[She can't fall apart. She just can't. Rosalind's fingers tighten on the chair, her expression sharpening defensively once more. She takes in a breath, because no, she can't fall apart, she won't, but . . . perhaps she can give a little.]
The first man I told-- the first person, the first vampire-- told me that I was . . .
[A beat. She smiles thinly.]
It reminded me of being a child. The first time I presented my theories to a committee. I was fourteen, and they were too stupid to think that I could offer them anything. They patronized me, they told me I was very amusing and-- I think the word was cute. And then, when I refused to act like a little girl, they weren't so amused anymore. They scolded me.
It was precisely the same here.
I know what I chose, Derek. I know very well what I chose. Alucard made sure of it. He lectured me on the drawbacks as well as the benefits; he told me the hardships I'd feel. He wanted to be as informed a choice as I could make, and it was. I took weeks to make sure it was what I wanted.
And yet he acted as though I'd gone running to Alucard. As though I'd been that little girl that committee had percieved me to be, too terrified to think straight. Too hysterical.
[She smiles so tightly, and it's awful for how embittered it is.]
He's a typical man of our era. He thinks that because he was born a man, he knows best. Better than I would, certainly. I'm too feminine, too hysterical, too blinded by emotion, too stupid to understand what I chose.
[Her gaze rises, meeting Derek's, and there's such rage there. Contained, always, so carefully kept down, but oh, it's built for thirty-odd years, and it will never be extinguished.]
I had not tasted human blood beyond my own at that point. Even now, the one person I've taken it from has chosen that, willingly. And yet Jonathan Reid told me that he would kill me the moment he thought I stepped out of line. As though I had gone on a rampage, a trail of bloody corpses in my wake. As though I had not invented an entire food source to keep myself and others sated.
no subject
The first man I told-- the first person, the first vampire-- told me that I was . . .
[A beat. She smiles thinly.]
It reminded me of being a child. The first time I presented my theories to a committee. I was fourteen, and they were too stupid to think that I could offer them anything. They patronized me, they told me I was very amusing and-- I think the word was cute. And then, when I refused to act like a little girl, they weren't so amused anymore. They scolded me.
It was precisely the same here.
I know what I chose, Derek. I know very well what I chose. Alucard made sure of it. He lectured me on the drawbacks as well as the benefits; he told me the hardships I'd feel. He wanted to be as informed a choice as I could make, and it was. I took weeks to make sure it was what I wanted.
And yet he acted as though I'd gone running to Alucard. As though I'd been that little girl that committee had percieved me to be, too terrified to think straight. Too hysterical.
[She smiles so tightly, and it's awful for how embittered it is.]
He's a typical man of our era. He thinks that because he was born a man, he knows best. Better than I would, certainly. I'm too feminine, too hysterical, too blinded by emotion, too stupid to understand what I chose.
[Her gaze rises, meeting Derek's, and there's such rage there. Contained, always, so carefully kept down, but oh, it's built for thirty-odd years, and it will never be extinguished.]
I had not tasted human blood beyond my own at that point. Even now, the one person I've taken it from has chosen that, willingly. And yet Jonathan Reid told me that he would kill me the moment he thought I stepped out of line. As though I had gone on a rampage, a trail of bloody corpses in my wake. As though I had not invented an entire food source to keep myself and others sated.