[ As realization comes to him, Quetzalcoatl nods a little more, almost shy and apologetic in her motions. It’s the strange thing about being a Servant and a god, honestly. Because of how the former worked and how it exposed often ancient people to the wider world, it also made it harder to keep the almost stubborn confidence of the latter, especially for her. As the Throne gave her understanding past Mesoamerica, it made it harder for her to confidently defend a practice that she had never liked all that much anyways… The knowledge of how it colored her people in history even stung a little.
However, that sheepishness does drop as Liem asks another question. She pauses with a little ah, and just with how her own expression shifts, it’s clear. This is a difficult subject. Her smile falters, but it settles again, though it seems forced. ]
…Mm. Not so many. Not anymore.
[ Where do you even start to explain…? She looks down at Liem’s handkerchief and turns it over in her hands, folding and unfolding it as she considers it for a few moments. In a way, it’s easy to explain. But the easy explanation also sets her heart on fire and fills her with bitter, vicious anger. She thinks Liem would understand because she thinks anyone would understand… But that’s a hatred that she can’t indulge in. She knows it would warp her into something else. ]
There are people that still worship us out there, but they’ve had to hold tight to their traditions and hide them away for generations now. And I love the descendants of my Azteca still—Even if they don’t worship me, they still carry my blood, so I’ll always love them. It’s not their fault.
[ She feels that’s important to say first, because that’s the thing she’s clung to. Nothing lasts forever, and a principal part of their own view of the universe was that very prospect. One empire fell, but from it came countries that were beautiful all on their own, and they made great, beautiful things that her Azteca couldn’t even dream of. But when things end, it’s supposed to be something that the gods could understand too. War between neighboring peoples, an earthquake, even a great, impossible meteor.
Not a mortal man from a faraway land.
Quetzalcoatl abruptly stops toying with the handkerchief, instead holding it tight in her hands. ]
A foreign army so far across the sea that I'd never heard of them came and conquered the Azteca. To them, my people were savages.
[ Behind that smile and the simple words, there’s more anguish than she can express. Her people may not have been perfect, but no one was. They certainly didn’t deserve what the Spanish brought to them. She’d watched a whole culture die out so fast that she could scarcely believe it. Disease, cruelty, subjugation, evangelization—All of it brought the Azteca and every other surrounding tribe to their knees. And when her people cried out for their gods to save them, she couldn’t. The Age of Gods had ended. Never again could the Divine set foot on the Earth as they truly were, even to save their beloved people.
Her grip turns white-knuckled, but still, she’s careful to not tear the fabric all the same. She can’t get into the details and maybe doesn’t want to. So, her last little comment is deceptively simple too. ]
cw: colonialism, fr,
However, that sheepishness does drop as Liem asks another question. She pauses with a little ah, and just with how her own expression shifts, it’s clear. This is a difficult subject. Her smile falters, but it settles again, though it seems forced. ]
…Mm. Not so many. Not anymore.
[ Where do you even start to explain…? She looks down at Liem’s handkerchief and turns it over in her hands, folding and unfolding it as she considers it for a few moments. In a way, it’s easy to explain. But the easy explanation also sets her heart on fire and fills her with bitter, vicious anger. She thinks Liem would understand because she thinks anyone would understand… But that’s a hatred that she can’t indulge in. She knows it would warp her into something else. ]
There are people that still worship us out there, but they’ve had to hold tight to their traditions and hide them away for generations now. And I love the descendants of my Azteca still—Even if they don’t worship me, they still carry my blood, so I’ll always love them. It’s not their fault.
[ She feels that’s important to say first, because that’s the thing she’s clung to. Nothing lasts forever, and a principal part of their own view of the universe was that very prospect. One empire fell, but from it came countries that were beautiful all on their own, and they made great, beautiful things that her Azteca couldn’t even dream of. But when things end, it’s supposed to be something that the gods could understand too. War between neighboring peoples, an earthquake, even a great, impossible meteor.
Not a mortal man from a faraway land.
Quetzalcoatl abruptly stops toying with the handkerchief, instead holding it tight in her hands. ]
A foreign army so far across the sea that I'd never heard of them came and conquered the Azteca. To them, my people were savages.
[ Behind that smile and the simple words, there’s more anguish than she can express. Her people may not have been perfect, but no one was. They certainly didn’t deserve what the Spanish brought to them. She’d watched a whole culture die out so fast that she could scarcely believe it. Disease, cruelty, subjugation, evangelization—All of it brought the Azteca and every other surrounding tribe to their knees. And when her people cried out for their gods to save them, she couldn’t. The Age of Gods had ended. Never again could the Divine set foot on the Earth as they truly were, even to save their beloved people.
Her grip turns white-knuckled, but still, she’s careful to not tear the fabric all the same. She can’t get into the details and maybe doesn’t want to. So, her last little comment is deceptively simple too. ]
So, you can guess what happened, yes?