Minerva stared at the chest board in front of her as if willing the pieces to move with her mind alone. The week had been productive, she had completed the incubation chamber upgrades she had been planning to reduce the odds of 'deformities' and 'abnormalities' in the creation of more Gods, yet here she sit, staring at the black and brown oak board as her mother was off thinking of them. The traitor who had ran with his tail between his legs and now sought to make her mother's like difficult by grouping together with other rejects. It made her sick. She knew, of course, that under different circumstances, she would have been one of those defections, but she was different. She... was different.
Reaching out with her small hand, her eyes traced the burned scars that ran along the back of her hand and wrist, the skin looked as if someone had grabbed it and twisted until it started to warp out of shape, almost like a bag that had been crunched together. It could never go back to what it was before. Moving her bishop, she declared checkmate, on herself. She often played alone, few people knew how to play, and she had no desire to teach the others as they were, more often then not, utterly incompetent. She had better ways to spend her time as even playing against herself was better then that.
With the game finished, to which she tried to drag out as long as possible, Minerva leaned back in her wooden chair, ignoring the way it forced her scars to pull uncomfortably against the hard surface. She had other projects to work on, but the lack of attention for her newest project had hit a little closer to home then she wanted to admit, she was content to sit alone for a bit to collect and gather her bitter thoughts.
Reaching out with her small hand, her eyes traced the burned scars that ran along the back of her hand and wrist, the skin looked as if someone had grabbed it and twisted until it started to warp out of shape, almost like a bag that had been crunched together. It could never go back to what it was before. Moving her bishop, she declared checkmate, on herself. She often played alone, few people knew how to play, and she had no desire to teach the others as they were, more often then not, utterly incompetent. She had better ways to spend her time as even playing against herself was better then that.
With the game finished, to which she tried to drag out as long as possible, Minerva leaned back in her wooden chair, ignoring the way it forced her scars to pull uncomfortably against the hard surface. She had other projects to work on, but the lack of attention for her newest project had hit a little closer to home then she wanted to admit, she was content to sit alone for a bit to collect and gather her bitter thoughts.