girls of effulgence | bts

twenty-six

While Pride left after dying his tears to tell the other sins about his plan, and Wrath soon after, Pandora's Box sat just the same, waiting for her sons to come back. She was glowing a brilliant red because of her son's gracious gift to her, and it made her feel better and more powerful. Even though it didn't seem like it, the sins' mother was proud of how powerful her children had become.

Even though their mother was, unnaturally, a box, she still had feelings like any other mom, even if she had a heart of gold and brains of steel, which really should never have a chance to move and think, but magic allowed all of that. She had memories of her children that would forever grace her mind, and she truly did love them, even if they sometimes did not love her in return.

She remembered it like it was yesterday - in her grand top ten list of things, which was filled with both angelic and chaotic neutral things, the day that her sons were brought to her for the very first time.

It was thousands of years ago when Pandora's Box shined with new and didn't have any wrinkles like she did now. The box simply had been asleep, asleep and empty, when she suddenly felt her privacy invaded.

Then there were things inside her.

Things that kicked and screamed and tried to tear her apart. The beatings were so bad, she had dents from where her children tried to escape. It felt like a literal burden to carry, both emotionally and physically, in her now-full stomach, and inside her mind.

She had dealt with this for months, sitting and being useless, getting more bent out of shape as each child slammed into her, begging to get out.

This was not a pregnancy, this was a prison. Just like prisoners, her children etched pictures and drawings on the sides of her from the dents like captives would do with chalk or pebbles on their walls, to count their days in a locked-down eternal abyss, counting down until they would be set free. If they would be set free. If they could ever be set free, was the question that both the mother and the children asked, but it always hung in the air like a cat in the tree. Never coming down, and never be answered. Unsure of how it got up but was never going to come down.

But one day, the cat did come down. It was the first time The Box had felt fresh air in years, and for the first time, she felt the burden of her seven children lift off and fly away. The children, eager to see an opening, flew out faster than their mother could ever imagine, and just like that, her children had left her to go on their own.

At first, it was a brilliant feeling. Pandora's Box could finally break free from her chains, even though she was the prison, she felt allowed to do what she pleased without hurting anyone or herself. Yes, her scars would always remain, but she had grown quite fond of them over the years. She thought of them more as artwork rather than bruises, they were her children's, after all.

But it left her with an empty feeling.

Though she had been dragged through what seemed to be endless piles of muck, braved thousands of physical threats, and had survived almost being smashed, she couldn't help but feel a little lonely and empty.

Her children had left her, for a greater expedition. But didn't she give a thrill too? It's not like she could have opened herself up to them.

Though she would have in a heartbeat if given the chance.

She supposed this was abnormal, or perhaps a matter of contention. Mothers really weren't supposed to enjoy their kids beating them. Mothers also weren't supposed to be boxes, but here she was anyway, living proof that a mother could be anything she wanted, and choose whatever emotions she liked to show.

It was all whatever opinion someone held, that if a box could be a mother, the kids didn't have to be perfectly normal, and Pandora's Box was okay with that. If she wasn't the norm, her kids didn't have to be typical just because she wasn't.