Her pale blue eyes tightly closed in a thinly veiled attempt to contain her anger, Kara Fang took a deep breath, concentrating as she felt the cool air slowly fill her lungs as her chest expanded. As much as her head was filling with fantasies of how she wanted to carry out her retribution, with a mental list of various instruments and tools she wanted to utilize already made up in her mind, she knew that she needed to maintain her composure these days with absolutely NO slipups.
Controlling her outrage and reining in her emotions and instincts to lash out and react – it was something she knew she needed to…slightly improve on. Especially now, more than ever. It was more important that she found ways to preserve her memories in time, to ensure that her techniques and goals would live on after her eventual exit from this world, which was unavoidably and undeniably eventual.
At moments like these, the tall Asian woman hated the human body. Currently, hers was perfect. Well-developed with ripples of muscles that had been toned so perfectly that they seemed to only further highlight and accentuate a few of her feminine curves – a physical aspect of herself that she never hesitated to use on the right and susceptible…person, be it male or female. With her dark brown silky hair and icy pale cerulean blue eyes, Kara knew she was very – no, make that highly – attractive.
But, of course, she was more than only a pleasing and nice piece of sculpture to gaze upon. Her practiced reflexes were sharp, her endurance level amazingly high, and her self-discipline perfect. A master sniper, her eyes were able to take in tiny miniscule details in mere seconds, and her intelligence and knowledge allowed her to size up emerging and dynamic situations with professional military prowess in under a minute.
But for all the perfection that a human body could attain with years of practice, eventually, it would all wither away. Of course there were scientific and technological advancements prolonging human life and physical youthfulness, but in the end, it was still all eventually a stopgap.
So, for Kara, it wasn’t a matter of when you died – as everyone would eventually. It was a matter of how you died, and what legacy you would leave behind in your unfortunate absence. If you died a sniveling pleading pathetic fool begging for mercy – what significance and honor was there in that kind of death? If you screamed and moaned and shrieked during your execution, demonstrating your weakness and willingness to allow pain to control you – what respect should you be afforded? The simple answer to both those questions was, in Kara’s opinion, none.
Actions, reactions, and the way one conducted herself…those are the only facets of life that really matter and should be allowed and allotted weight and judgment. And her actions, her conduct…it was perfect. She was ruthless and cunning, cold and level-minded. No matter who she had to torture or kill to obtain her end result, she did it. Always. Because she was that driven.
And the legacy that one leaves behind…that could outlast anything. While the human body can die and be forgotten as it absorbs itself back to the earth, memories can’t be destroyed. Techniques could be preserved with trained successors, documents stored in computers and vaults, and ideas passed down through lifetimes.
Kara was a physical being.
A perfect physical being, yet a temporary physical being.
But her legacy would be forever. The respect and admiration that people felt towards her (and rightly so) would carry through the generations. And the fear…
The fear she generated would never be suppressed.
Smiling gently, Kara chuckled softly, almost inaudibly. She was immortal through her deeds.
A small voice cut through her reverie and she looked down at a young girl gently tugging on her red and white silk kimono, aged about six or seven years old. Her hair had the same silky texture as her mother’s, but it was a much lighter shade of brown – like a chestnut. It fell to the small of her back, naturally slightly wavy. Her eyes were a deep blue-green color, almost a turquoise hue.
“Kashaku.” Kara nodded at the young one.
“You said you would read me a bedtime story tonight.”
Kara smiled, and for once (a rare occasion indeed), it was warm and possibly even caring.
“I did, didn’t I?”
Enthusiastically, the young girl nodded, her loose light brown hair rippling down her back.
“Well then. Get ready for bed, and I’ll meet you upstairs. Go on then!”
Hurriedly, the child scampered off, humming some nameless tune.
“So, what story are we going to read tonight?”
“Tonight, dear one, we shall be reading the works of a great author and philosopher. His teachings shall eventually be of great use to you.”
“Who is he?” She inquired, curiosity shining on her young face.
Smiling, the girl snuggled deeper into the black and red silk covers, adjusting her pillows so she could lie down and still hear her mother’s smooth voice. Gently tousling her daughter’s tresses, Kara opened an old and worn red leather-bound book with faded gold trim and began reading, occasionally glancing at her daughter to make sure she was paying attention.
“Of mankind, we may say in general that they are fickle and hypocritical in their thoughts and actions. Therefore, if an injury has to be done to a man, it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared, for it is much more secure to be feared than to be loved…”
A/N: So, this plot bunny has been bouncing about in my head for weeks now. It all started with a stray thought of, ‘Heh, I bet if Kara had children, she would read them Machiavelli instead of fairy tales during bedtime.’ And from that, this little scene emerged. I talked with Hobnobrev, and he gave me permission to post this story.