02-25-2018, 01:41 AM
In the past, Artoria had always made her decisions without hesitation. A resolve that never wavered and judgement that was always just.
But today, she was no longer the judge. Rather, she stared before at the gate - at her own judgement that had been set before her. Of course, the decision to remain here in purgatory was one that she could’ve taken… Yet to stay still, was to fear the future. To fear tomorrow.
And the King of Knights, no matter how afraid, knew that should she stay here, the lack of judgement would gnaw at her sanity. The seeds of doubt would sow themselves in her mind and take root, slowly consuming whatever contented fragments of herself she had and feed those that she could only contemn.
As such, the armoured knight took a step forward, the first step to her future. To whatever laid in wait for her. She would face it and triumph, even if she were judged malevolent, blameworthy.
Artoria could not lie. She wanted to be judged reprehensible. She yearned to be found demeritorious and receive a punishment for her crimes. To be adjudicated for her crimes against Britain, no matter how severe the punishment.
Finding herself before the gate, her resolve to be punished did not waver in the slightest. Without hesitation, the knight took the final step.
The gate consumed her physical form in an instant as the knight felt herself being torn from all sides, even as she felt herself spinning uncontrollably. She could figure little symbolism for it as she ejected from the other side, spat out by the magic as she crashed into the ground with her armour clanging and clattering loudly as she spun on the stones.
The first thing she realized as her vision returned, was that she could see grass in the corner of her vision. As green and verdant as ever, the lush vegetation greeted her, granting her mind a sliver of peace, a hint that she had not received the worst judgement possible.
With expertise, the knight spun onto her feet, facing herself toward the unknown, uncertain what would greet her.
And so, the knight staggered back with a shriek emanating from her helmet. One that could only be described as panic - confusion. A lack of understanding so primal that it wasn’t conceivable to weave it into words.
In the distance, the city was unmistakable. It wasn’t exactly akin to her own, yet the similarity was unmistakable with its marble white towers and magnificent walls.
Camelot.
But today, she was no longer the judge. Rather, she stared before at the gate - at her own judgement that had been set before her. Of course, the decision to remain here in purgatory was one that she could’ve taken… Yet to stay still, was to fear the future. To fear tomorrow.
And the King of Knights, no matter how afraid, knew that should she stay here, the lack of judgement would gnaw at her sanity. The seeds of doubt would sow themselves in her mind and take root, slowly consuming whatever contented fragments of herself she had and feed those that she could only contemn.
As such, the armoured knight took a step forward, the first step to her future. To whatever laid in wait for her. She would face it and triumph, even if she were judged malevolent, blameworthy.
Artoria could not lie. She wanted to be judged reprehensible. She yearned to be found demeritorious and receive a punishment for her crimes. To be adjudicated for her crimes against Britain, no matter how severe the punishment.
Finding herself before the gate, her resolve to be punished did not waver in the slightest. Without hesitation, the knight took the final step.
The gate consumed her physical form in an instant as the knight felt herself being torn from all sides, even as she felt herself spinning uncontrollably. She could figure little symbolism for it as she ejected from the other side, spat out by the magic as she crashed into the ground with her armour clanging and clattering loudly as she spun on the stones.
The first thing she realized as her vision returned, was that she could see grass in the corner of her vision. As green and verdant as ever, the lush vegetation greeted her, granting her mind a sliver of peace, a hint that she had not received the worst judgement possible.
With expertise, the knight spun onto her feet, facing herself toward the unknown, uncertain what would greet her.
And so, the knight staggered back with a shriek emanating from her helmet. One that could only be described as panic - confusion. A lack of understanding so primal that it wasn’t conceivable to weave it into words.
In the distance, the city was unmistakable. It wasn’t exactly akin to her own, yet the similarity was unmistakable with its marble white towers and magnificent walls.
Camelot.
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