[center] [img] https://i.imgur.com/K9dXELV.png [/img] [/center] [h3][center] Construction Project: ‘Tarantasio’ “Temporary room”, Foreigner’s Lowlands [/center][/h3] [@Paradox Witch] [@Breo] [@ManyThings] [@addamas] “If you wish to contact me about my actions, then you may come here on your own accord, daughter of Matou. Though I would not be opposed to a meeting.” The two were simply eating this new snack, “popcorn” together, enjoying the aspects of insanity that seemed to climb there ways in and out of her perspective. From a great tree spring up, then getting bombarded by some sort of attack she could recognize as artillery from a position she could not see from the location of “Taratasio”, to the use of an EX-ranked lightning noble phantasm mere moments from her location, to a battle between two servants that identified themselves as Shuten Douji and Aiax. And then Aiax was killed by “her”. At the least, she understood what had occurred here. Those two were the Servants of the sister pair her Master’s daughter had become chummy with, weren’t they? Two sisters, fighting each other in a war. At least, that is what it had appeared to be according to Benita. … … .... There once was a family. A family of toys made for the amusement of their creator. Beings bound by their fate to the will of their creator. Beings that were designed to “save the world”. Beings that were created from the light of Eve; a practice that was sealing designated and studies. But was never replicated outside of the family crest. Twenty-one “Sisters” were created from this method. Bisque dolls that would act to bring about the change in the world desired of “saving the world”. Perhaps, then, it made sense that Benita’s “parents” and a certain man had similar goals and that their paths would cross regardless. It was as if Benita was set astray on a sea of darkness. As if struggling through a thick fog. As if writhing through a nightmare. Six years. “So it is a promise. A promise between the two of us.” There was something that she could not remember. Memories that would not be accessed. After all, those paths were destroyed long ago. Perhaps not intentionally, but that was the result regardless of what they wished to do. Regardless of how much Benita begged and screamed, she could no longer access this memory. So why did she feel it? If the memory could no longer be accessed like the corruption of data, then the feeling she held to her heart was that of a memory of that memory. They danced a familiar dance from the corners of her eyes. The song was a tune she recalled from those times. Memories of that time six years ago. They were horribly fragmented. However, the moment that Benita saw that light burning through her vision, she saw ■■■■■■■■■■. “They” used to dance together. Sing together. Practice together. Just one memory from that day; from that time. Perhaps not even her own memory. It might have been their memory, but it mattered not. It was still something far from her own access, yet the festering abscess of time washed it back to her perspective. A person who whispered a wish. Something they held dear to their heart. “Why?” [center] “We were[color=f7976a] ■■■■■■[/color]” “[color=f26522]■■■[/color] should have[color=ed1c24] ■■■■■■[/color]”” “But [color=9e0b0f]■■■[/color]… ” [/center] Static. Even if she covered her ears, she would hear those words in her head, like a black-stained voice whispering on the wind. As if a photo whose faces were faded away. They all talked at once, their voices insistent and contradictory and impatient, making unreality a possibility, then a probability, then an incontrovertible fact, as people will when their desires become words. She recalled saying something to them, but what was said mattered not. For this was long ago, though fresh in her mind as if something that was instilled in the core of their being. Her desire to escape the trappings of her birth. To obtain the final point of her existence. What she was born to do. She broke, together with the world itself. … A fragile thing. Why? Why? Why? What are you doing? What was the point of this? Why must we…? Why? Why? Why? Would she be praised for her efforts, or ridiculed for her actions? It was their “fate” to be destroyed by one another. That was why they were born. To kill or be killed. That was the hell that Benita experienced for those six long years. Repressed memories sealed to maintain the “self”. She didn’t want to show her tears again. Never again. Not to that woman. Not to her Mother, who showed not even the slightest bit of emotion as her former lover died. Not to anyone ever again. She had to be strong; had to thrive. If she didn’t she would die. One moment. For just one moment, their body froze. Their heart grated. As if their fingertips had turned into ice and that change was spreading throughout her body. She let out a scream. She could feel the shaking spread throughout her entire body. She mustn’t look away. Those eyes shone with the same light as her own; those glaciers of eyes staring coldly back at her that were just as her own; as if looking into a mirror. And yet again it would continue. It would continue until the natural conclusion. As if a sick joke was played on puppets connected to their marionettes. She was scared. She was scared. She was scared. But her heart could not waver. Even if they were driven by the dregs of terror, if for a moment she were to hesitate, then it would be her that would have been killed. Hesitation was a weakness, and weakness would be punished with death. Those were the rules of her existence. Even if she were to break from the chains that bound her to this fate, that sole fact would remain. But unlike ■■■■■■■■■■.she was … There was also the issue of the Matou provocation and request for conversation, but it was not as if Benita was currently in the right of mind to act upon any sane order. Hopefully that “consultant” would deal with them in conversation. “Lancer, destroy that Servant,” were the only commands barked out by Benita. They held not the same sort of monotonous tone she had taken with her Servant many times before this point. Behind her voice now was fury. There was anger, and fear, and agony, and yearning, and grief, and anguish, and rejection, and aggression, and many more. Just like on that night; at that time. “It is unforgivable to kill your own ally. Saber-Class Servant Yamato Takeru … You have a debt you cannot pay back in remorse..” Achilles was a man who followed no lord. Someone who simply acted as he wished, and if it just so happened to coincide with the desires of his Master, then so be it. Luckily, this was one of those times. Just like the Servant she had summoned, Benita was not the sort to look to the past, but this had awakened in her something that began to fester away at her core. There would be no retreat. There would be no reinforcement. Briefly, Benita considered storming up to the temple and taking on the traitorous sister. But it was not as if she knew where the two Whitehalls were currently. She was scared, like a child. She was crying, but she would never show her mother her tears ever again. She wanted someone or something to comfort her and tell her everything would be okay. But above all else … She wanted someone to save her. And so, Benita prepared.