Chapter Text
She held the knife in her right hand above her own arm. Her breath was shallow. Each in and out was a sign of her hesitation.
She reasoned that the oppressive feelings would pass. Perhaps she should go to the church for a confessional. But as she gently pressed the knife to her skin, the desire to feel anything except the heavy weight of her emotions outgrew her rational mind and her desire to seek help.
Rosaria had been sinking for weeks. It was the result of a combination of various factors. Her attempts to protect Mondstadt seemed as if they would never be enough. Additionally, the blood on her hands from her job was getting to her. She wouldn’t say she felt guilty for disposing of trash, but it was a responsibility she took solemnly. She did it because it kept the city safe, and the monsters masquerading as people needed culling. Though she understood she did her work for the right reasons, it weighed heavily on her. She executed traffickers, murderers, and drug dealers alike. Their misdeeds were the epitome of harmful actions against the innocents of the nation. She was simply doing her duty, and she was the best that she knew of. Better for their deaths to weigh on her soul than the soul of someone who enjoyed killing for the sake of killing.
That wasn’t the sole nor biggest reason for her sinking, though. It never was. No, her sorrow seemed to stem from something worse, loneliness. It was a wretched feeling and one she seldom felt. So used to sneaking out at night to complete her work alone, sleeping through the daytime, and having been raised to only rely on herself, she often both knew and felt it was best to be alone. Yet, for some reason unknown to her, she couldn’t fathom why it began to bother her. Going to the tavern didn’t ease the feeling but served as a reminder that the people she knew were overrun with their own work and business to spend time together. Worst of all, her memories were plaguing her.
In her mind, black demons with spindly fingers and sharp nails ripped the scenes from their hiding places. She was thrust into a memory about the time she lived with a bandit tribe. She had tried running away only to be caught and thrown into the fray. She was required to pay for her transgression. Here too, she held a knife in her hand. Standing in front of her, about 10 feet away, was the man who stole her from her village as a young child. He was also the one who caught her as she tried to flee. The group had fallen on hard times, and everyone was going hungry. But here she was, a traitor for trying to run away, and though thin and starving, she was to fight the old man. Circled around them were the bandit groups members, looking onto the challenge.
The memory had replayed for days on end and into the nights as she carried out her work. As always, her mind didn’t allow the scenes to stop there. It never simply ended; as always, she was at the mercy of the demons’ will until the memory ran its course after which she would hide it again. Thus, the memory continued.
First, he charged at her, then moved to knock her off her feet. She slipped out the way and ran towards his left where his side was free. The two exchanged swipes of their respective knives of which neither landed.
This was the fight for her life. The fight for her right to survive. Soon enough, she managed to kick him off balance, and she rammed her blade into his gut. He gasped. She retracted the knife. He put a hand to his stomach.
“End it now, Rosaria.”
She stilled at his words. She had to finish him, but she could barely bear it. This was the man who stole her from her village after raiding it, but he was also the man who raised her. He gave her errands to run, and he taught her how to live amongst the bandits. Ultimately, he showed her how to survive.
He looked her in the eye and gave a single nod of his head. “Prove your strength while they’re watching.” He seemed to say. Prove her right to continue living.
The young girl, only 13, prowled towards him. He swiped with his knife, and she managed to evade it, then kicked him off balance. She thrust forward and stabbed the arm that held the knife. He yelled out and dropped his blade. Rosaria threw her weight on him and caused the two to tumble onto the ground. He sprawled himself and tried to get up but was too slow. She pushed him down and managed to get herself on top of him.
No hesitation.
She plunged her blade into the man’s heart with a yell.
The man gurgled and groaned, looked into her eyes with an intense stare, and he nodded. Her barbarism would be rewarded, yet she couldn’t afford to feel anything about it. She took her knife out, and the man crumpled over. Soon, he was dead, and she leaned over to close his eyes. The bandit onlookers jeered, and their leader called for her.
She stood and walked over to the cold, cruel man. The rest of the group dispersed. He awarded her official membership into the bandit tribe and forgave her cowardliness for attempting to flee.
She exited the memory, gritting her teeth as the inner turmoil washed over her like a wave threatening to drown her. Instead, she took a deep breath and sliced the knife across her forearm. Blood seeped through the broken skin. A rush went through her; she shivered once. She narrowed her eyes and prepared herself for a second cut. She continued slicing her skin, and for a few precious moments, the memory was stopped. It didn’t replay.
She dressed her wounds, then put her gloves back on. No one would see what she had done. She got up from her chair and went to lay down in bed. The sunlight streamed through the window, and she watched it for a few minutes. Her mind was blissfully empty.
Her breath was steady and calm. She lay comfortably in her bed. For all her lying there, she was unable to fall asleep. She hummed to herself for a few moments, recounting parts of hymns she hardly knew, and the hours ticked by.
First to return were the feelings she felt in the wake of killing the closest person she knew as a “father” and whatever that word meant. She carefully scooped up the memory and tucked it away. Instead of trying to hide it this time, she chose to place it somewhere calm, so she imagined placing the memory into a velvet lined box. She carried this box to a shelf and gently laid it on top.
Another thought passed by that claimed she was too lonely for her own good, a signal of her solitary behavior. She gathered that thought too and set it inside a box of its own, and she shelved it. Some thoughts passed as if they were leaves on a gust of wind, and others came by as heavy as a rolling boulder.
Her mind tried to bring up memories prior to being captured by the criminal gang. There were no solid memories of her birth mother or birth father to keep; there were only hazy figures. She didn’t indulge, instead allowing the ideas to fade into the background.
Soon enough, she had spent the day sleeping and meditating. At the beginning of sunset, she set out to the tavern in hopes for some drink, food, and the chatter of patrons.