Zurich's mind was one not easily followed.
From a young age, she was never herself. She hadn't had enough time to develop any sense of self-comfort and realization to what she believed or wanted to believe. She was a mold of ideals from those who held power over her actions, those who commanded and demanded.
It was a string of chaos from Dee, to Aellwenn, Harlyn, Blince, Balthen, Maguaus, Amerry, Bouddycca—those between and near, as well. But each were such different people, thus interactions differed far...What they had planted in the woman would shine in separate conditions, and likely surprise any who thought that they could completely predict her line of action.
Balthen and Maguaus, or 'Rick'. Both had a grip on her mind that left her in constant anxiety, each and every day. One would think she'd grow too tired and exhausted from having so much worry, but she knew their dangers to be real, and could not hide away from the impending feeling of doom that their names and memories stirred. She wasn't sure which she feared most, though the latter was surely more pressing and watchful. Balthen was a threat that feld like a coil, pressing down slowly, ready to spring up and snap back into her life when she might least expect it.
And she had always been submissive, unwilling to stand by herself. But the monster of a man, Balthen, had carved cowering fear into reaches of her soul that it would never escape. Having been more or less his slave, for a period of two weeks that had consisted of controlling her through nearly pure pain, she had practically forgotten the kindness that some men could have. Adaptation was her single skill, and to survive, she had allowed herself to become brainwashed. These are memories she cannot escape from—they lay carved into her skin, from each bite of the knife, each winding lash of a whip, and the callous of her skin from where he had dragged her for miles of mile behind a horse.
She kept in secluded near isolation after being rescued. It took her weeks to smile, weeks to stop apologizing every other word to her mentor Blince. It took weeks longer until her body was ready to begin becoming stronger, and she had kept to bedrest for so long that it was like learning to walk all over again.
But she was slowly coming to realize that she didn't want to live anymore. She went through the motions of healing because those around her demanded that she did. Adaption, survival.
So she turned to the bottle, after uncovering hundreds and hundreds of silver that had never been delivered for Indignation affairs—but she couldn't find herself to care. She was callous and apathetic to the fate of those she didn't know. Harlyn had disappeared along with the rest of her friends and companions, and she assumed them all dead. She couldn't find herself to care.
Blince had become the only thing keeping her out of falling into complete depression.
But now was a time that she was finally able to let what Harlyn had set inside of her to shine:
She was restless, and on a whim, offered to help a pair of men in their hunt for the Bree-Town Ripper. Her, and what little of Indignation that remained. She met, and her stutter rarely breached through, and she did not break to negotiations that she didn't agree upon. She felt, for once—strong. It was the strength that Bouddycca had begun to return to her, doubling with the sharp tongue and stubborn manner given by Harlyn.
She now had work, and she had reason to try and windmill her personality.
She did not expect everything to be easy, nor for the plans devised to work in the least; but she hardly cared, for the rush of doing anything overpowered the dull life of drinking that occupied a great deal of the present.
