Post by Scarlette Delarose on Jan 6, 2019 0:56:21 GMT
“A name?” Scarlette repeated. Throughout all her years of using her Brand, never once had it crossed her mind to name these short-lived replicas anything other than ‘clones’ of herself. Names meant attachment and, one way or another, her produce’s fates were sealed from the moment she spawned them. Inevitably they would either die in a few days’ time, or become her new body.
“I don’t name them. They are just copies of myself,” she retorted, quietly yet matter-of-factly, as she watched the woman dote and sway about in an ecstatic stupor. What Cheska saw as adorable, Miss Delarose viewed as somewhat disturbing. Pale and black-eyed, her spawn settled perfectly within a personal uncanny valley, separating them just enough from reality that she could never quite accept their presence as anything more than a tool to be used; a ripened fruit to either be consumed, or to be thrown away if it began to rot.
“Scarlette. That is my name,” she said. A brief wave of weakness washed over her, emphasized by the chill around her legs. Nell had, in the confusion of everything, pilfered her dress. But, aside from the issue of wearing naught but a conveniently lengthed and protective coat, she was also facing the issue of overexertion. Brands had their limits. To create not just one, but two diminutive duplicates in such a short space of time after revival had taken a massive toll upon her bodily reserves.
