[How do you deal gracefully with a deathblow to a philosophy? To the final collapse of a tottering pillar that had once been a too-solid part of your story of yourself? This wasn't ideal and wasn't always what I wanted, but in the end it was necessary and even good; in the end, it's the best solution for all of us.
In Myr's case--in this moment--you don't; you set it aside to grieve when you've leisure. At least, at least, at this final extreme it is something he will confront in all its existential horror; something he will look in the face instead of banishing behind the weight of a thousand other concerns. He owes himself--he owes every other Circle mage--that much.
But, Maker, it will leave him ruined for anything for long enough it's got to be postponed. And, so--
Hearing it confirmed that Mello's a product of a similar process evokes a certain amount of pity, a certain re-evaluation in Myr. How many others? he doesn't ask, not yet, but puts it aside beneath an emblem in his memory-tower. (Crude blocks such as they'd used in the Circle to teach him his letters, stacked in a shape to suggest the Circle tower itself.)]
I'd do better to think of him more kindly, then, knowing that. [How easy it is to move from there back to the subject of the Tranquil, and how painful.]
I've told you something of the Fade, and how the demons living there haunt mages in our dreams. How the risk of possession is the price we pay for our magic--how we've got to be vigilant even in our sleep, lest we be overcome.
The Rite of Tranquility removes that burden from a mage forever. It severs her from the Fade, taking her magic--and with it her dreams, her volition, her very emotions. [Breath in, breath out. This is a subject of horror for many mages; had been, for Myr, not more than a few years ago. But as with so many places where he'd found himself falling short of his own ideals, he's worked to fix that. That this might be more personal than most situations where he's made such a correction... Well.
(Nothing, though, can entirely quiet the little frisson of unease at the idea of having his magic stripped from him. Nothing--except he has, hasn't he? And it hasn't destroyed him. Not yet.)] The Tranquil are brilliant in their own way, being creatures of pure reason; their research and handiwork have made the Circles very, very rich. But they're forever isolated from the rest of us, perceiving and understanding a world that's stripped of all its color. Knowing what all the raw components are, but having a blind spot to something in the middle.
They make people--mages especially--uneasy to be around, [the toneless voices, the faces devoid of expression,] and there's plenty of folk who don't even think of them as people any longer, because of what they lack. But, [fiercely, of a sudden,] they are, and always will be, and deserve as much care as anyone.
no subject
In Myr's case--in this moment--you don't; you set it aside to grieve when you've leisure. At least, at least, at this final extreme it is something he will confront in all its existential horror; something he will look in the face instead of banishing behind the weight of a thousand other concerns. He owes himself--he owes every other Circle mage--that much.
But, Maker, it will leave him ruined for anything for long enough it's got to be postponed. And, so--
Hearing it confirmed that Mello's a product of a similar process evokes a certain amount of pity, a certain re-evaluation in Myr. How many others? he doesn't ask, not yet, but puts it aside beneath an emblem in his memory-tower. (Crude blocks such as they'd used in the Circle to teach him his letters, stacked in a shape to suggest the Circle tower itself.)]
I'd do better to think of him more kindly, then, knowing that. [How easy it is to move from there back to the subject of the Tranquil, and how painful.]
I've told you something of the Fade, and how the demons living there haunt mages in our dreams. How the risk of possession is the price we pay for our magic--how we've got to be vigilant even in our sleep, lest we be overcome.
The Rite of Tranquility removes that burden from a mage forever. It severs her from the Fade, taking her magic--and with it her dreams, her volition, her very emotions. [Breath in, breath out. This is a subject of horror for many mages; had been, for Myr, not more than a few years ago. But as with so many places where he'd found himself falling short of his own ideals, he's worked to fix that. That this might be more personal than most situations where he's made such a correction... Well.
(Nothing, though, can entirely quiet the little frisson of unease at the idea of having his magic stripped from him. Nothing--except he has, hasn't he? And it hasn't destroyed him. Not yet.)] The Tranquil are brilliant in their own way, being creatures of pure reason; their research and handiwork have made the Circles very, very rich. But they're forever isolated from the rest of us, perceiving and understanding a world that's stripped of all its color. Knowing what all the raw components are, but having a blind spot to something in the middle.
They make people--mages especially--uneasy to be around, [the toneless voices, the faces devoid of expression,] and there's plenty of folk who don't even think of them as people any longer, because of what they lack. But, [fiercely, of a sudden,] they are, and always will be, and deserve as much care as anyone.