Gertrude Robinson is decisive.
She makes her choices and she backs them up with every action she takes. She does not hesitate. She does not question herself. She does not regret.
This was good for a while. It made her move forward faster than anyone else she’d ever met and Gertrude likes being fast. Overtaking peers who’d figured out far later than her that they simply were not in the same league brought her a special kind of joy. Then there was that look her teachers and professors and so-called superiors would give her when they realised that she was destined to surpass them. That was an even better kind of joy. The sort she could sink her teeth into and let fill her belly like a warm meal.
Then Gertrude was twenty five and a man she thought was called James Wright asked her if she would like to be head archivist and she said yes.
Then things started to try and kill her. Then she started to try and kill those things back. And, hey, what do you know? It turns out that killing monsters is just another thing Gertrude Robinson excels at.
It’s not like she had another option.
Gertrude Robinson is decisive and unwavering and has never doubted herself in her life. So when she looks back on the choice she made at twenty five all she sees is the inevitability of it. The way the path of her life had no side roads, there was always only one route she could ever take.
You’re wrong, the eye tells her, your choices are yours, yours, yours and you could have done all the other things you were planning to do with your life. You’re the one who blinded yourself to the other paths you could have taken and I would never presume to hide such knowledge from my beloved archivist.
Gertrude Robinson never regrets her choices. Not even when she should.