Called Onward By Desire (Language Training DTA)
May 29, 2022 21:26:41 GMT
Andy D and Marto Copperkettle like this
Post by Zola Rhomdaen on May 29, 2022 21:26:41 GMT
(Continued from Tea, Magic, and Something Older.)
It has been two days since their return from the Anuhlin Shambles. Zola spies from the staircase Beulah sitting alone in the reception room with a warm cup of tea in hand, gazing quietly out the window. She creeps down the stairs to sit in a plush chair beside the red hag and clears her throat softly.
“Mother Beulah… I was wondering if you would be willing to teach me the Infernal tongue.”
Beulah turns her head towards her and gives her a long look. “I am always willing to teach you, Daughter Zola, you need only ask… But perhaps you could enlighten me, why the sudden interest? Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine, Mother,” Zola says, taking Beulah’s hand in hers. “I just… I just think it’d be good for me to learn. I’ve been studying the alphabet on my own. I…I managed to transcribe a stanza of a poem into phonetics for myself. Here, listen.”
She gets up from the chair and pulls out a red leather-bound book from the small bookshelf in the corner. Flipping to a certain page and pulling out a scrap of paper wedged in between the pages, she reads haltingly aloud in Infernal:
“Love, that exempts no one beloved from loving,
Seized me with pleasure of this man so strongly,
That, as thou seest, it doth not yet desert me.”
Zola looks up from the paper at Beulah with glassy eyes, hoping she understands.
Beulah is smiling. “Very good, Daughter Zola. A little more work on some pronunciation but it was very much understandable. Your ability to learn aside, that does not quite answer for your eagerness, however. It would be good to learn any language, but most would choose something more accessible and most, Daughter Zola, do not read from scraps of paper hidden in books.”
“Yes, Mother, I’m well aware that it is a tricky one to learn. It’s just…” Zola furrows her brow, trying to find the words. “I feel that I am whole now. It is like I have been reborn, or something new is born in me. I don’t know. I want to understand this part of myself better.”
Does that make sense? she asks herself. Perhaps not to her. No one else can understand this.
The smile on Beulah’s lips takes on an air of sadness. “I understand. We have tried to give you a wonderful life, Daughter Zola, but a life well-lived comes not only from happiness and joy but sadness and grief, too. They are two sides of the same coin,” she says. “Just be careful you do not let it consume you. You are strong, Daughter. I have no doubts you will be fine, but I am allowed to worry about you still… If you wish to learn, I am willing to teach. But I still have other responsibilities to attend to. If you wish to learn, you will also need to help.”
Zola reflects the sad smile on her face as she steps forward to take her mother’s hands. “And you have given me a wonderful life. Thank you, Mother. And whatever you need — I am always here to help.”
The two share a warm embrace. She doesn’t understand, Zola thinks, but that’s alright. Zola suspects that even she herself doesn’t quite comprehend it fully. It’s hard to make sense of anything when one is being flung to far and strange places by the gales of fate.
The best she can do is try to understand the man she’s flying with in this aimless gust.
Co-written with Anthony.
Inferno, Canto V, trans. Longfellow
It has been two days since their return from the Anuhlin Shambles. Zola spies from the staircase Beulah sitting alone in the reception room with a warm cup of tea in hand, gazing quietly out the window. She creeps down the stairs to sit in a plush chair beside the red hag and clears her throat softly.
“Mother Beulah… I was wondering if you would be willing to teach me the Infernal tongue.”
Beulah turns her head towards her and gives her a long look. “I am always willing to teach you, Daughter Zola, you need only ask… But perhaps you could enlighten me, why the sudden interest? Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine, Mother,” Zola says, taking Beulah’s hand in hers. “I just… I just think it’d be good for me to learn. I’ve been studying the alphabet on my own. I…I managed to transcribe a stanza of a poem into phonetics for myself. Here, listen.”
She gets up from the chair and pulls out a red leather-bound book from the small bookshelf in the corner. Flipping to a certain page and pulling out a scrap of paper wedged in between the pages, she reads haltingly aloud in Infernal:
“Love, that exempts no one beloved from loving,
Seized me with pleasure of this man so strongly,
That, as thou seest, it doth not yet desert me.”
Zola looks up from the paper at Beulah with glassy eyes, hoping she understands.
Beulah is smiling. “Very good, Daughter Zola. A little more work on some pronunciation but it was very much understandable. Your ability to learn aside, that does not quite answer for your eagerness, however. It would be good to learn any language, but most would choose something more accessible and most, Daughter Zola, do not read from scraps of paper hidden in books.”
“Yes, Mother, I’m well aware that it is a tricky one to learn. It’s just…” Zola furrows her brow, trying to find the words. “I feel that I am whole now. It is like I have been reborn, or something new is born in me. I don’t know. I want to understand this part of myself better.”
Does that make sense? she asks herself. Perhaps not to her. No one else can understand this.
The smile on Beulah’s lips takes on an air of sadness. “I understand. We have tried to give you a wonderful life, Daughter Zola, but a life well-lived comes not only from happiness and joy but sadness and grief, too. They are two sides of the same coin,” she says. “Just be careful you do not let it consume you. You are strong, Daughter. I have no doubts you will be fine, but I am allowed to worry about you still… If you wish to learn, I am willing to teach. But I still have other responsibilities to attend to. If you wish to learn, you will also need to help.”
Zola reflects the sad smile on her face as she steps forward to take her mother’s hands. “And you have given me a wonderful life. Thank you, Mother. And whatever you need — I am always here to help.”
The two share a warm embrace. She doesn’t understand, Zola thinks, but that’s alright. Zola suspects that even she herself doesn’t quite comprehend it fully. It’s hard to make sense of anything when one is being flung to far and strange places by the gales of fate.
The best she can do is try to understand the man she’s flying with in this aimless gust.
Co-written with Anthony.
Inferno, Canto V, trans. Longfellow