing, you may see the winter solstice, but…" And he trailed off, the meaning clear. But it isn't likely.
He was promptly thanked and escorted out by the senior, and Naomi leaned back into her chair, the gravity of her situation beginning to set in.
She didn't do much after that, mostly remaining at the villa and conserving her strength, which was rapidly depleting with every day that passed. She could not hold many conversations without a coughing fit and tending to the gardens became her son's duty, who-- bless his heart-- spent most of his spare time at her side, either silently as she slept or reading to her. "You have such a good voice, my love," she murmured, "Strong and clear. The whole church will be able to hear you when it's your turn."
Ezra would smile and thank her but would simply continue, knowing that after this portion of his life was over, he would never enjoy reading like he once had.
Eventually, there came a quiet evening where she sent him away and beckoned his father instead, whose cheeks were raw from the tears he'd shed. "There is something we should talk about, dear. Before it's too late." She didn't like the finality in her speech lately, but she didn't want to beat around the bush either or else she risked chickening out again. She needed to tell her truth before it weighed her soul down, down into the fiery pits of death.
It was the summer everything changed.
Mostly, Ezra didn't mind being in the church, listening to his father's sermons while his mother knitted beside him. They spent so much of their time in the pews that he could practically recite the verses from memory, which he was sure was the point of him being there so much. After all, wouldn't it be just right for the junior to follow in the footsteps of the senior? It wouldn't be so bad… right? He could practice celibacy until he found himself a sweet, wholesome wife that would bear him several children, and he would never be in search of work here in Columba, not with Ezra Sr's legacy guaranteeing him a spot in the church. It would be a rather ordinary existence, but that's just what he was-- ordinary.
An ordinary son with two ordinary parents living in an extraordinary world. That's what he'd been conditioned to believe up until now.
When the trio left the church, the sun was warm and the streets were rife with those out to enjoy the nice weather. His father would stop every now and then to chat with a churchgoer, who would say something meaningless, and they would share hollow laughter before the family continued on their way, Ezra Sr reminding Ezra Jr that that man was a fairy and fairies were created in spite of the gods. They were disorder in an orderly society.
Ezra Jr, however, was convinced his father hated them because he wasn't one.
"And there's no worse type than the fire fairies," he was saying for the billionth time, just as they reached their home. "The spirits were so disgusted by their creations, they gave sin form. They put fire in their children so their souls would burn for all of eternity."
If you asked Ezra though, he would say playing with fire sounded pretty fun.
They lived out on the outskirts of town in the sloping countryside-- far from sin, his father would say, but his mother often would smile her cunning smile and say it was because she loved the fresh air in the mornings. The villa was quite massive for three people, but it often entertained other members of the congregation, all elder men who sipped on communion wine they pocketed after the services. Ezra did his best to avoid them, slinking off to his room or down to the riverside, but sometimes he would have to sit in with them, fake a laugh, or clink a glass of colored water to theirs, his father lying through clenched teeth that his son was finally of age to indulge with them as he, too, drank from his chalice of lies.
Tonight, they would have no guests.
"Sundays are a day of rest and for us to spend time as a family," his mother said. They ventured out to the gardens, where Ezra would assist her in tending to her plants, which were all thriving in the bright sunshine, while his father knelt near the fountain and prayed for the billionth time that day. She hummed as she worked, something she often did that filled her son with warmth and comfort, but this time she was interrupted by a bout of coughing, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. When she pulled it away, splatters of crimson decorated her skin. "Ezra, fetch your father," she instructed before he could see.
The doctor removed his glasses and sighed, his expression grim. Naomi could tell the prognosis wasn't looking good, but still her features were soft and her smile infallible. "Please, Victor, just tell us what this is." Her hand held her husband's, drawing strength from him.
"You have both been wonderful friends to me and to our community, so please believe me when I express how sorry I am to be the one to bear this news." He hated to be the one to say it. These were good and righteous folk, ones who stood in the spirits' good graces. What could they have done to lose Their favor? "Naomi, this illness has spread throughout your entire body. There is nothing I, nor any other doctor, can do. I am truly sorry, but you should prepare yourselves. Gods willing, you may see the winter solstice, but…" And he trailed off, the meaning clear. But it isn't likely.
He was promptly thanked and escorted out by the senior, and Naomi leaned back into her chair, the gravity of her situation beginning to set in.
She didn't do much after that, mostly remaining at the villa and conserving her strength, which was rapidly depleting with every day that passed. She could not hold many conversations without a coughing fit and tending to the gardens became her son's duty, who-- bless his heart-- spent most of his spare time at her side, either silently as she slept or reading to her. "You have such a good voice, my love," she murmured, "Strong and clear. The whole church will be able to hear you when it's your turn."
Ezra would smile and thank her but would simply continue, knowing that after this portion of his life was over, he would never enjoy reading like he once had.
Eventually, there came a quiet evening where she sent him away and beckoned his father instead, whose cheeks were raw from the tears he'd shed. "There is something we should talk about, dear. Before it's too late." She didn't like the finality in her speech lately, but she didn't want to beat around the bush either or else she risked chickening out again. She needed to tell her truth before it weighed her soul down, down into the fiery pits of death.
