“One need not be a chamber to be haunted;
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Material place.” - Emily Dickinson, "Time and Eternity"
The inside of the control tower was not a place fit to live in: it was a place where some people managed to survive in spite of the conditions they endured. Moira was not unfamiliar with this kind of life, where you survived against all odds, even though it had not been in a Control Tower in space. She had fought hard to forget her past, to, at the very least, come to grips with it, but the memories were still there and they would always be. That probably explained why lately she woke up drenched in sweat and screaming so hard her throat felt sore. Maybe that explained why the stale, recycled air felt even more oppressing and heavy than it really was.
She eyed herself in the mirror. Usually she felt proud, or just lucky, the bad times in her life had not erased her good looks. After a night filled with nightmares, though, she was hard pressed to believe they were still there. Her blonde hair hung in sweat soaked strands; her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. No smile, no sparkling green eyes, no bright skin, just a pale, tired young woman, with aching muscles and a terrible, throbbing, headache which gave her no truces or respite. She rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath, resting her elbows on the side of the sink and cradling her head in her hands. She just wanted the headaches to stop, though she knew they would not abate, not with less than four hours of sleep per day.
The feel of the tiny sweat drops running down her back made her skin crawl and her stomach churn. Beneath the image of a competent assistant and businesswoman she was not a frail person, she was not unfamiliar with hardship, but these conditions had brought about a persona that she kept hidden. She was beginning to wonder her own worth, she felt frail and useless. Out here if you were not on a pod, flying a battleship, you were not worth a lot.
It didn’t matter Than had given her these living quarters and decided to spend most of the time stuck inside her capsule, just floating around. She liked to say it was a relief and it felt like freedom, but Moira saw better on her face when she came over for coffee and drinks: she saw a hint of sheer exhaustion and it hurt her. She knew her boss was doing that for her, to make her feel a bit better.
The icy water from the shower felt like a thousand nails stabbing her skin, sending little shots of pain through her nerves. She winced at first and just tried to relax her mind and enjoy the feeling of all her muscles pulling taut, making her feel, once again fresh and fit. Even the air felt lighter and tastier.
She wasn’t in a gilded cage anymore, serving at someone’s whim. Yes, she was confined and going through a rough patch, but it was a path of her own choosing.
She got out of the shower and hailed Thanagherion on the comms. She had to tell her how Celeris had freaked about the purchase of the Navy Dominix Class Battleship. Actually, about how she had almost lost her voice when Moira told her to transfer about half a billion isk in funds.
Yes, she was the master of her own life and to be honest of a few other lives as well.
So why couldn’t she shake all those memories and the feeling of being trapped?
