[ Kida would have considered it a waste as well, so she's happy to watch Sieglinde enjoy herself. That is, until Sieglinde's eyes become distant and unfocused, remembering some once-read information. Kida listens intently.
She remembers...how much does she remember? From the world above? She'd been so small, barely a few centuries old. Atlanteans age as normal humans do while they are babies, and their aging slows and slows and slows so quickly that by the time they are able to speak they are a few decades old. Their brains are as unripe as any human child's, however; Kida can't recall much from that distant part of her past. She remembers pale streets lit by the sun. She remembers grass, trees, fruit, mist and rain. She does not know if Atlantis was vast, if it had provinces or towns big enough to require their own governors. But it isn't out of the question. She knows her people's history is ancient and that they used to be great--older citizens have told her as much. But her father preserves the lion's share of the knowledge, and he refuses to share it.
Was this what he was keeping from her, then? War? That Atlantis doomed itself?
For a long time after Sieglinde finishes her tale, Kida sits in silence, mulling over it all. If war is the missing piece, certainly, other things make more sense: her father's reticence, his shame, his insistence that the people were safe and content underground.
He was wrong. They were human. They needed the sun, and the wind, and the sky over their heads. They needed it and deserved it. ]
Sieglinde...thank you. For sharing this. [ After she realizes she's been silent for a stretch, she offers an apologetic smile. ] Forgive me, my thoughts run deep. My people's history is a mystery to me, and I want--I want so badly to know. To understand.
[ Realizing she's speaking to a child, capable though she may be, Kida makes a bit of a face of annoyance at herself. Surely, she's sunk to new lows of desperation. ] I am sorry to have bothered you like this.
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She remembers...how much does she remember? From the world above? She'd been so small, barely a few centuries old. Atlanteans age as normal humans do while they are babies, and their aging slows and slows and slows so quickly that by the time they are able to speak they are a few decades old. Their brains are as unripe as any human child's, however; Kida can't recall much from that distant part of her past. She remembers pale streets lit by the sun. She remembers grass, trees, fruit, mist and rain. She does not know if Atlantis was vast, if it had provinces or towns big enough to require their own governors. But it isn't out of the question. She knows her people's history is ancient and that they used to be great--older citizens have told her as much. But her father preserves the lion's share of the knowledge, and he refuses to share it.
Was this what he was keeping from her, then? War? That Atlantis doomed itself?
For a long time after Sieglinde finishes her tale, Kida sits in silence, mulling over it all. If war is the missing piece, certainly, other things make more sense: her father's reticence, his shame, his insistence that the people were safe and content underground.
He was wrong. They were human. They needed the sun, and the wind, and the sky over their heads. They needed it and deserved it. ]
Sieglinde...thank you. For sharing this. [ After she realizes she's been silent for a stretch, she offers an apologetic smile. ] Forgive me, my thoughts run deep. My people's history is a mystery to me, and I want--I want so badly to know. To understand.
[ Realizing she's speaking to a child, capable though she may be, Kida makes a bit of a face of annoyance at herself. Surely, she's sunk to new lows of desperation. ] I am sorry to have bothered you like this.