Cannibal (FemShep x Miranda)
The flat was dark and empty when Miranda came home. The noise of the Citadel immediately silenced behind the sealed door. She was finally alone.
“I’m home.” She said to the dark, kicking off her boots and stepping into the living room.
She expected her voice to fill the room, but it fell flat in the empty space. She had grown accustomed to the buzzing halls of the Normandy—hissing and creaking, its constant chatter and hum. She’d yearned for this peace and quiet every moment she had been away. Now her home seemed to almost taunt her with tranquility.
Miranda made a disgusted noise deep in the back of her throat and tossed a handful of data pads onto the table. What was wrong with her?
She used to love being alone. All her life she’d felt like a prized pet or a science experiment—always on display, always ready to perform. Her flat on the Citadel had been the first and only place she was ever truly free.
She leaned against the back of her couch and released a slow, measured breath. Skycars steadily flashed by her windows. Their lights peaked through the grates, casting dynamic checkered patterns that glittered across the floor.
Outside these walls, the galaxy was full of cannibals, people who only knew how to take. Her father, Cerberus, the sloppy drunk at the bar. They tore and picked her apart, piece by piece. She had been made to be used, after all, one way or the other.
After 35 years, the world had devoured almost everything she was, leaving little more than a husk behind. She hated how cavernous she felt in her body, how acute the emptiness had become. And with every passing year, the hollow space in her chest only seemed to grow.
That was…until Commander Shepard.
In many ways, Jane was the opposite of Miranda. Miranda was made in a lab. She was cold, distant, meticulous. Jane had been forged by fire. She was vibrant and enduring. If Miranda had been made to be used, Jane had been made to survive—Mindoir, Akuze, Project Lazarus—but like Miranda, she was a tool all the same. Maybe that’s why it had seemed to work, for a while.
Jane was the first person Miranda had ever met who didn’t try to take anything from her. She gave—too much, in fact—so much that Miranda didn’t know where to put it all. Maybe that’s why she had just idly stood there when Shepard asked her to stay, laughing and rolling her eyes at the sincere request.
Miranda only knew how to be used. She didn’t know how to be loved. Secretly, she was afraid she didn’t know how to love either. Maybe she was a cannibal too, like the rest of them.
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"And [she] that was dead came forth, [draped] with graveclothes; and [her] face was [scarred]..."
John.11.44. The Bible. King James Version, Oxford UP, 1998.
(Thanks to @masseffectwillcontinue on Instagram for sharing the above awesome art of our favorite commander!)
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