Irene fic that needs a titel :)

This takes place at some point after Rob's bday party - not entirely sure what happens there yet or during any investigations by the GW, but oh well

Irene had expected a lot of things when she had posted her interview. She had anticipated the controversy and the disapproval from the elite. She had also expected that the Cirrane Press Society wanted her to lay low. She had been temporarily put on hold, not allowed to write any new pieces or make any public statements until the after-effects of this had blown over. But her career definitely wasn’t ending anytime soon. In fact, the article had given the newspaper the most traffic they had had in years. She also wasn’t surprised by the mixed praise and criticism. Nor the following investigation from the Godia Warriors. It had all played out more or less as she thought it would, with the exception of Robert’s failure to have her back. That one had stung. But what she hadn’t anticipated were the hundreds of e-mails and messages she received from all over the country, detailing the personal accounts and lived experiences of the Nachon population. It was horrifying.

If she had been kinder to herself, she wouldn’t be sitting up this late, scrolling through the accounts of abuse, homelessness and rampant GW brutality. In fact, she had already long since changed into her pajamas, fully having intended to put it aside for today and to get some rest. But it was like a carcrash you couldn’t look away from. She was sitting on the couch in her living room, as she had been for hours, reading their stories. The worst part was the attachments. Real, tangible proof that this was not fiction. On her screen was an email, from a 19-year old girl who had been on the run for the last five years or so. Her powers had come in shortly before a school dance and suddenly, prom-dresses and teenage crushes had been replaced with life on the road and stone-cold survival. These days she was in Sanston, hoping that soon she got the chance to cross the border to either Ganthery or Nameto. While the chances of life getting easier there were slim, it was better than losing hope all together. Irene read the account with a deep frown on her face. At 19 Irene had moved to Ilomar City to attend university and her biggest concern had been whether she would find her place in a city so big. She had worked so hard to become what she wanted to be and had rarely ever considered the privileges that had even made that possible to begin with. Comparatively, this girl had nothing. Judging from the email she was an excellent writer as well, something that hardly came to her benefit in a country that wanted her dead. That was heartbreaking.

As an air-kirscha, Irene had always seen her powers as a benefit to her. The wind would always be at her back, both literally and figuratively. And while there were stereotypes associated with her element, it came to her benefit. Being seen as mysterious, light, and artistically inclined, she certainly didn’t mind it. And besides the occasional weirdo, it had never been something people would make her feel aware of or uncomfortable with. It was simply part of her identity and she had naively thought that that went for most warlocks in this part of the world. Of course, she had, like everyone else, known that nachons were viewed differently, but she had never sat down and actually considered what that meant for the people it impacted. It hadn’t hindered her ability to live her life. Now she felt ignorant for that. She wondered if she had even ever known a nachon. If she had, would she have helped them, been on their side? She would like to think that she would. She saw herself as a good person, a progressive woman. But in the end, she probably wasn’t unlike Robert and the rest of high society. Always putting her own self-interest first. She wasn’t an activist, nor particularly radical or rebellious. She had an inbox filled with stories of discrimination. And at the end of the day, she knew she wouldn’t publish them. That would be career-suicide. The thought left a nasty taste in her mouth. It was selfish. She was selfish.