[color=c4df9b][b]Ettamri Belarence[/b][/color][hr]

It was painful. But it was all worth it. She was never one to give up, and had always stubbornly moved forwards.

Amidst the clamor of the soldiers, she grinned behind her iron mask, her muscles barely flexing as she forced the strongest's of them all to admit defeat, simply pushing his hand onto the table. A good natured competition of sorts with the fort's garrison, both to flaunt her strength, and to pass the time. That, and the energy of it excited her, that feeling of being recognized, of being truly seen.

Now, she was simply sitting at a table inside the mess hall, staring into a fireplace with some bread and a mug of wine to warm her body. Strength, skill, and recognition. All those she had sought to try and become someone, so she can go home once again, recognized by her family, recognized by everyone else. With the curse worsened, the dream had became just that. An unattainable dream. With what Tithemal had spoken, there was no more lead on what the curse was, no more place for her to poke at, no more hope for the future. Perhaps something might lie on that far away island, but she might as well hang herself now, as even going home would be a very arduous task, not to mention the reception she might get by the island's inhabitants.

There was no light at the end of her tunnel, no reason to keep marching forwards. With all doors closed to her to regain her honor, what else was left but to wallow in her helplessness. 

Ettamri tore off another piece of bread, soaking it with the wine a little. Soft fresh bread, strengthening, fortifying. For a moment she pondered the crimson child, of what she whispered, wondering how it would feel to round up an army of those they called monsters, those called inhuman, the orcs, goblins, and other kinds, just to raze entire cities and conquer an area just for herself. A simple daydream that soon escalated to other delusions as she ate the bread slowly, staring at nothing in particular.