i-hold-with-those-who-favor-fire

[i-hold-with-those-who-favor-fire]

NaNoWritMo Story

Reyveen moves in her sleep, my shirt riding up on her side, revealing slivery scars. I reach out, my fingers trailing the longest one. She wakes, slowly, like the rising sun. I smile, watching her. She is usually up immediately, ready for a fight, but not in my bed. A fact that still shocks me.

“Hello, sweetheart.” Her smile is audible, making me want to kiss her. I don’t, but I take her hand in mine.

“You have a good night?” I half expect her to jump out of bed to start the day, but she doesn’t.

“Mmmm. I’m on the short list for head of defense at the academy. They like a couple other people for the job too, but I think I’ll get it.” She curls around me, her hands running through my hair. “You should try for the illusionist position.”

I wiggle until we are looking into each others’ face. It’s not the first time we’ve had this conversation. “You know I’m out of the magic business. I enjoy owning my own smithy. Why would I want to run around chasing down brats who don’t care?”

“If you won’t work there, come visit me during class. Illusions are important in defense, even if no one believes it.” She’s grinning at me, the big one she only uses when she thinks she’s won something.

“You do know we’d scar the poor kids for life, right?” Her grin fades into the true smile only I get to see. I know she’s figured out that I can’t tell her no.

“Mmmhmm, it’d be worth it though.” After a little bit of thought, she says, “You know, today I have a class of fifth years who could use your help. Please come?”

I sigh at her, rolling onto my back. “Why these kids? I have five orders and I don’t like ten year olds.” We both know my protest is by rote; I’m going in with her.

“The two most popular kids in this class are fascinated by illusions and I may have told them about you. They’d love it if you showed them a few tricks.” She starts tracing patterns on my hip.

“The popular ones want to see me blather on about color and refraction points? I doubt it.”

“Doubt all you want, they do.” She’s smiling again, and I am struck by the thought that she has relaxed around me in a way she does around so few. “You’re doing it again,” She says, laughing. “I can tell your mind has wandered off, want to share?”

I roll back onto my side so I can see her face again,“You are beautiful.”

Her eyes go soft, sparkling like stars. “Is that what distracted you? We were just talking about children.” She sounds slightly reproachful, with a hint of sarcasm.

“It was. How soon until we have to leave?”

“Not for half an hour, why?” She sits up, the blankets falling to her lap. I want to kiss her, so I sit up and pull her close. After a minute, she gently pushes me away and stands up.“You are incredibly distracting, my dear, but I do need to shower.”

I fall back in bed, laughing at her, “Go, get clean. I’ll get dressed and make you breakfast.” She bends over, kissing me again.

I watch her drop her shirt in the hamper as she heads to the bathroom. It never stops surprising me that she is not the least bit body shy. I listen as the shower starts, then roll out of bed to get dressed.

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I’ve always had trouble breathing. See, the part of my body that controls things like breathing and heart rate as always been kind of messed up. It’s not like an obvious disability where people post photos of you online to make them feel better or like the kind that makes you the center of sad stories about dead kids. It just kind of sucks.

So really, when I stopped breathing I just figured my new meds were working and I didn’t have to think about breathing anymore. I didn’t think I wasn’t breathing at all.

Except I had a three-month follow-up for my medication change. So I mentioned that my new meds were helping my breathing to the new nurse as we walked back to take my vitals before the appointment. She kind of made polite noises and told me to let the doctor know that. She started attaching the different readers to me. You know, pulse, blood pressure, blood oxygen, standard stuff.

Then she tells me to wait there and takes off. I figure maybe she’s gotta use the restroom or something so I sit there. A few minutes later, she comes back with a wheelchair and like six people I’ve never seen before and tells me I’m being admitted to the ER right now.

And I’m thinking that’s overkill for a high heart rate since that’s normal for my condition. It’s in my file, but really, arguing with a doctor only ever gets me tagged with an anxiety diagnosis, or worse, a difficult patient warning, so I agree. She probably just wants to give me fluids anyway and it’s not like they’re going to hurt me.

Ten minutes after I get tucked into a bed, I’m reconsidering my assessment. I think every doctor in the hospital as swung by to “check” on me and read my chart. They all look worried as they leave too.

After like an hour, my doctor comes down and starts asking all these questions about my activity level and how I feel. He keeps asking even when I tell him I’m fine, well, maybe a little light-headed, but like that’s an average Tuesday so I don’t think it’s anything worth all this commotion.

Then he hits me with it. I haven’t been breathing since I walked into the building. I’m a medical anomaly. Yay, I guess. We figure pretty quickly that it’s been like two months since I last took a breath since that’s when I started sleeping better.

He starts telling me all these things he’s worried about, but all I can think of is how nice it’s been sleeping without feeling like I’m being choked or having to think about it.

Really, this not breathing thing means my body can mess up one less thing.

You’ve totally forgotten how to breathe. However, it doesn’t seem to be affecting you. Not negatively, anyway.

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You hear things working in the kitchen in hell. Usually, it’s nothing important, just things like who’s sleeping with whom, what politician is taking bribes, that sort of nonsense. To be honest, I just didn’t pay attention to any of it, life’s easier that way. Can’t be tortured for information if no one thinks you have it.

And honestly, who’d go to a dishwasher for anything important, really? I just sit here and scrape hellhound spit off dishes. Sure, maybe the ventilation allows me to hear the discussions in the private dining rooms, but everyone knows the real back door deals happen in the main dining area. Everyone knows the back rooms are bugged by the big boss anyway.

Except this time, it was the big boss himself in the back room. Talking about his plan to take heaven by force. Really all he wanted was to reduce the number of soccer moms in hell. I can’t even blame him, they complain about me! They can’t even see me! I can’t imagine being in charge of hell when a Karen comes storming up demanding a manager “fix” her problem or honor her “torture five sinners, get one free” coupon that expired before the angels fell.

But today. Today. We were short servers. And maybe my boss knows that I used to be an angel in a past life and maybe he thought that I would be better to serve the big guy then Chad number ten who was here for cheating in his fantasy football league.

So yeah, I guess I’m a fallen angel, but like I was the angel who washed the toilets in heaven so it’s not like I was a big name or anything before.

Still, I got the apron and the piece of paper to write the order and took it because you don’t keep nice jobs like dishwashing by arguing with your boss.

So I take the big boss’s order and I’m about to leave when he starts talking about how to get into heaven secretly. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. But I thought, maybe if I get on the good side of the big boss he’ll let me move up to window washing at the palace.

So I say “hey, you know the utility closets in heaven and hell are the same, right?” Figuring he already knew and just thought it was a bad invasion point. Anything’s worth a try to get out of dishwashing.

Except he didn’t know. Asked me how I knew. So I explained the whole “janitor from heaven, fell hoping hell would let me do something other than clean toilets” thing. Not the greatest reason to rebel but Micheal didn’t know how to flush and there’s only so much I want to know about an archangel, you feel?

So anyway, I told the big boss all about the closet and where it comes out in each place. How to get through too. I mean. I figured it wasn’t a big deal, let the boss know about it, go wash dishes.

But then, I’m invited to help plan the whole thing. Gotta guide them, right? And really, I Fell to get out cleaning toilets, trying to overthrow heaven to get out of washing dishes didn’t seem like that big a deal.

Which is how I got here, leading the armies of hell through the back halls of heaven, looking for god’s office. Nothing’s changed much since I fell, so I’m pretty quick at getting us around. I think if we succeed, the big boss is going to put me in charge of the sixth circle as a bonus.

Hey, anything’s better than toilets.

“How in God’s name do you go from washing dishes to overthrowing heaven?”

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You see, the thing is I didn’t think anyone would believe me when I said I was already dead. I mean, it just sounds absurd, right? How could I tell you I’m dead, if I was, you know, dead and all that jazz? My fatal (ha!) mistake was forgetting how important funerals are to the Serak.

I moved to the Serak home dimension on a work placement for the department of inter-dimensional cultural communication because I’m a vampire. Now, I’m not supposed to be a vampire. We don’t exist in this universe or any dimension of it. We just don’t. But you know how this goes: you get brought into this world kicking and screaming and someone makes you get a job.

Unfortunately, since I can’t technically exist, I kind of had to lie about the whole being dead already thing. Hence the placement with people who are big on funeral rites thing. Which totally wouldn’t have been a thing at all, except since I can’t go home and I can’t exist here, I sort of maybe starting making jokes. Since you know, I’m pale and can’t go out into the sun and everything. Perhaps joking about being dead when people ask where I’m from might have been pushing it, but really, can you blame me? It’s not like anyone believes me about it. It’s all “haha, very funny Edwina, we know you’re from Denmark.”

Except maayybee I shouldn’t have made that joke to my new co-workers in the Serak capital city. Since they have this thing about funerals and how you kind of have to have one if you “die” even if it didn’t stick. And maybe someone above Carol should have asked some questions since I can clearly talk, but that would violate the whole “believe others” thing the Serak had going on.

And I guess maybe getting a Serak style coffin for my new apartment was overkill, but I didn’t even do it on purpose this time, I swear! They just look exactly like your standard-issue haunted four-poster bed from home and maybe I got a little homesick seeing it and didn’t ask too many questions of the sales rep. It’s not like I expected the Serakian funeral agency to break into my house to check for dead bodies! I was sleeping!

So maybe they saw me “dead” in a “coffin” and jumped to some conclusions. Conclusions that had funeral agents carry my bed out to the city funeral grounds with me in it. I do sleep like the dead.

Because I’m a guest from a different dimension, I kind of got a big state funeral. With lots of guests. Guests who filmed the whole thing and may have sent to out to everyone.

And maybe I kind of sort of woke up during the whole thing and rolled over to go back to sleep in front of the crowd. Honestly, I didn’t even notice them all. Strangers watching you sleep is kind of a vampire norm.

It may have caused an inter-dimensional incident and I may have gotten fired. But hey, at least everyone believes me about the whole being dead thing now?

You’re sleeping peacefully but you just can’t get comfortable so you sit up, fluff your pillow and turn over to your side falling back asleep, everyone at your funeral is shocked and terrified.

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Curtains fall, lights dim, And in the dark, we’re throwing words like knives until we both bleed.

A poem I’ll never send

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Spypunk chapter two

The Visit

I am woken by Mary at eight. She tucks me into a green visiting dress, the color chosen to set off my auburn hair. Mary also puts my hair up into an elegant bun, leaving only a few strands loose.

“The green slippers or the heels, my lady?” Her question is clarified when she offers two pairs of shoes.

Taking a moment to decide, I say, “The slippers, Mary, the Countess is short.”

I breakfast quickly, then move to my study for business. There are a number of letters from my cousin about the management of my country estate, as well as some from my former schoolmates. I read the letters, passing the morning in quiet correspondence.

At precisely one o’clock, a maid appears to take the letters. I leave my study, walking to the better of my two sitting rooms. I wait for the first of my callers, but do not expect there will be many. It is, after all, only the first week of the season, and I am but a baronetess.

My butler knocks, then enters with a card tray. “The Countess of Smelting to see you, my lady. Am I to let her in?”

“Yes, Edward. Send a maid to fetch tea.”

Edward bows, saying, “Of course, milady.” He slips out the door again.

The Countess is escorted in. She is dressed beautifully, in a stunning blue brocade dress, a touch on the overly fine side of fashionable for an afternoon visit. I rise to greet her, then gesture for her to sit. A moment after we are seated, a maid appears with the tea.

I pour us both cups while asking, “Has Lord Connelly recovered from his fit last night?” It is the only bit of gossip I can remember, having just read it in the paper this morning.

“Oh no, his wife locked him out for offending the ton. I would be surprised to see them together at the next event. Now on a different note, I must know, have you heard Marine Delacor play before?”

“Of whom do you speak?” I am not sure showing my ignorance is best, but it will lead the conversation enough for me to learn what information she is seeking.

“She is the musician playing at Duke Haven’s party. Do you not know modern music?” The Countess is utterly surprised by my lack of knowledge.

“I had not realized I should be giving it my attention. I shall endeavor learn more. Do you have a place you think I should start?” I find myself desiring her good opinion, and willing to reveal my ignorance if it will please her.

“Oh, yes! You must allow me to bring you to the Brasswheel Orchestra’s newest symphony! It has wonderful reviews from the best critics in Montrain. No young lady should go without seeing something the Orchestra has performed. There is no better way to understand the depths of music than hearing it played perfectly. Though you are lucky the Mechanic Opera has closed for repairs, otherwise I would make you see it as well.”

I speak before I can stop myself, “I do not hold with mechanicals.”

“Oh, my deepest apologies. I had not realized you would be uncomfortable with them. The Spindrop Orchestra is also very good, and is entirely human. Would you please come see a performance with me?” I cannot believe she is real; no one acts as kindly as she does. I do not think I can decline the invitation, she is everything I have ever wanted in a friend.

“I would be delighted to attend with you. When shall we go?” Her smile when I agree is blinding.

“Oh, soon of course! Do you have any engagements tonight? I would love to bring you with Daryl and I this evening.” She sounds worried that I would refuse her. I am almost tempted to say no, but the way her face falls when I do not answer quickly is not something I can live with.

“Unfortunately I do. Perhaps another evening?” I regret that I cannot attend, but must keep the engagement I have tonight. The head Spymaster is not one to be kept waiting.

“Then Saturday? I would love to take you soon.” She is hopeful, but I assume she thinks I am going to turn her down again.

“The day after the Duke’s musical? I believe I am free.” Her smile is soft, and very sweet. I wish to see it more often.

“Oh good, it shall be you and I. If some of my friends are there, would you meet them? I feel they would like you very much.” The Countess is smiling still,

“Shall we arrive together? I am free from the afternoon on.” I watch her closely. Part of me wishes her to say that we should arrive together after dining together, but I am not sure how safe that would be.

“I would love to arrive together, but my town carriage is drawn by mechanicals. If you do not wish to be driven by them, I understand. I would not wish you unhappy for the world.” Her thoughtfulness is astonishing to me, not even my own family would have been so concerned with my feelings.

“Might I travel on my own then, please?” My words came out far more pleading than I expected. I cannot handle the thought of traveling under the power of such creatures.

“Of course! I do not want to upset you. The orchestra starts at nine, so we must arrive by eight. Have you ever been to any musical performance before?” She is far more understanding than any I have met before. She has not even enquired about my fear, though it is an unusual one.

“Only small gatherings of friends.” I may not like any of my former schoolmates, but for this purpose, they will do.

“You will adore this, then. The music is wonderful, and hearing it as it is supposed to be played will give you a new appreciation of the art.”

We speak on music and politics for a while longer, before she says, “The hour has drawn far later than I thought, I must go. I will send a note with the address of the music hall.” She is incredibly apologetic, clearly having lost track of time. I look at the clock as well, noting that it is far pas the commonly held standard of fifteen minutes, being three thirty.

“I hope I have not kept you from your business, Countess. I will look for your letter soon.” I am sorry she has noticed the time.

“Please, one thing before I go. I would like you to call be Jasmine.”

“I will, so long as you call me Louisa.” I almost miss the glow of happiness on her face at my words.

I walk her to my door as we say our goodbyes. I am beginning to like her very much

The days between Jasmine calling on me and the Duke of Haver’s musical pass quickly. The only point standing out is the fitting for my dress, where I surprise myself by wondering what Jasmine will think of it.

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Spypunk chapter one

The Party

This party is not quite what I was trained for. The people are much kinder than I ever expected. I was raised to infiltrate and survey a ball, but I was never prepared for this. The lords and ladies are glittering, and while there is competition between them, they do not seem to hate each other. I am out of place, a feeling I had though was gone after my first infiltration assignment back in my early school days.

A strange man, dressed in a green trench coat, bumps into me from behind. “Pardon me dear. Are you all right? I must learn to watch where I am going.” He is flustered, but I find I cannot take advantage of it.

“Think no more of it, I am quite well.” My smile seems to relax him. He nods towards someone standing behind me.

“That is a neat trick, balancing in those heels. I must say I have never managed it.” The woman walks around in front of me. She is dressed to the hight of fashion in a long, flowing, white gown. I am impressed by the wealth displayed through the cut and materials they both use. Both must be wealthy, possibly titled as well.

“Might I learn your names?” I ask politely. I may not want to ruin anyone’s reputation, but a part of me still wants to learn everything I can. Besides, I should already know their lands and titles, that I do not know them by sight bothers me. They look at one another, seemingly deciding who would make the introduction. While I wait, I surreptitiously watch them. She is slightly older than me, around twenty-two or so, and short. Her dress is made of the finest fabric, and her jewelry is real diamonds and gold. He is less well off, but still dressed expensively. They are type of noble that would be a good mark, if only I was here working.

After a moment or two of silent conversation, the young lady says, “I am Lady Jasmine, Countess of Smelting. My companion is Lord Daryl, Viscount of Dunbar. We are enchanted to meet you.” Her curtsy is low for someone of such rank, and his bow is a trifle shallow.

“I am Lady Louisa, Baronetess of Veinbridge, at your service.” I curtsy very low for, as my old professors said, it is always better to flatter than offend.

The song in the background ends, and Lord Daryl clears his throat, “Might I have this dance, Lady Louisa?” He offers his hand, but his manner suggests he does not think I will take it.

Wondering about his assumption, I do and say, “Of course, my lord.”

We take one of the newly vacated places in the line of dancers. I quickly figure out why he did not think I would accept; his dancing is abysmal. He loses his steps, has no sense of rhythm, and give too much attention to the dance. We have no conversation until the dance ends and he escorts me back to the countess. Still, it is not the worst dance I have had.

Once back with Lady Jasmine she asks about my plans for the season. Somehow that leads to a conversation about estate management.

“Do you really not have a steward? I cannot imagine leaving my lands without anyone to watch over them.” Lord Daryl sounds very surprised, which is odd considering how long they have known one another.

Lady Jasmine smiles slightly as she answers. “My younger cousin acts as a steward.”

“My family also believed in keeping family in charge of all decisions for our lands.” I add, “My father recruited a third cousin from Draywell for the position.”

Lord Daryl turns to me and asks, “Your cousin is from Draywell? Have you ever been? I hear the king has a summer home there.”

“Twice, though not recently. I have lately been in Sven-on-Rowe.”

The conversation turns to monarchs and their palaces. Soon enough it changes over to philosophy and ruling methods. None of us dance again, enjoying our debates too much. I cannot find it in myself to care, though I have found dances to be the best way to stay unnoticed in a crowd. I have never been so well entertained among strangers.  I am beginning to believe that my time in town shall be enjoyable.

The only damper to my happiness this evening are the mechanicals wandering the room. I do not think the Baron or Countess notice my reluctance to accept refreshments from them. Still, I prefer this party to any I attended previously, both during my childhood and schooling.

Boom! I am pulled out of the conversation by the clock striking midnight. I must leave but first, “I have deeply enjoyed our discussion, but I must be going now. Might I see you both at His Grace, the Duke of Haven’s musical?” I surprise myself with the question; the last thing I should be doing is encouraging a countess and a baron to notice me. I almost recant and say I will not be there, but the hopeful look on Countess Jasmine’s face makes me stop.

“Lady Louisa, I am delighted that you will be attending. I will be sure to find you there. Perhaps I may call on you soon?” The Countess’s manner is open, as it was all night, but I am suspicious of her motives. She is of high enough rank to know of my education.

Still, “I would love to have you call. I am at home on Tuesdays.” I watch her closely, still waiting for a sign she is not quite what she seems.

Lady Jasmine’s smile is blinding. Her words are slightly soft, almost like they are meant only for me. “I will be there. Morning or afternoon?”

“Afternoon.” I want time to prepare for her arrival.

She curtsies again, “I hope your trip home will be uneventful.”

I smile, saying nothing, and take my leave.

My carriage is waiting outside. It is a grand affair, done up in the black and silver of my family crest. The only thing marking it other on this night are the horses that pull it. I am forever glad my father and his parents before him were clever with our family’s lands. Arriving and departing events like this in a fine vehicle does make one fade into the background of general nobility.

Once at home, I summon my housekeeper, Mrs. Brown, to my study. She is a woman of middling years, dressed modestly. She bobs a curtsy and waits for me to speak.

“On the morrow I want the public rooms made spotless. The Countess of Smelting will be calling in the afternoon. She may already know of my education, but it would not do to make it obvious. See to it that a fine tea is always ready at moment’s notice. You are dismissed.”

After Mrs. Brown leaves, I move to my bedroom, where my lady’s maid, Mary, is waiting for me. I undress, thoughts of the Countess on my mind. My last thought before I fall asleep is that I find the Countess far more interesting than I should.

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Excerpt from a letter I’ll never send

I’ve lost you twice,

And I can’t do it a third time,

Better luck with another, my dear,

I will hang up the phone.

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I would have said I love you

I would have said I love you,

With all the conviction of fifteen years,

Laughing and breathless,

Your face in the setting sun,

Until you walked away.

Then,

Years later,

You came back,

Wondering why I never said I missed you,

I let you rage against me,

Your words burning against my heart,

Then said,

I did,

I told you in the thousand letters unanswered,

The phone calls left to ring,

The greetings brushed aside,

Then I waited,

Breathless again,

Wishing for a moment that you would apologize,

Though I wouldn’t have believed it.

I would have said I loved you,

All those years ago,

I'll never say I'm sorry,

Because I can’t forgive your sins,

Or atone for mine,

But I would have said I loved you.

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Over and Over Again

I tried to tell you I miss you,

Over and over,

I said I wanted you to stay,

Over and over,

You told me that you were busy,

Over and over,

And I let you leave,

Over and over,

I watched you walk away,

Over and over,

Heard our words,

Over and over,

Telling me how you were fine,

Over and over,

Better off without me,

Over and over,

And I lied,

Over and over,

Said I was fine too,

Over and over,

I let you break me,

Over and over,

Let your anger scar my heart,

Over and over,

And now I walk alone,

Over and over,

Finding you in everything,

Over and over,

The songs you loved play,

Over and over,

The books we read lay on the table,

Over and over,

I see your face in every crowd but it’s never you,

Over and over,

And I am alone,

Over and over,

I want to call,

Over and over,

To tell you how much I need you,

Over and over,

But you’ll turn me away,

Over and over,

And we have danced those steps already,

Over and over.

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Unshed Tears

Apathy,

The rain running down a window drawn shut,

Storms dancing with no witness,

Covers half off but no hand reaches for them,

A mess on the floor without a thought,

Love,

Left to fade,

A brush of hand,

Brushed off too soon,

The ache of nothing,

Pawing at straws in the dark,

Wind blowing down the flowers,

Never to be replanted,

Pain,

Ignored like a forgotten friend,

A whisper when the world is screaming,

Leaving behind a trail of blood,

Washed away by morning,

Despair,

A darkened house,

Black branches climbing at the end of the road,

Seemingly empty of all life,

Mail yellowing on a porch,

Left to rot in time.

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Untitled

You ask me how I stay so skinny,

Like you measure your worth in inches,

And it makes me glad you do not have a daughter,

Though it wasn’t just your mother who taught you this.

You learned it through the words of others,

A photo here,

A frown there,

You learned to watch your weight like it proved you worth time,

And you learned to wear your diet like a badge of honor,

But no one taught you to love your body,

All the bumps and lumps of it,

No one ever showed you how to trust it as a part of you,

You’ve long since learned to fight against your body like it’s a war you cannot afford to lose,

But you’ve never learned to win.

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An untitled story piece

I wiggle until we are looking into each others’ face. It’s not the first time we’ve had this conversation. “You know I’m out of the magic business. I enjoy owning my own smithy. Why would I want to run around chasing down brats who don’t care?”

“If you won’t work there, come visit me during class. Illusions are important in defense, even if no one believes it.” She’s grinning at me, the big one she only uses when she thinks she’s won something.

“You do know we’d scar the poor kids for life, right?” Her grin fades into the true smile only I get to see. I know she’s figured out that I can’t tell her no.

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A Thousand Half Remembered Horrors

She breaks apart like ashes,

Leaving only a film of dust across the floor,

Nothing says I love you like blood,

And though fire and ice both burn,

The taste of your skin is sweet,

I walk alone,

Miles from home,

The half remembered pain of parting nipping at my heels,

A hole was left,

Not by the separation,

By the very act of togetherness we shared,

Weeping wounds the world can't heal,

Held fast by hope until the end,

Bile rises in the throats of all who watch,

Dripping walls ooze vile tears,

Leaving only the ghost of everything before.

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Shattered Music

They did always love us like a pair of pop stars,

I supposed that’s an apt lie for us,

Loved like the great music stars of old,

Until we crashed and burned,

Our fame going up in flames,

The fire gone as fast as it came,

And if we’re talking metaphors,

Well, dearest, we made the kind of music crowds love,

Made them scream for more, more, more!

And it was so, so sweet,

Our passion shining through the night,

But darling,

They never did make pop stars that last through the ages,

There’s always someone young and untried clamoring to take the top,

And the crowds that once screamed for more are out for blood,

Babe, we were never built to last,

Always a word away from falling apart,

Though we hid it well,

Dancing to cues only we could hear,

The cameras flash,

The audience quiets,

And we stand,

Ready for the goodbye,

Roses collecting at our feet,

A staged embrace under the lights,

Then curtains fall, lights dim,

And in the dark, we’re throwing words like knives until we both bleed,

Headlines read The Performance of a Lifetime! while we’re breaking apart backstage,

And when the fighting shines on the front page,

They’ll tell stories of how we faked it to the end,

But honey, though they’ll sneer that we were nothing,

They’ll never forget our names.

[i-hold-with-those-who-favor-fire]

An excerpt from Spypunk

Through out the evening, Lord Daryl, Countess Jasmine, and I speak on a variety of subjects, ranging from philosophical ideas of ruling, to practical estate management. None of us dance again, too intrigued by the conversation. I am beginning to think I shall enjoy my stay in town if this is what parties are like.

The only damper to my happiness this evening are the mechanicals wandering the room. I do not think the Baron or Countess notice my reluctance to accept refreshments from them. Still, I prefer this party to any I attended previously, both during my childhood and schooling.

Boom! I am pulled out of the conversation by the clock striking midnight. I must leave but first, “I have deeply enjoyed our discussion, but I must be going now. Might I see you both at His Grace, the Duke of Haven’s musical?” I surprise myself with the question; the last thing I should be doing is encouraging a countess and a baron to notice me. I almost recant and say I will not be there, but the hopeful look on Countess Jasmine’s face makes me stop.

“Lady Louisa, I am delighted that you will be attending. I will be sure to find you there. Perhaps I may call on you soon?” The countess’s manner is open, as it was all night, but I am suspicious of her motives. She is of a rank to know of my schooling.

[i-hold-with-those-who-favor-fire]

So here we are, A dissonant chord in the chorus of our lives, Ringing false to the sound of our hearts,

An excerpt from a letter I’ll never send (via freetoflythecrimsonsky)