Tear the Sky Down

Dreaming of Spring
''A peculiar people, that describes my people to a tee. While we are truly and genuinely human in every way, at the same time it seems that we are not. It seems rather than blessed, we were cursed with power—or maybe it was just the traditions that bound that power, the stubbornness of an entire race. Regardless, those days are over. In the Quincy’s sorry state of affairs, I can only wonder what the future holds. ''

''False hopes would bring me no good on that subject, or anyone. If the so called great families can only hide in their homes and waste away their lives, then I sympathize with the poorer, nameless Quincy that are out there somewhere. I had been wondering to myself about the nameless Quincy and mix-blooded ones across the world, or what’s left of them. Given the stories from my mother, she enjoyed her life that didn’t expect anything of her other than to pursue her studies and be happy. I’ve definitely wondered what it would be like for me to not have been born to the Von Brandt family, but some family of common Quincy with no grand history or expectations. ''

''Life would definitely be simpler, but at the cost of other things that surround me in life. Anyway, back on topic. It’s a subject revisited a lot in this household. Those two seem to be on the fences about it, but are pretty optimistic. Hell, I remember when even mom and dad were arguing about it when I was a kid. As for me, the question as to whether or not the Quincy race will rise to be some semblance of what it once was is….questionable. I am at peace with the chance of this decline only worsening. Pride aside, it’s just how it is. ''

''From Sieg to you, Godspeed. ''

A young man laid down his pen and closed the leather bound journal before him, fastening the buckle strap. He ran a hand through his slick, silver hair as he let the words on the page sink in for a few moments. It was calming this new habit of his. Keeping a journal was a lovely way to collect his thoughts on things casual and not so casual instead of letting them slide around his mind day in and day out. Then there was the thought of whoever might read this far into the future, hopefully it would be of some worth.

He rose to his feet, journal in hand, and turned to the line of cherry wood book shelves against the wall across from his seat. They reached up to the lofty ceilings of the family library. The rolling ladder before them was his best friend at times, he mused. Across the room laid some of the finest furnishings a person could ask for, the ornate decoration of the walls were older than him by decades.

Sieg slotted the journal into an open space. He never had a set place for it, but the leather exterior was designed in a way that he could never miss. Such a habit almost kept his newest hobby fresh, and the young man couldn't complain about that.

He touched a hand to the cross shaped object pinned to his tie, only but an inch or two from the dippled knot. The sign of a Quincy that could take up arms against an enemy, a Quincy cross. He could still remember it being given to him as a child, that had been a fun afternoon. Even in rotting times, fresh and captivating memories can be made.