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[unrequitedmime]

Victorias' fist swung hard, and Elidia dodged without even blinking. Before she had another moment to think, Victorias' strong legs swiped across her cousin's ankles.  The Star grunted with frustration as she crashed to the training mat.  For the third time.  Victorias' breaths misted in the air as she huffed. Elidia watched those dispelled molecules for a moment and thought of dancing frost across a palace lawn.  "You're not even trying," Her cousin, usually so tender and gentle, was a jagged blade today as she scolded Elidia. Her ocean depths shone with disapproval as she frowned down at her Queen.  "I AM trying," Elidia snapped, finding her way to her feet.  She hated that she sounded like a child.  The Star let her eyes flutter closed, focusing on the caress of her eyelashes against her flushed cheeks. She took a deep breath, and her limbs turned to flowing water. After a few silent moments of Elidia focusing on nothing but the breath shuttering in and out of her lungs and the gentle wind singing its way through the field, she opened her eyes.  Ready.  She was alone with the trees and the green grass. The Star loosed a frustrated growl before spinning around, onyx eyes searching for her cousin. Victorias was a hundred paces away now, leisurely walking her way back to the palace. Her chocolate hair swayed like waves across her slender back as she sauntered as elegantly as ever.  The Queen did not use her magic to pull her cousin back into her grasp.  She wouldn't dare.  As if hearing her thoughts, Victorias halted her stride. As slowly as seasons changing, she spun to face her Queen. She was too far away for Elidia to distinguish her expression, but the Star knew those topaz eyes were staring defiantly across the space between their bodies.  Victorias needn't yell, only whisper. She knew the wind would carry her uttered words to her Queen.  "You need them. We need them."  The Queen's delicate jaw clenched as the wind echoed her cousin's words back to her. She needn't yell back, only whisper. The wind would carry the Star's song.  For the first time in a long time, the young and powerful Queen's voice was uncertain. Her syllables wobbled like boats on rough seas no matter how hard she tried to keep them steady.  "I- I wouldn't even know where to find them."  The wind delivered her cousin's soft laugh back to her. The laugh was disbelieving, almost teasing.  "Elidia," Victorias whispered, a sad smile on her lips, "You always know where to find him."  Elidia ignored the ache in her hollow chest. The ache echoed through that empty chamber in her heart, like it always did.  "He might not be with them."  "Even if he isn't, you can-"  "No," The Queen's voice was a whip, and she watched her cousin flinch across the field.  "Elidia-"  "Victorias," The lethal voice of The Star spoke now, voice hard and sharp, "Leave me be."  She expected Victorias to flinch again, but her cousin only stared at her from across the space for a few more moments. Eventually, she shook her head in exasperation and turned away. The Queen ignored the urge to chase her cousin and beg Victorias to find them for her.  Victorias paused, back to her Queen.  "Elidia," She whispered to the wind one final time, dark eyes on the palace before her, "Lovella needs them."  And then Victorias walked.  Elidia stared after her beloved cousin, one of the most important people in her life, for only one moment before forcing herself to look away. The young Queen's midnight gaze found the dawning horizon, and she let out a shaky breath, alone in the slumbering field.  Victorias was right.  Lovella needed them.  -------------------------------------------------------- Radin forced himself to watch The Star elegantly take a seat beside the young Princess of LinGuard.  Mage's face paled significantly in the presence of the most powerful Kera in the world, but her steady gaze remained on the clouds floating above them. Radin, across the table from his gentle sister and the most dangerous woman he had ever met, fought the urge to swipe Mage away into his arms.  He fought the urge to run. He fought the urge to shake Elidia for endangering his sister. He fought the urge to take Elidia's hands and weep in gratitude for saving his sister.  The King stayed in his seat, forcing his storm cloud gaze back to the pages of his book. The words blurred in front of him.  The King and Princess had been enjoying a soft and peaceful breakfast on a hidden balcony of the Lovellan palace only a few moments before. King Radin ached for the loss of that calm already. The Queen had only emerged from the billowing white curtains and quietly taken a seat, but Radin felt that those simple acts were crimes against him and his solitude. She had stolen it away.  The Queen lounged back in her chair, tilting her chin up to the sparkling sunlight. Radin, despite himself, glanced up to catch sight of her beauty. Her eyes were closed, and her delicate lashes almost tickled her high cheekbones. The Star's pale skin glowed in the light, and Radin's eyes trailed the delicate slope of her neck, down to her collarbones, down to her chest.  Her gown, as per usual, was midnight black. The low-dipping neckline clung to her smooth skin and framed her slender shoulders perfectly, sleeves ending just below her elbows. At her waist, the dress spilled down her legs like running water down a cliff's edge. When she breathed, the material of her gown sparkled.  Like stardust.  Although Radin felt nothing particularly kind for the Queen, he could admire her ethereal beauty. She truly was otherworldly. Sitting like that with her eyes closed and her harsh gaze hidden, with her usually lethal lips a soft smile, she looked almost harmless.  And then the Queen's eyes of darkness came to rest on the delicate face of his sister.  Radin had never witnessed someone so deadly.  "Good Morning, Your Highness," The Queen murmured, midnight eyes alight with interest and scrutiny. Radin half expected black smoke to spill from her lips.  Mage's bottom lip wobbled in the presence of such power, and Radin's grip on his book tightened. The Queen's dark gaze fluttered to the King's white knuckles, and an amused smile twitched at her lips. She did not deign look at the King, and instead glanced back at the Princess.  "Good Morning, Star."  For one moment, the same surprise that echoed through Radin's body was reflected on Elidia's face. Elias almost refused to call the young Queen by her preferred title, and Radin only did so after she had refused to answer to anything but.  Mage had never spoken with the Queen and still she had managed to address her correctly the first time. Not due to fear or policy, but respect.  Mage had grown as a young witch in a kingdom of powerless subjects, and Elidia was a Queen of the most magical nation in the world. The Star governed sprawling lands of all Kera; the fae, Luna's Children, Night Children, Sprites, goblins, sorcerers, elementals, warriors, and many more.  Lovella also governed witches.  Something in the Queen's expression softened as her own heart recognised the awe in Mage's voice. Mage's older brother was a King, but perhaps Elidia was born to be her Queen.  Radin ignored the pain that slashed claw marks through his chest at the thought of it. Mage had fought for her identity, for her magic. She deserved to worship whomever she desired.  "How was your rest?" The Star asked softly, dark eyes straying to array of food spread across the table. Her nimble fingers elegantly swiped up a croissant.  Mage gulped, "I... I do not remember it."  Mage had woken up only for a few moments after Elidia had drowned her body in darkness. And then she had fallen into a deep, deep slumber for two days straight. Radin had refused to leave her side, and only when she woke up yesterday evening did he allow himself to leave the room for a few minutes at a time.  The Star shifted in her chair to face Mage, "Do you remember anything of your possession?"  Mage flinched at the word, "I remember walking through the garden with Radin. I was wandering around the flowers and he was reading his book on the bench-"  "A King AND an avid scholar," The Queen's eyes glinted mischievously in the sunlight.  Radin chose to ignore her.  Mage took a deep breath, "I remember a fluttering wind."  The Star's half smiled faltered.  "Go on."  Mage sat forward to stir her tea, fingers trembling ever so slightly, "It... it whispered to me. Or it sung, or laughed. I- I can't describe the sound. But it was not just a wind, it was an essence. It heard it dance its way across the palace grounds, and then I was enveloped in its warmth. And-" Her voice cracked, "I don't recall anything after that." Elidia's usually calm expression was grim, "Did this.... wind... say anything?"  Mage glanced down into her tea, "She whispered my name." The Star loosed a shaky breath.  Radin blinked. He had never seen this Queen anything less than confident.  A moment of silence passed, and Radin shivered despite the gentle sunlight on the terrace.  The Star shifted in her seat, dress sparkling, and met the King's gaze.  "It's Gaea."  The name echoed through Radin's body, clanging against every single one of his bones until he was bruised.  Gaea.  Not just an entity, but a deity.  Everyone knew the stories of the Old Gods. They had created this world and every other world with it. They maintained the natural order and balance of the universe, beckoning the future and leashing the past. A legion of Gods existed, their power residing in different domains of the heavens and the essence of this world.  Seven Gods were the most powerful, the most vital to enlightening the very fabric of the universe, the most ancient; the Pleiades. The Pleiades bloomed alongside the creation of this world. Their essence, lay in everything that the world was.  Gaea was the Earth Goddess. With an expel of her breath, she created the lands and the valleys and the mountains. With a blink of her eyes she created the sun and the moon and the changing seasons. With a gentle kiss she created every tree, every flower, every blade of grass.  Her power lived on in the thriving lands, but her soul was destroyed in the Heavenly Wars alongside all of her Gods.  So how could it live on?  The Star answered his unvoiced question, "I can't explain it. She did not care to reveal her identity or elaborate when she whispered to me."  "Then how can you know?"  Elidia's dark gaze shuttered, and she looked to the Northern horizon. The King wondered what those midnight eyes were searching for.  "My magic knows."  Gaea. Heavens above. "What does it want?"  Annoyance flickered across the Queen's face.  "She," Radin did not miss her emphasis on the pronoun and felt like he was being scolded, "has not exactly explained that part either." Frustration gathered like storm clouds at Radin's temples, "So much for listening," His thunder quietly grumbled.  Mage narrowed her eyes at her King, the silver depths shimmering with warning. Radin knew exactly what words she would speak if she were brave enough to.  Do not spark her temper, you big idiot.  Elidia ignored both of them. Something in her face had shifted; a tide turning with her thoughts. The Star stared out at to the West now, deeper into the lands of Lovella. Her face was almost blank, almost uncaring, but not quite.  Radin recognised the rolling clouds in her eyes. Storms of mourning.  But who could this Queen possibly miss?  She cleared her throat. When she spoke, her usually elegant voice was hoarse, "There is a team made of the best hunters and warriors in Lovella. They will arrive at the palace tomorrow morning, and the day after we will leave for the Motherlands."  Radin blinked. We.  "Who is this team?"  "I just told you," Blank, bored, lazy.  "Star. I want an explanation." Elidia's midnight eyes narrowed at the sharp blade of Radin's voice.  "I owe you nothing, King." Her voice was frost and starlight and every crawling shadow.  "You always owe me the truth, as you owe everyone else the truth."  The Star laughed, a feline sound dancing with threats, "I owe no one the truth." "Star," Mage breathed, silver eyes finally glancing up at the Queen as her gentle voice sliced the tension to shreds, "Please. Explain to us."  The Queen did not look away from the King. When she spoke, her voice reminded Radin of drifting smoke.  "My cousin is one of the strongest warriors in Lovella, and even he is  haunted by the Motherlands. If we are to find out the extent of power  the cursed lands hold and the connection between Gaea and our Kingdoms, then we must explore the Nightmare Lands ourselves. The team arriving tomorrow are no ordinary group of travellers. They have been to every nation and executed countless missions in the most lethal environments. They have killed, and fought, and saved more than you will ever know. If we have a chance of surviving those lands, these warriors are our best shot."  "And how do you know of these people?"  A moment of stillness. Despite the Queen's endless facades, Radin saw the thoughts shine bright in her gaze for one moment.  She was deciding whether or not to tell the truth.  Radin let her decide.  "They are old friends. The people I love the most in this world." And with that, she rose and walked away.   The Star did not look back at the scraps of her vulnerability that had fallen across her abandoned plate like delicate breadcrumbs.  ------------------------------------------------- The Star did not sleep that night.  She tossed and turned in her bedchambers, the usually comforting darkness smothering her for hours.  As dawn began to break, she finally drifted into unconsciousness.  She dreamt of Nox.  ------------------------------------------------------- The Queen was the last to arrive, of course.  Elias had been standing by the grand window of the throne room, his deep blue gaze submersed in the rolling hills of Lovella. He imagined standing on those hills and running through those valleys with nothing but the woman he loved and the caress of the sunlight.  Cuda would love the thrum of the land in Lovella.  Elias swallowed back the lump in his throat at the uttered thought of her name. Those two syllables were almost enough to bring him to his knees. He had never loved and never missed another person as much as he did that doe-eyed wonder.  His best friend had found his way to Elias' bedchambers last night, when the moon was nestled high in its blanket of darkness, and whispered the words of the mission.  The Motherlands.  Radin had left at the first signs of the rising sun and had taken Elias' steady breaths with him. The Captain had been left with nothing but his aching heart and his thrumming fear in light of the dawning sky.  He had sat down at the grand oak desk in his chambers, carefully dipped the feather in ink, and written.  And written. And written. And written.  Every single word he had yearned to whisper to Cuda these past weeks were scrawled in loving loops across that crumbling parchment paper. He wrote of the breakfasts and the night skies. Elias wrote of the birds that awoke him every morning as if singing just for him, and of the sunlight. It felt different here in Lovella. It felt alive. He wrote to Cuda of his King's worrisome negotiations, of the Queen's unearthly power, of the twins careful gazes, of Rico's warm smile.  If he were to die in those wretched Motherlands, Cuda would know that the bits and pieces of him that she'd lost had belonged to her and only her all along. "Interesting time for a daydream," Radin's voice, as always, was kind and welcoming. It reminded him of falling leaves from autumn branches.  Elias glanced away from the land of the Kera and met the gaze of his King. His best friend's grey eyes stared back.  "Interesting geography," Elias murmured absentmindedly, turning away from the window and taking a place beside his King.  Radin chuckled quietly, and Victorias glanced over at the sound from her spot beside the throne. Her royal blue gown was elegant yet modest this morning, the lace bodice fitting perfectly to her frame and the silk skirts falling straight to her ankles in a gentle descent. She studied the two men carefully, topaz gaze almost piercing. Elias did not look away until she did.  Hellios and the Lovellan Captain stood on the other side of The Star's black throne, their whispered words shared only between their buzzing bodies. Hellios had shaven for the first time since arriving from the Motherlands, and his golden hair had been swept back into a bun at the cape of his neck. Rico looked as formal as ever, his starlight uniform immaculate. Mage had not joined them this morning; the Star had insisted she remain in her chambers to rest. Elias was not sure if it was kindness or dismissal.  Elias heard her footsteps a moment before the grand oak doors opened.  The Star did not say anything, nor look at anyone, as she slowly made her way to her throne. The LinGuard King and his Captain tried their best not to stare at the entity that had entered. Dark smoke oozed from her skin like ink through water, a predator crawling its way down her body and prowling around her hidden ankles. Her midnight gown was as dark as black could be, and Elias was quite sure that the frivolous layers of chiffon were snatching up pieces of light and twisting it away into obsidian silk. Her ash hair was left out today, and it tumbled down to her waist like the rolling hills of her nation that Elias had been staring at only moments before.  Victorias sucked in a sharp breath as her gaze fell upon her Queen, and she murmured her cousin's name ever-so-softly.  "Oh, Elidia."  The Star met her cousin's eyes, and Elias was surprised to see that the smile she forced to her lips did not drip with silver blood. That was a smile of fear, of pain, of longing.  The Star took her place on her rightful throne.  "Good morning," Her voice trembled, "Our guests are here. Shall we begin?"  ------------------------------------------------- The witch entered first, the lavender mist emanating from her smooth chocolate skin like pools of honey. It spilled down her short legs and drifted across the shining marble tiles of the throne room. Her hair, a cascade of tumbling curls, was loosely tied at the nape of her smooth neck. Elias studied the curls winding their way to her shoulder blades. They were made of golden waves and pools of spinning caramel, the colours flawlessly intertwined like two lovers in a bed. Her doe eyes, wide and brown, were fierce as she studied each member in the room. A wind brushed a few stray curls from her plump cheeks.  Within a moment, a tall and lithe woman made her way into the throne room, her movements elegant yet strangely timid, as if she was not quite sure if she belonged. Her black hair shone like dark oil, perfectly cut just above her thin and white shoulders. Her skin was almost the colour of pearls, so pale that the light sprinkle of freckles brushing across her button nose stood out stronger than any other features she possessed. Her ice blue eyes darted to each member of the throne room, similar to the assessment her companion made. Her soft pink lips tightened in a thin line when her gaze fell upon the King of LinGuard, but she glanced away before Radin noticed her disdain. Frost slumbered at the girl's thin fingertips, clinging to her skin like a set of gloves.  Behind these two women, their bodies vibrating with magic, entered another member of this strangely powerful team. Elias need no look closely to recognise the stark contrast between these burning, frozen women and the gentle haze of the man entering. His hair was a bird's nest of honey golden curls, and his brown spectacles, much too big for his face, rested low on his nose. He pushed them up with trembling hands, fingers long and thin and scarred. Despite his simple steps, his limbs seemed to almost tangle as he walked. His gangling legs seemed too long, and his arms hung almost uselessly by his side, fingers twitching as if yearning for something to fiddle with. His amber eyes glanced around the room for less than a moment before fixing on the Star, but Elias had a strange sensation that those deep depths had already gathered every scrap of information he had needed in that singular second. The boy, expression a cloud of distant thoughts, almost seemed to force himself to focus on the elegance of his Queen in her throne.  After a few moments, a presence slowly washed into his copper gaze as he seemed to finally find himself immersed in the real world. His eyes rested on the Star.  And he grinned a lopsided grin at the most powerful woman in the world.  "As beautiful as ever, Eli."  And just like that, Elias and Radin watched the tension of the air shatter into a thousand pieces.  Hellios loosed an exaggerated roar and bounded over to the two women like an excitable puppy, scooping them both up into his arms at once and spinning them around like play dolls. The women's apathetic facades melted away with the touch of Hellios' warm skin, and they laughed in surprise as the Queen's Second in Command wrapped them up in his loving embrace. Victorias floated over to the dishevelled boy with a head of honey and loosed an almost broken laugh as she buried herself in his thin chest and clumsy arms. The boy hugged her back as tightly as she held him, amber eyes fluttering closed for one moment as he smiled. After a moment, Hellios released the two women with his own joyful laugh, and the woman of frost spun towards Captain Rico. He stared at her from across the space.  They collided in the centre of the room like a wave to shore, wrapping each other up with a sigh that reminded Elias of the first Spring day after a long Winter. Only when their limbs entwined did Elias recognise the familial similarity between the Lovellan Captain and the woman made of daggers. They were two sides of the same coin; dark oil hair, soft lips, thick eyelashes. The only difference was that Captain Rico's skin was sun-kissed, warm, and his sister's was a snowstorm of white.  Elias and Radin watched the embraces like they would a puppet show, gazes glued to the echoes of bubbling laughter and the vulnerability of those loving smiles. These were not the dangerous Lovellan people Elias and Radin had come to know. These people were...  Completely, utterly human.  Elias had been so busy studying Rico and his sister that he had not even noticed the dazed boy make his way up the obsidian steps of the throne. Elidia did not move in her seat, and instead stared up at the tall, gangly man with a blank expression. As their companions laughed and sung around them, lost in their own whirlpools of delight, the warrior stared down at his Queen.  He offered a thin, trembling hand. Her midnight gaze, so dark and endless that Elias feared the boy might fall into it, stared at his outstretched fingertips for a very long moment.  After what may have been seconds, or minutes, or a millennium, her slender hand slowly fit itself into his.  That same crooked grin bloomed to life on his face again, and he did not hesitate before messily tugging the Star from her throne and into his clumsy arms. The most powerful, dangerous, lethal woman Elias had ever met- giggled- as she fell into the chest of her friend. Their embrace lasted only a minute, yet Elias had the impression that years of whispers were shared between the beating hearts of these best friends in those seconds. Elidia's eyes fluttered shut as she relaxed into his arms, and he watched her entire body release a shuttered breath.  If Elias had not been watching carefully enough, he would have missed the boy slowly angle his face closer to his Queen's ear. If Elias had not been watching carefully enough, he would have misread the words that the boy's lips murmured to the Star.  "He came." The black smoke drifting from the Queen's pale skin halted entirely as the words, the rolling clouds frozen in time for one moment. Elidia did not breathe nor speak, as if she did not trust herself to.  A long moment passed. The twirling smoke fell back into its gliding rhythm as the Star finally stepped back from her friend, fingers tight on his forearms. She smiled up at him, and Elias almost blanched away from the softness in those lips. That was nothing like the dagger grins and blood dripping smirks that the Star had let loose in the past few weeks. That smile blossomed across her beautiful face like a flower, petals opening to reveal the shining pieces of the Queen that perhaps knew what it was to love and be loved.  "I'm glad. He is our best Earth elemental. His assistance will be vital." The boy raised an eyebrow at his Star, and Elias knew he did not believe one word that fell from the lying Queen's delicate lips.  "Aren't you going to ask where he is?"  Something unreadable flashed across Elidia's face.  "No." The boy huffed a sigh, and her midnight eyes flashed up at him with warning before turning to face her court. He ignored the danger in her gaze, rolling his amber eyes.  As if feeling the heat of her dark gaze, every single Lovellan warrior ceased their conversations and embraces. In the sudden silence, they turned to face their Star, and for the first time Elias understood why the Kera of this country were so safe, so peaceful, so powerful.  They loved their Queen.  "Should we begin?" Elidia drawled.  The woman with the chocolate skin slowly smiled back up at her, "Took your time." ----------------------------------------------- He did not turn away from the Moon Flowers as she approached, though she knew he had heard her the moment her bare feet had touched the tiles of the Western rooftop.  She said nothing as she slowly wandered her way down the main aisle of her Greenhouse, her silken ivory pants fluttering in the soft breeze that greeted her every time she entered this sacred place. The moonlight shone bright through the tainted glass walls, and tonight the shine seemed to recognise him. The white, heavenly light caressed his smooth olive skin and wrapped up his hulking frame in a gentle embrace, as if welcoming back a long lost lover.  Elidia had spent the last two hours wondering if she should make her way up here, pacing in her bedchambers, forcing herself to read the plans that Victorias had written up for tomorrow, begging herself to focus on the reports from her team.  She could not recall one word on those papers.  It was almost midnight, and as the moon had risen higher in the dark skies tonight, the starlight had sung to her louder and louder. It danced through her room, tickling her bare calves, her collarbones, her lips. The stardust in her veins shifted in response to the song, dancing along to the sweet, broken melody. Elidia had ignored it for as long as she could, shoving away the shining tune with her own darkness.  But the stars knew who had arrived tonight.  They would not silence for her.  Elidia had always known that he would not show himself in the throne room this morning. It was too early and too grand an event for his comfort, and if there was even a sliver of a chance that he could miss the formal introductions, Elidia knew he would.  Despite knowing that, her chest had still ached when the doors had closed behind Ziggy this morning without the Cluster's fourth member.  She wanted to ask him where he had been all day, but her bones already knew. Oslov.  The Lovellan villages scattered throughout Elidia's nation were numerous and prosperous, each village a mosaic of different Kera thriving alongside another in the lands humming with magic. They varied in size, structure, competing domains, lifestyle, and wealth.  Oslov was known as the Grand City of Lovella; it's love child.  Elidia's own palace resided in Oslov, crested on the highest lands of the capital city and nestled far away in the empty fields.  He had always loved Oslov. She could not count how many times he had come to her in the dead of the night, waking her up with his gentle hands and soft voice, begging her to accompany him to the late night Oslov festivals. Sometimes she said no, swatted his puppy face away, and let herself fall deep into her slumber. Most of the time, though, her sleepy and mischievous grin was a mirror of his own as she roused herself from bed, barely having time to put her boots on before he'd pick her up and swing her down the halls in his excitement. Some afternoons, on the bad days, he would find her after their various training sessions and meetings as if he had felt her sadness in the rustling wind. Perhaps he had. On those days, he didn't plead or beg. On those days, he simply took her hand and lead her out the palace gates. On those days, she found her stardust in the Oslov streets with him, her magic dancing through the essence of the playing children and the gossiping women.  "This is it, Elidia," He would always whisper, "This is happiness."  Elidia knew he had spent his day walking those same streets for the first time in years. She wondered if he had thought of his ash haired Queen as he watched the playing children and the gossiping women this time around.  No.  Of course had hadn't. Because he had always lived in the present, and for some strange reason Elidia had kept herself in the past.  It was time for her to catch up.  She sucked in a breath, but before she could utter a word, he turned to face her.  Nox was as beautiful as ever.  His olive skin, tan enough to suggest his heritage danced its way back to the Roco Islands, was as clear and warm as ever. It glided across rippling muscles, a broad chest, a strong jaw, high cheekbones. It glided across his callused hands, but Elidia knew it swum as smooth as silk under those finger-less leather gloves. When had he started wearing gloves? The moonlight loved him tonight, and the stardust seemed to entwine  itself with the deep red waves and curls of his hair. A single curl had fallen onto his forehead, almost covering one of his eyes.  And heavens above, how she had forgotten how striking his eyes were; pools of shimmering honey on a golden face. His gaze was a tangled mess of vines, tumbling earth and rising suns. He was an Earth elemental deep in his bones, the power so strong that the heartbeat of his lands were reflected in the shimmering brown and green whorls of his eyes.  The word Hazel would never do it justice.  His heavy gaze swept up and down her elegant body, and she felt warmth drip down her limbs like molten gold.  She couldn't help the sad smile that danced across her pink lips. It was a broken smile.  The row of Moon Flowers to her left and right slowly bloomed to life as Nox smiled back.  It was a broken smile.  "I was wondering if you'd answer," His voice was deep, flushed with an emotion Elidia could not place.  I was wondering if you'd answer.  So the stardust had not sung itss own song to Elidia through her open windows. It had sung his.  "The stardust was making me sneeze. I needed the fresh air." Despite himself, he huffed a laugh, shaking his head. The unruly curls bobbled with the movement, and Elidia watched them sway in the light.  "Still the same Elidia, then," He guessed, gaze turning back to the two Moon Flowers behind him. Those were the first two flowers she had planted in this Greenhouse two years ago.  One for her. One for Nox.  Silly, young girl.  "No," She whispered softly, almost to herself, as she made her way to Nox's side. She stared down into the shining flowers, "I don't quite think so."  He glanced sharply at her, but her eyes remained on the glowing petals of her flower. She felt his assessment. After a thousand years, he loosed a breath and stared down at his own flower.  "I was hoping you'd be the one that stayed her same glorious self, but I guess we've all changed."  Elidia's laugh was bitter, "Growing up does that."  "So does heartbreak."  Her breath hitched.  Here it was; the gaping chasm between them. One that had stretched on with time and distance. In that chasm lay memories of soft gazes, the ache of wandering hands, promises they should have known they couldn't keep. They both seemed to stand right at the edge of it, staring down into the intoxicating warmth of that dark unknown.  They could fall right back in, if they wanted to. She knew they could. They could dive back in to each other right here and right now.  And then Elidia would have one more person she had to fear for, hurt for, ache for. She would have one more weakness, one more person that could bring a Queen to her knees.  She looked up at Nox, at that damned beautiful face she had memorised oh so well, at the one face she would never forget.  She jumped over that chasm and left it in the dust.  "I wouldn't know," she forced her trembling lips to whisper.  Nox, the most powerful elemental in Lovella and one of the fiercest warriors in the world, flinched at her words.  Something inside of her hollow chest screamed at her to snatch them back up and tell him the truth.  She did not.  She ignored her screaming bones and her rioting chest.  She turned and left the boy with nothing but glowing flowers and the echoed memories of her love to keep him company in the moonlight.

unrequited 

[unrequitedmime]

“I stopped looking for the light. Decided to become it instead.”

— Francheska, of ‘Hey Fran Hey’ (via thoughtkick)

[unrequitedmime]

Cuda's smile shone in the haze of morning sunlight. She stretched, petite limbs gliding across the white linen sheets. She did not see his shadow in the light of the balcony as she yawned, her movements so sleepy and so feline that he half expected her to purr. She loosed a long and tired sigh before folding herself back against the dishevelled sheets, a warm sound that danced across the room and found a home in Elias' chest. Right where she belonged. For a few moments, Elias stared at the woman he loved, breathless. And then she opened her eyes. Her golden gaze met his blue depths. As blue as the wind of the Mountains, she would tell him. You have the Mountains in your gaze, Eli. Whispers upon whispers upon whispers. Elias only smiled at his love, at her shining brown skin and her chestnut waves. He had never found a smile as easy as the ones he gave her; wrapped up in his love and his bleeding heart, delivered right into her waiting hands. "Come, warmth," She whispered, hands outstretched. Elias did not say a word as he crawled into her arms. And woke from his dreams in the cold dawn of the Lovella Kingdom. ----------------------------------------------------------------- The Star sighed, "King Radin, I do not mean to be rude, but I will kill you." Hellios did not look up from the glass of water sitting before him on the oak table. Elidia's temper danced around the room, swirling the usually still crystal depths of the glass. Hellios did nothing but study the condensation; the droplets vibrating in the presence of his cousin's power and sliding down the glass. The smoothness of their descent reminded Hellio of the sleds he and Victorias had ridden that one Winter when he was a child. He missed that Winter. Their parents had been alive and loving. For the last time.  King Radin, Hellios was quite sure, was glaring at the young Queen. "You dare speak to me like that-" "After three days of useless negotiation?" Elidia interrupted, flames flickering in every scorching syllable, "After three days of the same conversations? Yes. I do dare." She laughed. The sound was not beautiful. "King Radin, I do regret to inform you this, but we have been going around in circles and I am nothing but dizzy." The silence lasted for a very long time. Hellios took note of each member in the room. Rico, stationed by the door, stared out the window as if he was not even listening. To anyone, it would have seemed that he was not. Hellios knew The Captain listened closer than most. Elias Bruschetti sat beside his King, face carefully blank. Victorias  watched her cousin pace from her spot across from Hellios, her tumbling waves slung over one shoulder today. Hellios had not missed the way The King's frozen face when he had first caught sight of the delicate skin of her neck. Radin sat at the head of the oak table, watching The Star with storms brewing in his grey depths. His golden hair, usually a bundle of waves resting upon his shoulders, was tied at the nape of his neck today. No crown rested upon his head. He did not need a crown. His attire; a soft brown leather tunic adorned with glowing golden stitching, loose black pants of the finest material, and shining boots, hinted at his title. A King both in name and in spirit. A worthy King for Elidia. But not a worthy man for her. Finally, after a millennium of quiet and shadows and beating hearts, Radin loosed a sigh and scrubbed a hand over his tired face. His voice was hoarse when he spoke again, "Elidia-" "It is Star to you." Hellios' breaths misted before his lips as the temperature dropped, his cousin's frost humming in the air. "Star," Radin tried again, "I have been away from my Kingdom for a week, and yet I have found no way to better it for my people. I apologise for the tiresome negotiations, but you must understand that action needs to be taken." Elidia, her back to the room, stared out the window as dusk fell upon her own Kingdom. Hellios knew her onyx eyes rested on the Northern horizon, on the Motherlands that Hellios had disappeared to. The Motherlands that Hellios had barely survived. Hellios had not had a full night's sleep since he returned. Every time he dared close his eyes, they found him. The creatures. The darkness. The hands of woven vines and blooming flowers. The whispers, so elegant and ghostly and terrifying. She called to him every night- sometimes an soft echo in his mind, sometimes a caress upon his trembling fingers, sometimes a roar that left him screaming for help. Just at the thought of those memories, Her unearthly lullabies that echoed through his empty chest, Hellios felt the shivers begin to crawl across his skin. His legs, his arms, every damn knuckle, his cheeks, a slow sweep down his spine. And suddenly, Hellios found he could not breathe. Elidia finally replied to Radin but her idle voice, drifting like shadows, did not settle Hellios' heart as it usually did. He could not even make out her elegant words above the roar in his head and the pounding in his ears. All he could hear were the Motherlands. The ghosts, the trembling shadows, the screeching wind, the tumbling earth, the laughter that haunted him- "Pardon me," Hellios' voice sounded like shattering glass, but he could not bring himself to care as he dragged himself out of his cousin's counsel meeting and into the grand hall. His vision, once bright and sharp, faded in and out with the heavy pounding of his heart. Seconds and days began to slip past Hellios' fingertips like flowing water, until he was caught in the crashing waves and the drowning current for Gods knows how long. Time stopped existing. All that existed were his struggling breaths and the strangling grip the Motherlands had kept on him despite the many valleys between him and those cursed, cursed forests. All that existed was Hellios and his fear. And a warm hand on his chest. The hand, great and strong, came to rest right upon Hellios' heart. As if the hand knew exactly where his hurting heart beat. The warmth from that broad palm seeped into Hellios' aching body like spilled ink in water, like molten gold and oozing honey. Hellios grasped that hand with his own and held onto that sweetness for dear life. And just like that, Hellios found his breath. Time slammed into his body like a bellowing wind, and Hellios breathed in the seconds and hours he had lost with a shuddering sigh. The world found him again, and still Hellios did not let go of that hand. A forehead came to rest upon his, and Hellios inhaled the familiar scent of sandalwood and vanilla. His home. His home. His home. He opened his eyes, meeting that beautiful blue gaze. "Mihi bellator," Rico whispered, the Latin words rolling from his  tongue as flawlessly as English. My warrior. "You are safe, mihi bellator," Rico whispered again, his voice both a soft caress and a steady embrace, "You are home." Hellios let himself fall into the Lovellan Captain's Arms, as he always had. Rico caught him, as he always had. --------------------------------------------------------------- Elidia did not glance away from the dawning horizon as Elias made his way across the rooftop balcony to her side. Her hair, like silver ash, remained perfect despite the early hour. She had worn her hair like that yesterday, and Elias knew she had not redone it this morning. She had not slept. She looked as regal as ever. "Your Majesty," His voice was a soft murmur almost lost in the flowing wind. Cuda had always said his voice was a comforting sound for her trembling heart; a soothing touch. "Star," The Queen's voice, on the other hand, sounded like crackling lightning. Despite the quiet words escaping her pink lips, her throat was raw and jagged as if she had been screaming. "Dear Elias, call me Star." Elias did not say a word. Together, with the silence and the rising sun, they watched the trees sway in the North. For the first time in two weeks, Elias allowed himself to breathe. From the moment Hellios had staggered into that throne room a few days ago, carrying his body like a thousand shattered shards of glass, Elidia had not stopped picking up the pieces. In the week beforehand, the young Queen had been a lazy sort of lethal. A woman possessing a million quiet thoughts and sharpened blades, hiding them all behind those midnight eyes and breathtaking smile. Now, Elias saw more and more every day that she was a weapon. A ruler. A deadly entity. Dare he say a deity. This young woman lived and breathed for the mysteries of those Motherlands. She lived and breathed for the whispers she heard, the nightmares she awoke from, and the dark heartbeat she often heard in the winds of the North. She would not rest until she discovered who belonged to that heart beat. She would not rest until she silenced it. Her cousins, Hellios and Victorias, seemed to feel similarly. Victorias had been so, so quiet in the meetings they had held. Her blue eyes, almost identical to Elias' own, had simply watched and analysed. She had the careful gaze of a woman raised playing the intricate games of Court, although Elidia did not entertain a large court like the other Kingdoms Elias and Radin had toured. For any other woman, Elias would assume that the quiet equated introversion. But for a woman so closely entwined with the cunning of Elidia Cilen? No. The quiet was purposeful. The quiet was chosen. Hellios had been quiet, too. But not in the way his beloved twin executed her silence. Hellios, with his muscled frame and his golden hair, seemed the type of man to demand attention without even trying. Elias had seem him smile once in the days he had been back; a quick, comforting one for his trembling sister. As Elidia had effortlessly worked to melt the frost in that throne room and Mage had inspected Radin's scarred back, Elias had glanced over at Hellios, Victorias, and Rico. The Queen's cousin had spared a broken smile for his twin, wrapped his sister in his arms, and shared a long and levelled look with Captain Rico Ashfeld over her brunette head. The golden man seemed haunted. Elias had caught the Queen's Second drift away multiple times in the many, many meetings held. One moment, the young man would have his steady gaze on his Queen or Elias' King, and the next moment Elias saw that cold shadows had drifted into the warm brown depths. It seemed to Elias that shadows came to Hellios in the form of memories, nightmares, tremors, visions. The day following his return, the five of them had sat with Hellios and listened to his stories of the Motherlands. Elias, born and raised with Radin, had experienced a life adopting the strength and stomach that a Captain needs. Even he had almost thrown up as the memories spilled from Hellios' lips, each one darker than the former. The broken man had talked of empty wastelands, a creeping frost, deep oak trees that murmured in the wind. He talked of crawling creatures whispering Hel's language that had come for him in the nights, of spirits that drifted in and out of his head, of a beautiful and terrifying voice caressing him every moment he found sleep. Captain Ashfeld, no doubt trained and equipped to handle the same brutalities that Elias was, had been trembling by the end of the stories. He had seemed so, so pale, and so, so devastated. And all of these nightmares left the five of them with one question. What now? Elias' King and best friend, who had been born and raised to rule a Kingdom with not even a whisper of magic, had spent the past three days insisting that a military force be gathered and sent to the Motherlands. Queen Elidia, a sovereign with starlight in her veins ruling a Kingdom full of magical beings, ignored every single one of King Radin's requests with her own intention to stay still and stay silent. "You must understand, Captain Bruschetti," The Star finally murmured to the wind after what felt like decades of quiet, "That my plan to stay still and silent is not born from cowardice." Elias tried not to startle at her words. He had witnessed the young Queen respond to the thoughts or emotions of her Court in his visit, but she had never responded to his. He tried not to let his pulse jump in his throat. Without moving a muscle, he created a steel wall in his mind to barricade himself in.   The Queen slowly smiled into the distance as if she were watching him build it. "I do not wish for my thoughts to be read or sensed, Star." Her smile grew, but there was no warmth in her gaze as she laughed, "Then stop thinking so loudly, Captain." She finally glanced over at him, her pale cheeks flushed from the cold bite of the wind. Her voice, so jagged earlier, was slow and teasing now as she whispered, "Stop feeling so loudly." Elias' blood went cold. She had been listening since he arrived, hadn't she? She had been listening to every thump of his heart. She could hear that every single heart beat was for Cuda. She could hear that it beat and bled and sung for his love. Elias, despite his horror at the violation, wondered what that love sounded like to the cynical and powerful Queen. Elias, despite his fear, wondered what that piece of humanity sounded like to her. He wondered if the Queen had ever loved. Elidia's gaze left his. "I plan to stay silent," She purred to the horizon, "Because when you are quiet, it becomes so much easier to listen."' Elias frowned, "Listen?" The Queen nodded, and a soft hum slowly emanated from her closed lips as her dark eyes studied the blossoming sky. It was a gentle sound, a beautiful song of harmonies and lulls. It sounded like a lullaby his mother had sung to him when he was just a boy. Elias was silent as she hummed. Even her quiet voice had a magical allure to it. The song came to an end, and The Star turned to meet the Captain's eyes. A single silver strand had escaped her careful braid and tickled her cheeks as she stared at him. "You listen to my song in silence, Captain, and I will listen to hers." Hers. She did not say a word as she stepped away from the balcony ledge and made her way inside. Elias was left alone with only the sunlight and his questions. Who is The Star hoping to hear whisper? Who does she hope will beckon Elidia forth? ----------------------------------------------------- Mage did not look away from the rose petals beneath her delicate fingertips. Her cheeks, so rosy from the bite of the cold air, shone with forgotten tears. Radin did not dare look away from his young sister's precious face as she studied the curl of the ruby red petals in her palms. Her hair was loose today, the caramel waves winding their way down her daisy yellow dress. A simple thought to remember; The Princess adored yellow.   Radin's own childhood pet name for her, Daisy, was born from her sunlight love. They resided in the palace gardens, hidden behind the Grand Castle away from prying eyes. The quiet space was small in a lovely kind of way, blooming with flowers of every colour and shape. Radin supposed The Star quite liked the glow of them. His sister finally met his gaze, her silver eyes as familiar to Radin's as his own storm cloud depths. The eyes of a Witch. Who would have thought that the only entity possessing magic in Radin's human Kingdom would be the Princess herself. His own little sister. His own heart and blood. There was not one person Radin loved more than Mage. Today, she hurt. Their parents had ruled LinGuard well, and they had loved their Kingdom fiercely. But they had not loved their three children. "I know that she hurt us," Mage breathed, her voice like rustling leaves in a humming wind, like a Heron's song, like the first ray's of light at dawn, "But she made me. She made you." Her throat bobbed as the sixteen year old Princess swallowed, "She made Adam." Radin's chest began to ache. "And for that," The King whispered back as delicately as teetering China cups, "We cannot bring ourselves to hate her." Mage glanced back at the rose in her hand, alive and bright and ferociously red. She crushed it in her palm, and Radin fought the urge to flinch at the decisiveness of his delicate sister's movement. "Not even in death," She murmured to herself. One whole year. Radin and Mage had lived a whole cycle of changing seasons without the beating heart of their Queen. Adam had, too, wherever he was. On the anniversary of their own mother's death, Radin and Mage were left to grieve the late Queen in a land that was not hers. King Radin glanced at his sister one more time and gently plucked a beautiful blue flower from the garden of a deadly Star. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Elidia found her silence among the flowers. Not one person in her Kingdom knew of the hidden greenhouse upon the Western rooftop of her Castle. Not one person. Except for Nox. She wondered if he still recalled the scent of the Moon Flowers that bloomed in the nights.  The Star shook her head, dispelling memories of flaming curls and smooth olive skin. They dissipated in her mind like sprayed perfume. Victorias and Hellios would never find her up here. Even Hellios, who adored heights and had quite literally swung from the palace rooftops, would never sniff the Moon Flowers in the wind. Elidia had veiled the greenhouse to everyone but her. This beautiful room, with the lazy vines and the trickling water, was Elidia's. The one thing that belonged only to her. And so Elidia, barefoot, dressed in ivory cotton pants that encouraged the breeze to tickle her legs and a linen blouse that let the Queen breathe right for the first time in days, sat in the dirt of her greenhouse. And she listened. And though she would never admit it, she thought of Nox. The Star's magic, so tightly contained, drifted from her warm skin like ink in spilled water as she relaxed. It glided, oozed, bounced, twisted its way across the growing plants. She let it. She cast her magic across her Kingdom; a gentle wave of magic drifting across the villages and valleys and lakes like a caressing breeze. She reached it as far as she could, brushing right against the borders of her land. Right against the border of the Motherlands. Her body spasmed when something touched her back. The touch was soft; a teasing stroke against Elidia's magic. The responding essence was powerful and feminine. It was gentle as it tickled her spirit, but there was a flirtatious danger behind the touch. "Star," A whisper echoed in her mind. The same purring voice from her nightmares. For one moment, Elidia had to grit her teeth and fight every instinct that roared in her powerful veins. Run, run, run. Elidia stayed, and she listened. That voice was singlehandedly the most terrifying and beautiful thing she had ever heard in her entire life. It was born from darkness and light, creation and destruction, whispering winds and roaring storms, blooming flowers and rising mountains. That feminine voice, so soft and dangerous, was the sound of the spinning planet and every living thing upon it. That voice was both Bliss and Hel. "Who are you?" Elidia whispered. She tasted blood in her mouth. The elegant voice laughed, "I am not one thing, dear child. I am everything. I am nothing. I am birth and death. I am the end and the beginning." Elidia fought to keep her breaths steady. She fought not to pull back her magic and hide it away from this unearthly essence whispering to her. "If you are everything and nothing," Elidia forced herself to sound smooth, lethal, bored, "Then what could you possibly want with me? Or my Second in Command?" The voice laughed again, and goosebumps danced along Elidia's skin, "Ah, your Second in Command. Your dear, dear cousin Hellios. He reminds me of the Lion." An Old God. Of bravery and courage and war. Only few in the world know of the Old Gods, and none dare whisper of them. The Old Gods were overthrown in the time of the Polkho Warriors; Elidia's lost people and ancestors. In the Heavenly Wars centuries ago, the Old Gods and the Polkho Warrios were overthrown by Pinja, a reincarnated spirit. Just one God possessing all of the Heavenly power; Pinja is worshipped now in most Kingdoms. Lovella does not worship Pinja. Elidia will never worship the spirit that tore apart the power of her ancestors. Lovella is a nation of magical beings, from Shifters to Sorcerers to Fae, and not one belief is held by all. Lovellan's worship who they want to worship. "The Lion," Elidia whispered back, "You are compare a mortal to a God?"   The feminine essence in her mind seemed to smile, "Many people in your court seem reincarnations of my old friends." The breath rushed from Elidia's body as if she had been punched square in the chest. My old friends. "I do not quite like talking in this form, and from so far away," The voice breathed, darkness brewing in her words, "I would like to find you myself. I will come closer." And just like that, Elidia was left empty. She gasped as the essence caressing her own magic disappeared, leaving only frost in it's wake. I will come closer. I will come closer. I will come closer. Finally, Elidia ran. ----------------------------------------------- "Do you think Adam will ever come back to us?" Mage's gentle voice almost melded with the chirping of the birds in the garden. Despite her soft voice, Radin jerked at the words. He glanced over from his spot on the bench, where he lay reading, and stared at his young sister. Anyone but Elias would have scolded Radin for reading at a time like this. He was a King in a foreign land. He had no time for leisure. But Mage had never judged her older brother for a moment of their lives. Mage turned and met his gaze, her young and warm face a picture of vulnerability. She opened her mouth to repeat herself. And then the girl Radin knew and loved disappeared. As quick as a flame sparking to life, a shadow glided across her innocent features. Radin watched as a strange and unfamiliar sort of darkness began to ripple across her expression. It flowed in like running water. Like broken waves upon a shore. Her face, so full of feeling a second earlier, smoothed itself out into a slow and deadly smile. The smile was empty of emotion, of humanity, of light. Within a moment, Radin's sister was gone. And in her place was something foreign. His sister's body stood taller; shoulders back, hips flared, chin up. The stance of a woman. The stance of a long forgotten Queen.  Those silver eyes that he knew better than anything else in the world were unrecognisable; his own sister studied him as if he were a stranger. That silver gaze was as sharp as a blade and as cold as frost. Frost. King Radin found himself on his feet within a moment, a hand on his belted dagger. A silence stretched between Radin and the hollow body of his sister, watching him with a devastatingly beautiful smirk on her lips. "Daisy," Radin breathed. His sister laughed, and he almost flinched from the sound. The sound of her usually singing laugh was like nothing he had ever heard before. It was something otherworldly. "King," Mage's lips purred to him. No. That was not his Mage. Behind his sister, the back door of the palace flung open hard enough to blow off its old hinges. As fast as light itself, Elidia hurled herself from the doorway and began sprinting across the green lawns towards the garden. The Star, usually so flawlessly impeccable that she did not even seem real, was dishevelled and covered in dirt. She raced towards them barefoot, her messy hair bouncing in the wind and her flushed cheeks streaked with soil. Her onyx eyes burned. He almost felt the ferocity of the Queen's flames as she roared to them, "GET AWAY FROM HER!" Radin knew she was not talking to him. Elidia spoke to whatever entity was smiling that deadly smile. Mage slowly turned to face the shooting Star. The Queen only ran faster when she caught sight of his sister's face, roaring those same words over and over. Get away from her. Her rage-filled voice boomed and echoed across the entire palace, stirring a wind that whipped at Radin's tied hair. Mage flicked her thin wrists, and a plague of frost blossomed to life in the grass. Radin watched as it crawled it's way across the palace grounds towards Elidia. The Queen did not even flinch as her bare feet pounded across the frost-ridden grass. Mage laughed again, the sound dark and terrifying. "I told you. I prefer to talk in person, my dear." The Star unleashed her shadows. ---------------------------------------------------------- The darkness almost smiled as Elidia released it from her very soul. Yes, it seemed to whisper to her. Yes. She sent the spiralling shadows towards Mage's body, the blackness twisting like crashing waves and spinning like whirlwinds and prowling like drifting smoke. If she looked carefully enough, Elidia could see flickers of starlight in her swirling magic. The entire night sky. Despite everything, Elidia thought of Nox. The darkness did not crash into Mage's body. It engulfed it. One moment, the young Princess stood with her unearthly smile, and the next, she did not. She heard King Radin cry out loud as the shadows wrapped his young sister up in their suffocating embrace.  Elidia could save the girl. But only if she worked fast. Elidia had read many stories as a child in her father's cottage home. On the long, seemingly endless days, Elidia had pranced her way through her father's library. She had closed her eyes and danced. And danced. And danced. And whenever her delicate fingers hit a book, she stopped dancing. And she read instead. By eleven years of age, she had memorised the location of every book in that grand room. So it was no accident whenever her fingertips tickled the spine of the Fables. The book held old stories of Bliss and Hel. The stories of her Polkho warriors. The stories of the Gods. As she ran, Elidia thought of a story from that book. The story had whispered of danger and fun. And possession. The pages had murmured to her in those days. The Gods preferred their true form; light and gold and soul. Some Gods looked upon the humans and Kera with disgust, as if mortals were nothing but lingering dust in the universe. Some Gods looked upon humans with envy. Some of the old Gods longed to feel human love, and human drunkenness, and human tears. And so, the Gods chose to take over mortal bodies when they pleased. They breathed and laughed and danced in those bodies for as long as it lasted them. And when their power, too heavenly and pure, became too much for the mortal body, they would shed it like a snake sheds it's skin. No mortal survived possession from a God. A feminine laugh echoed from the storm of shadows wrapped around Mage's body, as if that ancient spirit was thinking the exact same thing. Mage would die. Elidia stopped running. "No," She whispered as lightly as she dared, knowing her words would be heard in the very veins of her shadows, "She won't." And then she drowned Mage in darkness. She ignored the fragility of that mortal body as she drowned it in Night and Stars and Black. She felt her shadows penetrate every vein, every pore, every god damned cell of Mage's being. She did not stop, even when Mage's jagged voice began to scream. She forced the darkness into every flicker of consciousness in Mage's head and every drop of blood. She forced the darkness into every breath, every heartbeat, every aching wail that Mage released. Elidia beckoned every drop of Night within her forth. She called to every shadow and every nightmare and every memory of Nox.  Even as The Star eventually crumpled to her knees, the shadows did not stop until Mage's body was nothing but Night. Night. Night. Night. And eventually, after a thousand years or one second or hours and hours; Night chased away the frost.   A voice murmured to her in the passing wind, as if being carried away by the breeze, "Next time, then, my Star." And then there was silence. No whispers, no screams, no ancient laughs. No spirit. Wordlessly, Elidia called back her shadows with trembling breaths. They rolled across the grass and back into her skin. Elidia was sure that if she looked at her ragged body, she would see that a black mist hovered around her limbs. Elidia did not look. Instead, she made her way to the gardens on unusually shaky legs. Radin had caught his sister when the shadows released Mage midair, and he knelt with her battered body. The King, always so careful and calculated, now held his sister with a gentleness that Elidia had not seen in a long time. Every pore of his body bled with his love for his youngest sibling as he gently brushed the stray hairs from her pale face. He did not glance up at the Star as she fell to her knees beside him, eyes on the beating pulse at Mage's throat. Alive. Alive. Alive. Seconds bled into hours bled into days. Still, Radin and Elidia knelt with the young witch, counting her unconscious breaths. The King and Queen did not say a word as they leaned against each other, shoulder to shoulder, and waited for the Princess to awaken. And finally, Mage's silver eyes fluttered open.

unrequited 

[unrequitedmime]

Dania's snarl cut short at the sound of a quietly echoing through the temple.  Click. Click. Click.  Rico's smirk deepened, his dark eyes almost sparking lightning.  If he released his lightning, they would all die. They knew they would.  The silence struck faster than Elias expected. It fell upon every single Kera like a smothering blanket, a tape slapped across every growling mouth, a hand wrapped around their throats.  Like the presence of a powerful woman.  Her voice, as soft as love and rough as Hel at the same time, whispered of smoke and fury. When she spoke, her uttered words dangerous and dark and quiet, goosebumps danced to life along Elias' skin.  "Please tell me," she purred, "Why I keep finding myself breaking up your cat fights."  Elias watched every single pair of eyes, glowing or not, drop to the ground before them. He watched every Kera shrink away from the magnitude of power her lithe body radiated. Every single trace of the previous fight; the bared teeth, the growls, the fire, the clenched fists, had sputtered to dust in her presence.  So, this was the young Queen that he had heard so many whispered stories about.  As slow as time itself, her gaze met his. For one brief, fleeting moment, Elias fought the urge to get on his knees and grovel at her feet.  He had read so, so many stories about warriors with her eyes. He had grown up memorising them; the blood, the power, the magic, the ancient whispers in their veins.  He thought that after all of these years he'd be ready to meet that gaze. To hold a stare like hers.  He thought wrong.  Her deep, dark depths flickered up and down his body, almost oozing along his skin. He felt it; the power that danced across his body in her wake.  The whispered stories do not do her justice. And she smiled like she knew it. Slow, beautiful, dangerous. Those pink lips twitching up at the corners. It was almost a smirk, but not quite. Elias had a feeling that her smirks were something else. Something much more lethal. "Captain Elias Bruschetti."  His name - his title- on her elegant lips evoked an emotion he had never felt in his entire 21 years of existence. Awe.  He hid his the roaring memories well; the shrill ring of his Grandmother's excited voice yelling stories about the Lost Pohlko Warriors, Cuda's girlish giggle at the mention of her own golden eyes, the whispers of the Oracle.  He wanted to rush back home, across the mountains and across the valleys, and fall back into bed with his love. He missed the warmth of her gaze.  Instead, he inclined his head to the Queen, "Your Majesty."  Something like delighted amusement flickered across her face at the sound of her title on his tongue. He did not have time to ponder her expression before she turned to face the Kyotes, their faces ashen a few feet away across the pillared space of the temple.  The light of the temple was dim, with only a few painted windows shining from the arches above. The sunlight dancing through was tainted green and blue and red; the colours of the Religious. Somehow, none of the colours landed upon the Queen's white hair or black gown. She remained a stoic image of darkness within the light.  Her ash blonde hair flowed down her back, the wispy strands as straight as blades tickling her waist. Elias knew for a fact that this magical vessel before him was only 19 years of age, but in real life, she seemed almost ageless. Her black gown of shining satin clung to her chest and bodice, and flowed like rivers from her waist to her ankles. Despite the delicate and elegant appearance, he knew she could kill countless whilst in that flowing layer of beauty. Elias could have sworn her power itself glided across the dips and curves of her skirts.  She clicked her tongue at the Kyotes, and Elias watched a deep blush bloom to life on the cheeks of their leader.  Dania forced herself to meet the Queen's dark gaze.  "Star." It took Elias a moment to process that word. Star. Not only a greeting, but a title.  The Queen's dark eyes zipped to Elias for one moment, watching his understanding dawn. She winked at him.  Not Your Majesty. Star. They call her Star.  No wonder that wicked  delight had flashed across her face a moment earlier. Damned Heavens, this woman was not like the other Queens.  "I trust that you have offered our distant guest a warm welcome," She purred, an unsaid threat falling from her lips.  Dania did not even glance at Elias, the oh-so-distant guest, before nodding, jaw clenched.  "Of  course, can you not feel the remaining embers of our warmth?"  The Queen made a humming noise in the back of her throat, glancing at the Kera's beside Elias before absentmindedly nodding.  "Oh," she murmured, "I can feel the remnants of many things." Elias fought the urge to shudder.  Queen Elidia met his gaze, her own shining.  "Very well," She smiled a predator's smile, "Let's get on with it, then, shall we?"  Elias swallowed, "Get on with it, Your Majesty?"  He would not call her Star until given explicit permission. Her lips twitched yet again at that name.  "Yes," She winked, "Let's show you my land, Captain."  My land.  She knew exactly why he was here. Who he was bargaining for.  He nodded, his own jaw clenched now, "Lets."  ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Elidia did not look away from the setting sun casting the horizon ablaze. The reflection of that heavenly fire burnt in her dark gaze. The dancing winds fluttered stray hands of her ash hair across her cheeks.  Even resting, she was beautiful.  "The Prince plans to take it all," Her voice was soft but unmissable despite the wind.  Victorias studied her pondering cousin, elegant limbs folded across the stone of the high balcony banister. Victorias had never liked heights. Elidia's discussions with Hellios often took place on this balcony. Her brother and her cousin had the same fearless hearts, and the high winds calmed them both. Victorias, on the other hand, felt her knees wobbling in the altitude.  Elidia's laugh was gentle, and Victorias knew the Star had felt her thoughts, her emotions, "You are as brave as us, dear cousin. Dare I say braver."  Victorias only rolled her eyes at the flattery.  "He does not plan to take it all, Elidia," If Elidia's voice was smoke, Victorias' was flowing water, "He plans to marry you."  Elidia's beautiful, pale face scrunched with disgust at the thought.  "I will not marry that man."  Victorias sighed and glanced across the horizon. If she looked hard enough to the South, she could see the shadowed peaks of the Lane Mountains, a looming barrier between their nation and the visiting Captain's; Lovella and LinGuard "I wonder if King Radin is as pretty as they say he is," Victorias wondered aloud.  Elidia laughed yet again. Her laughter came easy only with her cousins.  "They say women weep at his feet," Elidia whispered conspiratorially, the Star's eyes twinkling with amusement.  Victorias slapped her arm with a click of her tongue, "Do not tease me! I need someone to admire! I sometimes get bored in these castle halls!"  Elidia's stare returned to the horizon; to the North this time, where Victorias' brother trekked. Alive, hopefully. She watched her Queen's earth eyes darken at her own racing thoughts, of the danger she tasted drifting in the wind.  "No worries there, Vic," The Star murmured, her magic whispering in her veins, "I don't think it will be boring for much longer." Victorias ignored the chills that ran along her spine, "The nightmares remain?"  "Every night." "And-" Victoria swallowed back the lump in her throat. She would not succumb to her slowly blooming fear, "You still hear-"  "Yes," The Lovellan Queen's voice was dull, heavy as it cut her words short, "I still hear it. Sometimes it is quiet, sleeping on. But sometimes..."  Victorias could not help but whisper, "Sometimes?"  Elidia gulped, "Sometimes it stirs in it's slumber."  ----------------------------------------------------------------------- The Queen had worn black for the past six days. An assortment of black gowns and black fighting leathers, depending what time of the day the Captain caught glimpses of her. The material had always seemed so dark it seemed to snatch up any light it came across. The dark gowns, especially, seemed to be made of the rippling night sky.  Fitting, for a Star.  She had never asked him to call her by that title, and so Elias had not. Despite the snickers and shocked expressions of those around him, he still did not call her Star. The Lovellan soldiers had shared laughs about it this morning in the light of the rising sun; a training they had kindly invited him to.  "She is a Queen, yes, but she is more than that to these lands," The Lovellan Captain, Rico, had gently explained when Elias had inquired about her title.  "She has a connection to the land. To the essence of this nation. The tumbling dirt, the roaring rivers, the stars above. She breathes in every dawn and breathes out every dusk."  Elias had not been able to fight the urge to laugh at the dramatic patriotism of those soldiers. The soft eyed Lovellan Captain had only grinned and shaken his head, patting Elias on the shoulder.  "You'll see, Captain. You'll understand when you see it."  Elias was yet to see it.  In fact, he was yet to see the Dark Queen for longer than a few spare minutes in passing. For the past six days, the Queen had oh-so-subtly pushed away his requests for a meeting, claiming she had to attend priority Lovella meetings and engage  in 'important Queenly business'. Her smile had been lazy and mocking when she said the latter.  Instead, she had assigned him Henry, a dark skinned man that talked too much. For the past six days, rather than determining the state of his nations's future, Elias had been paraded around the City of Lovella at Henry's side to admire the clean cobblestone streets and glowing butterflies of the Oakland Woods.  Despite his wearing patience, Elias could admit one thing.  Lovella was as ethereal as it's Queen.  Today, on the seventh day of his visit, the Queen finally joined him for breakfast in the wide expanse of the Castle Solar. Despite the grand height of the precious and private chamber, the room only beheld three walls. The space where a fourth wall should've been, on the outer most side of the castle, was nothing but fresh air and a view Livian Slaves would beg to die with. The tiled floor and ceilings were so impeccably polished that they reflected whatever beauty stared back, mirrors upon mirrors upon mirrors. Elias felt as if he we were walking on clouds sometimes.  Despite his wearing patience, Elias could also admit that the sunrise in this room were one of the most breathtaking things he had ever seen. Right after Cuda's beaming smile.  The breeze from the open expanse danced across Elias' right cheek as the Solar Doors opened, her heels clicking on the floor as slowly as she desired.  Elias glanced up from his breakfast, swallowing back his surprise at his company. He had eaten alone, with Henry as guard, every day so far.  Perhaps the Queen simply did not like Breakfast.  "Good morning, Captain," The young woman purred.  Elias had forgotten the way her power vibrated in her every syllable. He felt it; the magic of her presence glide across his skin. She only had to exist, and her power thrummed across every heart and soul it encountered.  Today, for the first time since witnessing her, the Queen wore red. A blood red gown that clung to her bodice and flared out at the waist, the neckline dipping generously at her cleavage. Rather than satin, though, this gown was delicate lace. Silver jewels shimmered across the lace in intricately swirling patterns.  He attempted a smile. Elias had never been good at smiling at anyone that wasn't Radin or Cuda.  "Good morning, Your Majesty."  A delicate eyebrow arched, "Still calling me that, I see?"  "You have never given me the privilege of Star, Your Majesty. I wish not to overstep."  Her eyes raked over him, head to toe. He felt her heavy assessment.  "You seem a charmingly polite man, Captain," She tilted her head, her movements as smooth as the stories say they are, "What is her name?"  Every muscle in his body tensed, and he feigned confusion, "Your Majesty?"  Her lips twitched as she took a seat across the long table, the shimmer of expanding blue skies to her left, "Your love. What is her name?"  He ignored the flip of his stomach. "How-"  She winked, "Let's say magic."  Elias did not drop her gaze, despite how much he wanted to.  He missed Cuda more and more with each day.  "Cuda Yalia, Your Majesty."  He hated that recognition flared in the Queen's dark eyes, "The Healer."  Elias made himself nod.  Cuda, his beautiful, beautiful Cuda, was the strongest Healer in LivGuard. She had saved more lives than Elias had ended. Her good heart washed away his sins, and for that he lived and breathed for her.  The Queen watched him for longer than he could bare. He fought the urge to fiddle under her heavy gaze. The silence stretched for what felt like years.  And then she looked down at her plate. Chocolate croissants.  "I love breakfast," She murmured to herself, smile small and real. How could such a soft bundle of words still whisper danger.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Hellios was due back two days ago.  Victorias ignored the churning of her breakfast in her gut and took her place beside her Queen's throne. Elidia did not look away from the heavy oak doors of the throne room, but still nodded her greeting to her cousin, "Morning, Vic," She murmured.  Victorias did not bother with softness, not today, "Any word from him?"  Elidia clenched her jaw and gave a small shake of her head.  Victorias swallowed down the bile in the back of her throat. Her damned, damned brother. Hellios insisted he go alone, he insisted he go alone on a journey to the fucking Motherlands. And they just let him.  Hellios had never been late back from a mission.  The Queen of Darkness and Starlight sent a calming, warm breeze Victoria' way, the flutter caressing her flushed cheeks and sweating neck with the scent of nutmeg and honey. Victorias' favourite. The breeze seemed to whisper to Victorias.  Breathe, it hummed, Breathe Victorias.  My brother could be- "He is not," Elidia whispered, eyes still on the grand doors bound to open any moment now, a King gliding through them, "I would feel the loss of his essence."  She would feel his blood spill onto the holy ground, the snuffing of his flame, his very last breath.  A Queen of Darkness and Starlight, of Sun and Moon, of Living and Dead.  King Radin will tremble in her shadows.  Elidia laughed softly at Victorias' thought. Whether Victorias' cousin could truly read her thoughts or her emotions, she did not know. Elidia had never shared the secrets of her magic. She had always kept it settled, calm, tranquil.  And even then her power thrummed through every living being she came into contact with.   Victorias glanced around the modest throne room, empty save for Elidia, Rico, and herself.  She wondered just how deep that well of magic was inside of her cousin.  She wondered just how bright that Star could shine.  ---------------------------------------------------------------- The Queen smiled as King Radin opened the throne room doors.  The smile was a feral one, dripping with predatory focus and delicacy.  Gods, she was beautiful.  She did not say one word as Radin and Elias made their entrance, Mage trailing behind them. Despite his roaring mind, Radin made himself puff his chest, push his shoulders back, and stride in the way his mother would have hissed at him to. He hated that even now, he was her clay to mould.   Radin did not let himself look away from the Queen's dark eyes, a swirl of the night sky and the tumbling earth and the mountain rocks that he had climbed as a boy. He watched her gaze dance over the familiar Elias, and then land on his younger sister.  The Mage of LivGuard.  Radin did not know if Mage met the Queen's gaze, and he could not bare to turn back and check on her. His mother said to never confirm his connection to another. The Queen winked at Mage, warmth fluttering in her cold face so fleetingly that Radin was not sure if he imagined it.  He felt rather than heard Mage loose a breath.  Radin felt the Queen's magic caress him. A smooth breeze across his limbs, tickling the apple of his throat. In that breeze was molten gold and starlight and something else. A song. Of land and sea and sky and mountains.  Mountains. He felt the mountains in her magic.  How was that- "Many impossible things are possible, King," The Queen purred, her voice both the sharpness of bloodied blades and the gentle shine of moonlight.  Nothing existed like this woman before him. No mage, nor Fae, nor Angel.  She belonged to the Kera, creatures with magic in their veins or essence, by definition.  But- She was also something else. Something more.  She smiled again.  And then the smile faltered.  The Star's face, so full of lethal power and beautiful smugness, suddenly flashed with an emotion he had not expected to see so soon.  Fear.  Any warmth that lingered in the room vanished, sucked away by ice and frost and magic. The beautiful, dark haired woman standing beside the Queen shivered at the drop in temperature, her breaths immediately dispelling small puffs of mist.  Radin felt the goosebumps run along his smooth body, felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand up on their ends as the Queen's dark power involuntarily swept across the room.  She stood from her throne, the jewels on the lace of her red gown shimmering in the sunlight. For a moment, Radin could not help but admire her. Her body hummed with danger, with darkness, with a quiet sort of wrath as her expression stilled with deadly focus.  A terrible silence fell upon them for a moment. The Star stared at the oak doors behind Radin, the blood draining from her already pale face. The most powerful being he had ever come across; afraid.  Radin did not even think before spinning to his younger sister. He did not think before running to her and scooping her up. She gasped into his chest as he spun her away from the oak doors, Elias in his wake.  The heavy oak doors burst open with a roaring wind so forceful and so cold that Radin grunted against the bite of it across his back. He held his trembling sister closer to his chest, sheltering her from the worst  of the frost.   That ice would leave scars.  A wall of shimmering silver light spun itself to life before the Queen, her Second, and her Captain. A similar one appeared around Radin and his family. It lasted for one moment- enough to shelter from the ice that crawled across the throne room. It crackled and spat as it danced it's way across the floors, up the walls, across the ceilings. The only surfaces free of the frost were those protected by the Queen's starlight.  A deadly sort of silence slithered it's way into the room.  No one spoke, no one breathed, no one looked away from the Star.  The Star, though, watched the dirty, golden haired man limp in.  Her face was colder than any of the frost as she met his eyes.  ------------------------------------------------------------- "Elidia," Hellios whispered to her, her cousin's voice as jagged as shattered glass.  "Hellios," Elidia felt herself murmur, her starlight shining in her misted breath.  His usually shining eyes were so grave, so, so broken.  What had her cousin seen in the Motherlands?  "It's coming, Elidia. It's coming for all of us."

unrequited 

[unrequitedmime]

Boys — Sophie

Sophie’s boyfriend has just committed suicide, but Sophie has been secretly in love with their friend Mack since long before then. In the monologue from Ella Hickson’s Boys, she confronts Mack about her feelings. 

Do you - have you ever actually felt any… guilt? Because it’s come as a bit of a surprise that, um - you, one- I don’t, can’t actually feel it. Like it’s not something I can generate somehow, like, I - I find myself having to actually summon it, trying to encourage myself and even then I can’t do it. I thought it might be shock at first, and then grief or - but all I can feel is total joy, total - peace. I look at you and I sometimes actually make myself think of him, I force him into my head and I don’t feel guilty. What kind of person does that make me? Sometimes I think it’s because - what we have is love, meant to be. That we love each other, yes, Mack, that is what I sometimes think. Is that ridiculous? I sat at his funeral looking at his parents and Benny but all I could think of, all I could feel - was you.

But then I look at you and I wonder if it’s actually there. I wonder if I added up the amount of minutes, hours, fucking days I’ve spent thinking about you, the amount of fucking longing I have done - if I added that up and weighed it against anything you’ve ever actually said…

But then you do the smallest thing - you make me a cup of tea when I don’t ask, or you touch my hand really lightly in a room full of people and I think no, Sophie, don’t laugh - don’t laugh because it’s real and it’s so much more real because it’s unsaid and unspoken and un - un - it’s so much more real because I can’t touch it, because we can’t say it and I can’t see it. It’s so much more real because I don’t know if it’s there. Please say something… Please…

[unrequitedmime]

My boots thud against the marble floors as I walk through the crushed mansion. I ignore every single object that shines, every single object that dances, every single object that sings. Raki does not. I do not hear him fall away into the mess of beautiful rubble, but I feel the warmth of his presence fade. Taja notices a lot longer after me, almost an entire hallway after he has disappeared, and she swears. "Raki?" She hisses into the darkness, "We do not have time for your childish games. Come back." My stride does not slow as I call back to her, "This isn't a game for him, Taja. This is home." Raki's parents were of noble Crade blood, in the days when the Crade council ruled. Him and his brother were born and raised nobles. I only met Raki when I joined the Forces, but in many of the late nights in this past year, Raki has whispered to me of his childhood. A grand mansion, a thousand rooms to play in, a thousand servants to entertain him. Parents that did not love him or his brother, beatings that still scar his body to this day, and the constant threat of Rensha raids on his family. He is not just picking through an abandoned home, he is picking through bits and pieces of his own. "Leave him, Taja," I demand as my eyes catch sight of the oak doors  of the library. This is where we were told to meet them. "He will find his way back to us." Taja positions herself behind me with an exasperated huff as I rest my hands on the brass handles of the doors. All along the wood is carved drawings of fairies. Some dance, some love, some laugh. Some fight, some mourn, some die. Don't we all. I push open the doors, and walk into a room that I may not walk out of. Four shadows. Four enemies. I do not watch Taja unhook her axe from her back. I do not watch the two shadows standing puff their chests. I do not watch the hand of the shadow that sits on the lounge tighten it's grip on the leather. Instead, I look up to the moonlight that shines through the overarching window. Despite the eeriness of this moment, despite the weapons, despite the shadows, it is quite beautiful. I also look into the very right corner of the highest balcony. Kina steps from the darkness for less than a moment to show her presence to me before slipping back into it. Kina is not a spy, like Anastasia, but she is the second quietest on the team, after me. If anything is to go awry, she has us from above. For a moment, Taja and I are suspended in the darkness of the hallway. We are shadows ourselves. And then I step into the moonlight. The dark figure sitting on the cabinet to the right breathes one word of blasphemy. It is a quiet word, but I hear it plain enough. Lapheus. He knows my Gods. My head whips to stare at the lanky figure suspended in shadows. Not another word is spoken for a few moments, but still I do not look away from the boy. I do not know of any Rensha that believe in the Suli Gods. Rensha are religion-less, and have been for centuries. So why is this one brave enough to breathe his faith? One of the shadows behind the couch moves, but still I do not look away from the boy. Taja remains in the darkness behind me, but I know her eyes track every single breath the walking shadow takes. Nate finally steps into the broad circle of moonlight, the pale shine hitting his blonde curls and bouncing off. My eyes finally meet his dark gaze before fluttering down to his chest. No wound, no sign of bandaging beneath that black t-shirt. Of course. A Rensha healer would have attended to him immediately. I do not say a word as my gaze oozes over him and all that he is. Average height. Broad shoulders. Judging from the muscles that dance along his arms, he is a physical fighter. The moonlight seems to pool in the lines and dips of his chiselled face.  His eyes are so dark they remind me of the chocolate I used to make as a child with Ma. I almost blink in surprise when I realise those eyes are drinking me up, too . He takes in my boots first, and then the light brown of my loose uniform. Something like fury flits over his face as he takes in the tattoo of  a "C" on my inner forearm. He stares at the hollow of my neck for a very long time before finally studying my face. I know what he finds. Fierce dark brown eyes, a button nose, bright lips pursed in the intimidation line that Grayson teases me about, and long lashes. For one singular moment, something bright and intense shines in his gaze. And then it is gone. "What is your name?" His voice doesn't shake, but it sounds as if he is begging it not to. "What is yours?" I know his name. I just want to hear it on a tongue that isn't Anastasia's. "I asked first." "Does it matter who asked first?" The shadow on the chaise lounge releases a small but dramatic sigh, "Nothing's changed, I see." A female voice almost purrs. The figure standing behind the couch murmurs at her to be quiet. "My name is Gabriella," I announce finally, already bored with this meeting. This is going to be a long night. Nate nods, "I'm Nate."' "Where is Anastasia?" I demand. I ignore Taja's stare burning into my back. This is not why we are here, but I couldn't help asking. Something flashes in Nate's eyes, "Somewhere safe." I make a tsking sound, "Pity." Taja steps into the moonlight behind me, and Nate's gaze flickers to her. He assesses her, and I know that he recognises her from the battle. Something in his face goes stone cold. "You killed my friend," He tells her, the fury thick in every single word. "I don't remember," Taja spits back, already struggling to contain her hatred, "But I hope he died screaming." Nate takes a step towards Taja without thinking, and I hear Taja swing her pick axe leisurely as she moves to him, too. I step in between them, eyes still on the Rensha in front of me. "You touch her," I growl, "And these moments of peace are over." "She touches me," Nate breathes, "And I slaughter her." The library door opens, and I feel my racing blood slow as I listen to Raki's light steps on the wooden floor. Without a word, Taja steps back into the shadows and Raki takes her place. I do not look away from Nate as Raki sizes up the Rensha. "How was it?" I call to him, eyes still on Nate. "Found a necklace I want you to have," He responds easily, "Would really match your smile." I fight the urge to roll my eyes at his teasing. I hate necklaces, and I never smile. "Maybe another time," I take a slow step back from Nate, until Raki stands at my back. "Yeah," Raki nods, "Next time we meet up with our sworn enemies on neutral ground." The Rensha are silent as they study Raki and I standing together. He is my second in Command, and they know it. The Rensha shadow behind the lounge slowly makes his way into the moonlight. The shine bounces off the young dark skinned man. Nate's second in Command. "My name is Moriach. Should we begin?" ------------------------------------------------------------ Taja just keeps shaking her head. I want to grab her chin and force it still. I want to hiss in her face to stop, to shut up, to think this through. She cannot, though. Her hatred for the Rensha clouds every single thought in her brain, and she would rather watch the world burn than help the race that murdered her family. Moriach watches only me, green gaze heavy. We sit at a grand oak table suspended in candlelight. Nate sits across from me, the light of the flames dancing across his skin as he thinks to himself. Moriach sits beside his Captain, as Raki does with me. Taja stands behind Raki, her grip on her pick axe so tight I am half afraid she is going to swing it at the woman standing opposite her. The Rensha woman watches Taja carefully, blue eyes narrowed. Some Renshas are subtle in their existence- they move as Crade do, speak as Crade do, and can appear completely ordinary. Some, though, cannot hide the power that courses through their veins. They shine in every way possible and they speak with the magic in their bodies. The magic almost oozes from the pores of their skin. This woman, with her soft pink gown and her beautiful blonde waves, is the latter. Who wears a ball gown to a meeting like this, anyway? "How do you know this colony exists?" Raki asks for the third time. The girl with the gown rolls her eyes, and my grip tightens on my daggers in warning as I stare hard at her. My hands rest upon the table, and the girl's face pales when she sees the frustration in the way I hold my blades. Strange that she is scared of me. She has the power of the devil. "I have been there," The young boy says- the first words he has said all night. My head whips to stare at him. The boy that knows my Gods. Such a strange member of this Rensha team. He is 16 or so, with a mop of brown locks and a pale face. His green eyes are bright in this darkness. There is something soft about him. Physically, he is fragile- birdlike, but in his gaze alone I can see the lion. "How long ago?" I ask for the third time. "Two years ago." "And you are sure this colony-" "It's a village," Nate corrects, frustrated for some reason, "It is not a colony. It is a village." I glare, "This VILLAGE has both Crade and Rensha?" "Yes," The boy's words are firm, but his voice trembles, "They live in harmony." Taja makes a noise of disgust at the back of her throat, and I have just about had enough of her. "You are lying," She spits, "Crade would not side with you devils. And, if somehow they have, then they are traitors. And traitors deserve-"' "Taja," I do not yell; I do not need to. "That is enough." She falls silent, but I can feel her anger. I have just embarrassed her in front of Rensha. She is not going to forgive me for at least a week. Good. That means I will have seven days of peace. We are all quiet. This... proposal... was not what I was expecting tonight. I expected a deal to trade Anastasia, I expected an ambush as revenge for destroying their camp. I did not expect a cry for help. An offer of momentary peace. A mission for us to embark on together. Nate loses his patience, and he leans forward, "Look," He says finally, urgent as he stares at me, "We are Rensha, and you," He glances at Raki when he says it -not me, "Are Crade. You should all be dead by my hands by now- we know the laws." "Laws?" I interrupt, "They are not laws, they are ways of-" "But here are the facts," He continues, ignoring me. I fight the urge to stab him in the chest again. "There is a village in the North full of Crade and Rensha alike. There are thousands of them. That is thousands of your," again, he looks at Raki, "People. The Fior are going to march on them in eight days, and they will slaughter every single person in that village. There is no doubt about the threat of the Fior, there is no doubt that thousands is innocent people will die, and there is no doubt that we are the only people that can protect them."   Silence. "Those are the facts," Raki almost murmurs to himself. Nate nods solemnly, "Those are the facts." "How do you expect eight of us to protect thousands from an entire army?" Moriach and Nate share a long look before Moriach answers, "The city they live in- beneath it is an ancient network of tunnels. Entrances to the tunnels are hidden in every street, and the tunnels stretch for miles- all the way to the Yutong River." The breath whooshes from my body in a rush. An entire city of tunnels- covering almost half the nation. "How do you know these tunnels have not collapsed?" Raki demands. "Because the entire city would cave in if they did," The girl speaks to Raki as if he is stupid. "Watch your tone, Rensha," I breathe, smooth but not calm. "The tunnels have not collapsed," The boy says, and there is something in his voice that makes me believe him. "The people can use the tunnels to find safety, but they do not know the tunnels are there and they do not know how to navigate them." "Neither do we," Raki says, his confusion as strong as mine. "And my question remains," I cut in, "How are the eight of us meant to get this done?" Nate speaks, "There is a Rensha we know of," He almost stumbles over his words, "He is of Rensha and Crade blood." Every single person on his team glares at him as if he has said something he shouldn't, but he ignores the heat of their gazes and stares instead at me. I think his words through. Sometimes, Rensha and Crade mix. There are not many, but there are mixed children. "What does that have to do with this?" I ask. He gulps, as if fighting himself. He seems as if he has to reach down and tug the words out of him, "Most of the mixed children do not get Rensha power. They have no magic in their veins, and if somehow they do, it is not enough to start even a spark. But this man... He- he possesses more power than any Rensha. Most full blooded Rensha only have specialised powers, but he possesses all. His powers are unending. He can... telepathically control both races." Taja holds up the sign of the Devil to the Rensha, and Raki's entire face pales. I ignore the drop in my stomach. A Rensha that powerful... they could wipe out the entire Crade race if they possessed enough power to control- "Where is he?" I demand, "Is he-" "He doesn't use his power for bad," Moriach interrupts me calmly, "In fact," He glares at Nate before glancing back at me, "He doesn't use his power at all." There is a long moment of silence as the Crade take in Nate's words. A Rensha that could end this war, wipe us out. Gods above. We need to find him, and we need to kill him. "And this Rensha will involve himself in this mission to help?" I ask, voice firm. Nate and Moriach share a long, and then Nate nods. "He will." My team only needs to get close enough to kill this powerful Rensha- eliminate this terrifying threat- and then we can disappear back into the shadows. I know without even looking at my Second that he is thinking the exact same thing. We must kill this secret Rensha. "Okay," Raki breathes, "We will travel with you and we will save this village on the terms of neutrality for eight days and eight days only." Nate extends his hand, and I shake it. The calluses of his palm catch against the ones on my own, and our eyes meet. Despite our blood, we are both warriors. For a moment, a small thought flickers through my head, but I shove it down and away. We are melded from the same stone. ----------------------------------------------------- Grayson does not say a word as he climbs into the hanger. Instead, he broods behind Raki and I, arms full of strange cases that he refuses to let anyone else carry. Bombs- but whether already made or not, I do not know. I wonder if he wants to leave one on this jet and run, leaving us to burn. I think a part of him does. I've never seen him as angry as he was when we returned from the mansion with our news last night, or rather, early this morning. Raki chose to share the news- he has always been better with words than I. As he spoke, I watched the others. Taja stared at the table the entire conference, jaw clenched. I did not just watch her face, but her grip on her axe. A few times, I feared she might actually swing. Kina stood beside me, her face blank the entire time. I did not know whether she was blank out of exhaustion, or indifference, or anger. Knowing, Kina, it was indifference. She will always, always, do what she thinks is right- and we all know, even Taja, that this decision was the right choice.  Justine, unexpectedly, listened raptly to Raki's recount, hanging off his every last word. Her usually almond eyes were wide, dark gaze pinning as Raki told her of the village. In a small kind of way, that village is full of everything that Justine is. Both Crade and Rensha. Justine always talks of her belonging, more specifically, her lack of it. But now... if anywhere can be her home, that is it. She agreed with our plan before Raki had even uttered a word of it. Grayson, on the other hand, argued against it for three fucking hours. He thought it was a trap, he thought it was dangerous, he thought it was a lie. There were too many risks, he had yelled, there were too many factors unaccounted for. We cannot be near the Rensha -his eyes had flickered to me when he said that part- They are not even human. He said the words to me as if they were a reminder. As if I needed reminding that these people are enemies. I left the room after that. Raki nudges me now as we finally make it to the landing of the hanger, his eyes dancing around the space. His whistle is slow and melodic. "Why do they have a jet?" He murmurs to me, light expression for curious gazes but wary words for me. "Where did they get the resources?" My own eyes hop and skip over the hanger- strapped seats to each wall, cargo cases littering the floor, soft pieces of snow dancing in with the kiss of the wind. "I don't know," I respond, not bothering to hide my frown. "Don't act too scared," A voice purrs from our right. Raki and I meet the gaze of the blonde haired woman from last night. Her smile is feline as she looks both of us up and down, blue eyes shining in amusement. Today, she wears a blood red dress that falls to her pale knees, layers of chiffon silk brushing against her legs. The jewellery that lines her throat could save an entire starving village of Crade, and the heels that she wears... Are those fucking diamonds? "Nice dress," I snort, the venom dripping from every single syllable. For some strange reason, she almost flinches at the spite in my voice. "Interesting that you choose to wear those diamonds knowing damn well that your people work as slaves to retrieve them from the Jola mines." A beat of silence passes as the smirk falls off her face, and she only blinks in shock. Raki glances sidelong at me, too. The hatred in my words- it was not in defence of Crade. It was in defence of the Rensha. The blood rushes to my cheeks, and I clear my throat. "I didn't mean-" Grayson brushes against me as he passes, the warmth from his chest oozing into my shoulder for just one second. He does not even look my way as he continues on, but I let my eyes catch on him and stay caught. I only watch him walk to the front of the hanger and set his cases down so that I can ignore Raki and the woman. "I need to help Grayson," I murmur, slipping away. Raki murmurs my name in warning, but I ignore it as I stride to that head of brown locks. Grayson does not look up as I crouch beside him, but his muscles tense and his breath catches. He does not shove me away. Instead, he lets me help unpack the crates for a few moments in silence. I do not know if the silence is peaceful of awkward, but I let myself drown in it. I let myself drown in the silence rather than my words earlier. Why did I mention the Rensha slaves as if it angered me? It shouldn't anger me. Rensha are not human- if anything, they deserve to be slaves on the Jola Islands. Better them than us, right? Right? "Do you know what you're doing?" Grayson's voice is quiet, but it is not soft. I watch his smooth movements as he ties the wire around the strange black packages. "I simply loop it up and over, don't I? Or do I do the sailor's knot that-" "No," He speaks a little louder now. He meets my gaze finally, and when I catch sight of his eyes, my hands come to a stop. I stare back at him- our gazes intense. For a moment there is nothing but me and this boy, suspended in a trapped moment of time. In his hazel depths is anger, and exhaustion, and fear. In mine is defiance, exhaustion, and longing. "Do you know what you are doing?" I understand the question now. Do you know what you are risking? Do you know what the plan is? Do you have every scenario thought out? Do you think you can keep us safe? Are you leading us into a trap? Are you going to get us killed? Are you going to get yourself killed? Somehow, I know that the last question is the one he truly wants to ask. And just like that, every single shred of anger between us falls away. He feels it fall away, too. I know that in a way, he is ripping down those walls of frustration inside of him so that he can see me again. I cannot even describe the feeling that courses through my chest- I had not even realised I missed him. After a thousand moments of charged silence, I whisper back, "I know what I'm doing, Gray." His eyes do not dare  leave mine. They shine with emotion and for the first time in a long time, he lets me see it -the raw fear in his gaze. "Don't be stupid," He breathes his rule. "Don't be stupid," My voice is quiet but not soft. We have been trained by the Forces not to show any affection, any weakness, any vulnerability, in front of Rensha. We have been trained to treat our brothers, sisters, lovers like simple soldiers so that the Rensha have nothing, absolutely nothing, to use against us. Grayson himself enforces that rule in the younger soldiers we train. He barks it until his throat is raw. But I guess right now, in this moment, he forgets. His hand slides into place behind my jaw, and as he pulls me in to him, I cannot help but think how bad an idea it is to kiss him right now. Of course, I do not pull away from his soft lips, and I instead let them meet mine.   When we pull back, his smile is soft and subtle, and I know it is for me. I smile back. It takes me a few moments to catch it; the silence. When I finally feel it on my skin, it seems to press down harder until it is almost suffocating me. I turn away from Grayson, his hand falling from my face into his lap, and I glance around. Every single member of the Rensha team is frozen in their tasks, hands midair, mouths open mid-sentence, as they stare at me and Grayson. More specifically, me. Every single Rensha gaze is on me, wide and shocked and... Is that pain in their depths? Nate is the first to move. He drops into his seat strapped to the wall in silence, and does not look up at one soul as he works at strapping himself in. All gazes shift from me to him. I do not know why I stare, but I cannot seem to rip my eyes off of the blonde Captain as he begins to untangle the belt. His hands tremble like clattering teacups, and his shaky breaths is the only sound in the silence of the jet. Grayson makes a choking sound in the back of his throat when his eyes find Nate, but I ignore it. I glance around at the team of Rensha as they watch their Captain slowly fall apart. The blonde girl watches him like a hawk, eyes dark and pitying. The young boy with the stutter seems as if he wants to look away from Nate, but he cannot seem to drag his gaze away from the pain in every single tremble of Nate's hands. Another girl, one I do not recognise, with skin the colour of coffee and dark braids dancing  down her back, tightens her grip on her sword as watches Nate with devastation screaming in her eyes. Eventually, Moriach drops his boxes in the corner and strides to his Captain, feet pounding with purpose. He falls to his knees in front of Nate, and his longer fingers slowly reach up and catch hold of the tangled belt. His hands, clasping the belt, also seem to wrap up his Captain's trembling fingers and hold them still. There is a long moment of stillness in which Nate stares at Moriach's grip on his hands. No one dares breathe. If I had my daggers, I would cut the tension in the air with them.   "You're okay," Moriach whispers to Nate, and in those words is a very valuable secret. In the softness of his voice, and in the quiet strength of his words, I find it- a small piece of information. Moriach is more than Nate's Second in Command. He is Nate's best friend. I am sure of it. I am more sure of that than I am of Grayson and I. I am more sure of that than I am of my daggers. I am sure of it because the love in Moriach's voice- a complete and endless sense of acceptance- is a mirrored reflection of the softness in my voice when I whisper Raki's name alone.     My eyes seek out my own Second in Command, but his dark and heavy gaze is already on me. Without even asking, I know that he heard it too. Nate and Moriach, and Raki and me? We are two sides of the same coin. "Breathe, Nate," Moriach whispers. "I am breathing," Nate gasps. I have only known Nate in battle. I have only known him when he is growling cursed words at me, or when he is grunting from a hit, or when his deep voice threatens me. But now... His voice shakes with the threat of tears. And I know he hates it. Out of all of these people, I know within a second that I am the only person who truly understands how much he fucking hates that warble of his words and the thickness of his throat. I have had the words drummed, punched, kicked, shoved down my throat for a year now. Captains do not show weakness. Captains do not show weakness. Captains do not- "Nate," The girl with the braids calls. Her voice is that of a warrior- strong, fearless, demanding of attention. Her Captain looks up at the sound of his name on her tongue. "Think of Isla." Isla- that is my mother's name. And within moments, somehow, magically, Nate begins to stop shaking. His breaths finally even out, and he goes completely still. His eyes are hazy, unfocused as his personal memories play out before him. I wonder who Isla is. Finally, Nate releases a long breath, slumping forward just a little. Moriach stares at him for a few moments longer before slowly unfurling his hand from his Captain's. When Moriach stands, Nate does not even seem to notice. Everyone's attention shifts to Moriach, but my eyes do not even sway from Nate as Moriach speaks. "We leave in a few minutes. Find your seat. Strap yourselves in." He does not acknowledge the last few minutes of silence. He does not acknowledge his team's pain. He does not acknowledge Nate's entire trembling body. He does not mention any of it. He simply walks across the jet, sits down beside the blonde woman, and works on strapping himself in. And slowly, both Crade and Rensha float back from the thoughts in their head, and they move to their respective seats. As I stand, Grayson's hand finds mine. Nate finally looks up, and his dark, endless eyes lock onto mine. And then they flit down to Grayson and I's entwined fingers. In his face is something so heavy, so intense, so unreadable that I almost feel the power of it in my bones. I do not know why, but I shake off Grayson's grip. And then I make my way over to the Rensha Captain. My body seems to move with a will of it's own. I know that I want to sit next to Grayson, I know that I want to sit with Raki, I know that I want to sit with my team. But instead, my legs walk me to the seat beside Nate and sit down. My hands work on strapping me in, and I cannot help but marvel at the surety of their actions, as if they know what they want even if I do not. And then my hands find my knees and rest there. It takes me a few moments of silence between the Captain and I to realise that my body mirrors is. Legs apart, fingers tapping on kneecaps, slumped over just a little. He notices it the same time I do, because his head whips up to stare at me. I stare back, as calm as ever. When he doesn't look away, I feel a thrumming in my blood that I have never felt before. But I do not break his gaze. I am not mocking him; he knows I am not. I almost jolt when I realise what my body has decided I do; support him. "I've never flown before," I tell him, voice not soft but not cruel. He licks his red lips, blonde curls almost flopping over his eyes now, "Really?" His voice is deep, raspy, "Never?" He almost whispers. The words feel like a trick question. I glance out the front window, eyes on the darkness of the night as the pilot prepares to fly. "Not that I remember."

unrequited 

[unrequitedmime]

"Did you turn my lamp off?" I ask Grayson, my voice quiet and calm.  His head jerks up at the sound of my voice, losing track of his spot on the floor. His honey brown hair is a mess today. "No," He clears his throat, "You haven't been home yet."  We stare at each other for a long time. I nod my thanks. He does not nod back. He only lets his brown gaze ooze back down to the floor.  The door opens, and Justine enters. Her body is a cloud of shadows, but I recognise the purpose of her stride. Raki follows her, his mop of hair giving  him away in the darkness.  "Are we done yet?" I ask, colder than I need to be.  Justine steps into the brightness; a spotlight focused only on me. I cannot see the musty corners of the interrogation room- only the shadows of the people that stand there.  Raki. Grayson. Sinelle. Taja.  And Justine in the middle, staring into my eyes with such intensity in her gaze that I am sure she is trying to burn away a Rensha demon inside of me. Her eyes flicker down to my bound wrists, and then up to the gash on my forehead.  "I have a few more questions," She begins, nothing but professional.  I huff a sigh and shake my bound wrists. The chains clink and sing, "Gods above, Justine, I'm not cursed."  "It's not about whether or not you're cursed at this point," She snaps, "It's about whether or not you are actually Gabriella."  I blink, "You think I'm a Shifter?" The doubt in my voice is thick, and Justine glares at the belittlement.  "You do not know the ways of the Rensha," She hisses, her anger contorting her usually smooth expression into something twisted, "You don't know their tricks."  "What?" I spit, temper finally fraying, "Am I a child, Justine? Do I not know the capabilities of the Rensha? Have I not suffered at the hands of them?" "You are not one of them, Gabriella," Justine scolds, "So you do not know their minds." "You are not one of them either," I glare, "You were raised a Crade."  I feel my blood slow in my veins. I feel the coldness creep into my system like frost, my blood not running now but oozing. I fight the urge to gasp. Justine's gaze is as cold as my stuttering heart. "Am I not one of them, Gabriella?" She asks deceptively slow. I try to focus on the sound of her voice rather than the sensation of bugs crawling through my veins. She lets me writhe for longer than she needs to. "These powers," She glances down at her clenched fists, "Are not of Crade blood, Gabriella."  And then she heats up my blood. Boiling, burning. I fight the urge to cry out as my entire body trembles in the wake of her flames. She sets every nerve in my body alight one by one, until the fire crackles and sings in my veins. Justine slowly burns me from the inside out. I clench my teeth to muffle my scream, and Taja steps forward from her corner. Grayson does not move.  "Justine," The threat in Taja's voice is thick, "You make my Captain scream one more time and I will rip your head off of your shoulders."  Despite our fights, Taja's loyalty belongs to me and only me.  Justine stares at me for a few more moments. And then her power releases. I slump in my chair, gasping for breath, fighting the nausea in my stomach.  "The interrogation is done," Justine announces, voice trembling. She went too far this time, and she knows it. "You are not Rensha."  I fight to stay conscious as someone's hands slowly untie my wrists and help me to my feet. I lean into Grayson's chest for a moment, fighting to stay upright. Grayson does not wait for me to regain my balance. He sweeps me into his arms.  I finally settle my breathing by the time we make it back to my room. As he opens the door, the wash of that red light sinks into my skin, and I sigh.  Grayson's hands are made for the harshness bombs, for the pattern of wires, for the violence of explosives. But today, they are soft. He lays me down in the bed as gently as he can, and I fold myself into the blankets. It takes him only a moment to slip in behind me, cradling my back against his chest. His warmth seeps into me, and I let it guide me to sleep.  He reaches back for something, and I lose his warmth for a moment.  The red light flickers into darkness.  I am home.  ------------------------------------------------------------ "You look like a suicide bomber," I fight the smile that comes to my lips as my eyes catch Grayson's. He glances down at his chest as the freight train rocks, reaching up and grabbing the bar above our heads to steady himself.  "I honestly don't know what to say back to that," He responds. I wonder if Grayson has always been this way; so soft spoken, so logical, so transparently honest.  The freight train rocks again, harder this time, and I land in his chest. He does not catch me, but instead tightens his grip on the bars to stabilise us. I let the smell of him soak into me. Clean and crisp. As always.  "Promise me you won't die tonight, Gabriella," He breathes finally.  I look up in surprise, and he stares back in earnest. Our lips are inches apart. I can feel his breath on my cheeks, and I am sure he can feel mine on his.  "I won't die if you won't," I whisper the deal into his soft lips. He kisses me back as gently as a breeze, so light that I am not sure if I have dreamt it.  "And promise me," His voice cracks on these words, and I pull away a breath just to watch his expression. It rises and falls with his Adams Apple. "That you won't lose yourself to them."  I blink, "Lose myself? What do you-"  "Gabriella," He insists, and there it is again- shift from boy to Commander- "Promise me."  "I won't make a promise I don't even understand."  His grip on my wrist is strong, harsher than he probably intends it to be as he leans in. I do not move away. His forehead almost bounces against mine and he lets out a breath.  "Promise me you won't lose yourself to the Rensha," He whispers again, calm now. "Please promise me."  I'm not even sure I understand his words. I don't know why I promise. But I do.  "I... I promise."  Someone calls his name from across the crowded train, and he spins to look. Boy to Commander.  I do not say a word as I slip away, silent as a ghost. He does not call me back when he catches my shadows weaving between the crowd of Crade soldiers. He lets me go.  I find Raki where I always do before missions like this; by the open door, with the wind in his hair and the glow of the sunset on his caramel skin. He almost leans out of the moving train, and the air whips through his curls as he watches the horizon. I lean against the opposite side of the open doorway, watching him in silence.  "Wraith," He mutters to the wind, knowing the breeze will carry the words back to me.  "Sniper," I murmur back. He does not grin because he can hear the word that spills from my mouth, but because he can guess exactly what it is. We stand in quiet for a few moments, watching the sky turn pink and red and orange. I have always loved the sunset.  "Are you sending us into a trap, Gabi?" He turns towards me finally, dark eyes not accusatory but weary.  If this were anyone else standing before me I would snap and glare and snarl my defence. But to Raki, I shrug.  "I do not know. It has only been a day since Taja and I were at that camp; I highly doubt they have packed it up and whisked away so fast."  "It is not about them disappearing from us. It is about them being ready for us."  I look away from the intensity of that gaze, back out to the sky.  "We'll see," I murmur, voice like water on smooth stones.  We do not speak for a long time.  "Why did they bring you back, Gabriella?" I look at him. Weariness and distrust is not painted on his face like it was on Grayson's and Justine's when I woke up in the compound. Instead, he simply looks curious. I shrug yet again. I keep doing that today.  "I don't know that one either," I admit, "I keep thinking it through, but I never find an answer that makes sense. That man clearly knew I was Crade. I was at his mercy, Raki. He could have killed me without a wasted second. He should have killed me."  "Then why are you here?" His voice is soft; a whisper of wonder.  I stare at the red the stains the sky now. As red as Anastasia's curls.  "I don't know," I whisper back, "But I don't think I'll ever find out."  ----------------------------------------------------------------- Raki's bullet lands between the eyes of the Rensha creeping up behind me.  I turn to watch the stranger drop, and then look back at my Shooter from across the clearing. He does not even meet my gaze, already turning to dodge the flames of a Fieri Rensha as she launches herself at him. Another Rensha comes running to me, and my knife lands in her abdomen the same moment her water takes me out. I gasp as the wave hits from nowhere, tumbling through the dirt and sand of the camp. When her heart finally stops beating, bled out from the sharpness of my dagger, the water gives way and I am left heaving on the ground. It takes me only a few moments to recover, and when I stagger to my feet another wave finds me. Another Nymph, avenging their fallen friend.  I scream in frustration as the man channels the furious water up my nose, into my mouth, into my eyes. I cannot fight against the force of his wave as it rocks me back in forth in its cruel embrace. I have always hated water. I do not swim, I do not cry, I do not float. This rushing cyclone of water might just be the death of me, and I for the sake of me cannot think of any worse way to die. The water almost soaks into my skin and into every knook and cranny of my body. It is everywhere, and I cannot even try to escape from the ache in my lungs. Just as my they are ready to burst, a gunshot rings across the clearing, and I free fall back into the sand with a gasp. Raki's hand finds my shoulder and flips me, still choking for air, onto my back.  "I don't have time to save your ass all the time, Gabi," He growls, eyes darting up to watch the battle around us. I try to speak through my gasps, but I let my voice falter as he swings his pistol up and lets loose three bullets. Three Rensha fall.  He hauls me up with a grunt and I let him support my weight for a few moments as I heave up the last of the water. Gods above, I hate the Nymphs. They always seem to find me.  "I saved your life," I finally croak, hands slipping into my saturated pockets for one of my daggers. "We're even."  Raki doesn't even look down to his now-healed thigh as he guides me. Justine healed it the moment we returned from the Fior warehouse. As frustrating as Justine gets, I am grateful for her Rensha blood if it means she can heal my team.  "Let's go, you big Goof," He echoes the words I spat at him just a few days ago, I fight the urge to laugh as we race to the nearest tent.  Raki and I both know we are going to burn this camp to the ground.  I slip into the tent a moment before he does, clothes heavy with water and teeth chattering.  My trembles stop the moment my eyes adjust to the low light. Someone has lit a soft lamp in the corner of the tent, and it illuminates everything in a gentle glow.  The seven children huddled together do not dare breathe as my gaze falls upon them.  Raki closes the flap and spins, guns aimed.  His murmured swear is soft.  There is a long moment of silence between all of us. The children only stare, the terror shining on their young faces. Raki and I only stare, chests heaving. The sounds of the battle outside carry on, but in this tent, not one sound is made.  "Are you of Rensha blood?" I manage finally, voice still hoarse from the water.  They are almost drowning in their thick fur coats, but I still catch their shivers as their eyes find the blades in my hands. I have never seen children so terrified.  "Gabi-" Raki breathes behind me.  "I know," I stutter back, not taking my eyes off of them, "I know."  Raki's youngest brother was ten when the Rensha killed him - likely as old as these young boys before us now. Raki will not lay one finger on these children, and neither will I. They are young, and they are innocent. No child deserves death, especially one like this.  "What do we-"  "Go," I demand, eyes for the boys but command for my friend "I'll be out in a moment."  "Gabriella-"  "Go," The authority slips in without permission, and I cannot fight back the Captain that snaps at her Shooter.  He leaves out without a word. I release a jagged breath and kneel in front of the closest boy. He whimpers as I meet his gaze.  "I am not going to hurt you," I whisper, as soft as those furs on his body. "I am going to leave you all now, but I need you to be very quiet for me, okay?" My eyes flicker between all of them, "Do you think you can do that for me?"  One by one, they nod.  I slip from that tent like shadows.   My eyes scan the battle around us for signs of Raki as I step away from the tent. That is why I do not see the man until he is right in front of me. I dodge his fist at the very last moment, and my dagger comes to rest on his throat as I push myself against him. He stands his ground, but does not move a muscle the moment my blade finds his skin.  The boy with the blonde hair stares down into my eyes with a dark gaze of his own. I can hear his fury when he speaks, "If you touched those boys-"  "I am not a monster," I snarl up at him, my knife drawing blood, "I do not kill children, like your kind do."  He blinks, still, "My kind-"  "Are monsters."  His laugh is deep and bellowing, "I am not the one that lead my people here to massacre an innocent camp-"  "NOTHING about your people is innocent, Silly Rensha," I spit, shaking my head in anger.  I wonder why he has not killed me yet. I wonder why he has not used his powers on me.  And then the dagger melts in my hand.  I swear as the molten metal burns my skin, and in my moment of distraction, his elbow finds my nose. I grunt as I stumble back, ducking from his aimed punch and swiping his legs out from underneath him. He jumps up within a second and his fist lands right in my rib cage. I feel a few snap, and I cannot fight the agonised scream that escapes me.  He stops fighting. I fall to my knee, gasping for air as I clutch at my ribs. Fucking bastard. Fucking Metali bastard- "That's cheating," I manage through the pain, slowly finding my way to my feet, "You used your curse."  "I used my GIFTS-"  The dagger that lands in his chest is solid- too fast for him to melt the metal before it embeds itself in him. He grunts and stumbles forward, almost leaning against me as he slowly droops.  "Your dirty powers," I whisper into his ear, "are a weapon of cruelty. And I won't leave any Metali alive if I can help it." He falls to his knees as I leave him in the dust.  I make it only a few steps before my the sound of my name whips across the air. I recognise that voice. I spin back towards the stranger to find Taja standing in front of the tent.  Her dark skin is coated in someone else's blood, and half of her face is cast in shadows from the fire. Even from here I can see her chest heaving from the adrenaline and the hungry glint in her eyes. A streak of Rensha blood runs down her cheek. For some strange reason, the sight makes me sick to my stomach.  "Did you check in here?" She calls, her hand already reaching for the front flap of the tent.  My dagger lands in the thick canvas only a few inches from her hand, and she freezes. The stranger, hands still clutching the dagger in his body, turns to look at me. I do not meet his stare. "I checked," I call to Taja, calm and dismissive, "Empty."  Her eyes do not leave mine for a few more moments, and then she nods with a clenched jaw. She races back into the blood and gore of the battle. I release a breath I did not realise I had been holding.  Finally, I meet the stranger's - Nate's- gaze as he pulls the dagger from his shoulder. Despite his bleeding wound, he holds it firm. The metal of my blade glints in the moonlight, and I do not look away from it.  He has the power to kill me with that blade before I can even take another breath.  The dagger makes a dull thudding sound as it falls sullenly to the sand. His hand hangs emptily, his fingers flexing as he watches me.  I spared the children's lives, and he spares mine.  I disappear into the battle.  -------------------------------------------------------- The hand comes from no where. I gasp as he yanks me back into the shadows of the ferns. He pulls me into the darkness, his long fingers covering my mouth to muffle the scream. My blade flashes in the air, but he spins me before I can slit his throat. I stare up into Grayson's eyes.  "Gods above," I almost sag against him in surprise, shaking my head, "Grayson, are you crazy? I could have killed you!"  "Did any Rensha see you come in here?" His words are quiet, raw, urgent.  I frown, my heart still racing. I do not like standing still in battle. My body twitches in impatience.  "I don't know. I wasn't exactly keeping an eye out-"  "I need your help," He interrupts, speaking almost too fast for me to understand, "Justine said not to, but I don't think her head  is in the right place when it comes to battling Rensha one on one. Her powers become too connected to theirs and I think she forgets herself in a way-"  "What are you talking about?"  He opens his vest- the one I teased him about on the train. My stomach drops. There are dozens of sowed pockets lining the inside of it, and in every single one of those pockets is a fist sized bomb.  "Grayson," I breathe, the shock and horror bleeding into his name, "How did you-"  "I found all of the right materials in one of their tents, and I got to work." His eyes are alight in the darkness. I blink, "You created all of those just tonight?"  He nods, the brightness in his face unsettling. I try to stop staring. Grayson managed to make 12 bombs in less than an hour.  This is why he is Explosives Commander.  "What are you going to do?" I breathe.  He blinks in confusion, looking at me now as if I am stupid.  "We're going to blow up the entire camp, Gabriella. We'll plant the bombs in each tent, and one beside the main bonfire. We'll have three minutes to warn the Crade to run before they detonate."  The breath is knocked from my body. His mind is brilliant, and logical, and cruel.  "No." I say.  He stares, "What?"  "You can't blow up the camp- there are too many risks involved. There is no guaranteeing the Crade will survive - they are proud people and they will not listen when we tell them to run."  Grayson is silent for a long time. Longer than he should be. When he finally speaks, his voice is deadly quiet.  "WE are proud people. You are Crade, too."  I blink, realising my mistake. I nod, "That's what I meant."  He just watches me for a few more moments.  "You are quick," He finally says, "You move like shadows, so when we finish planting the bombs, you will be able to find each member of our team and whisper for them to leave. They'll listen to your orders, Gabriella."  "I'm not the superior on this mission, Grayson."  "You don't have to be," He insists, impatient now, "They will listen to you, anyway.  Gabriella- so many more of our team is going to die if we don't plant these bombs."  We could win this battle. We could get away alive.  And then I remember the huddled children in that tent.  "No," I say again, firmer this time, more sure than ever.  His face contorts in his frustration, and he shakes his head in anger.  "I'm doing this with or without you, Gabriella," He almost growls, "I need to save OUR people."  I flinch away from the accusation in his words. "Grayson, people will die-"  "Good."  He pushes himself out into the battle, and I follow him, desperate words on my tongue. I falter a few steps into the camp, stomach dropping right down to the blood stained sand. He is gone. I scan the battle, eyes passing over fighting friends and powerful Rensha for a glimpse of light brown locks.  Nowhere. He has disappeared into the shapes of the night, and this time I cannot follow.  --------------------------------------------------------------- He finds me on the roof of the compound, like he always does.  He does not make his way over, barefoot, as he always does. He does not sit beside me, as he always does. He does not watch the sunrise with me, as he always does.  Instead, he shouts to me, words harsher than the wind that carries them.  "You knocked me unconscious?" He almost spits.  I do not turn to look at him. I simply stare out at the beautiful pink of the sky. Justine healed my ribs almost immediately in the battle last night, but the phantom of the pain still lingers. I take a slow, deep breath before responding.  "You were going to kill us all." "We both know I wouldn't have," He says, low and angry, "Do you think I'm an idiot?"  I take a moment to respond.  "Last night you were an idiot."  "How?"  "You were trigger happy," I call, knowing the words aren't true even as I say them. Grayson is never anything but rational. "You wanted to use your bombs, Grayson, but they couldn't have helped."  "Don't tell me what my bombs can and cannot do, Gabriella," The threat rumbles in his voice. He stands maybe a few metres behind me now, stalking closer in his anger. "I am Explosives Commander in this compound. I know bombs better than anyone, especially you."  "And I know battle better than anyone," I respond, an edge in my voice now. He may be Explosives Commander, but I am Captain of the best warrior team we have. "It wouldn't have worked."  "So instead of saying that, you knocked me out?" He snarls, right behind me now.  I move so fast he does not even have time to step back. I stand and spin as fast as the wind, in his face within a second.  "I did say that, you fucking idiot," I growl up at him, "But you left. You ignored me and disappeared in a tantrum. It took me four minutes to find you in that camp. Do you know how horrible those four minutes were? I counted every second in my head, sure that the next one would be the moment you blew us to pieces. I finally, FINALLY, found you, and I did what I needed to do to save OUR people."  I found him after four minutes and fifteen seconds. He was huddled on the ground, in the dirt, beside the Commander's tent as he worked on placing the bomb down perfectly. I didn't think as I ran to him, swift and silent as a wraith. The butt of my dagger left him unconscious in the sand. I have never run as fast as I did to find the rest of those bombs, hands trembling as I picked up each one and crushed it. The only thought in my mind for those desperately long minutes were those seven boys and the warmth of their fur coats.  I am lucky he hadn't set the timer for them yet.  Otherwise we all would have been dead. "Why did you want to save them?" He snarls, furiously vicious.  I blink, "Why did I want to save our team-"  "NO," He speaks as if I am stupid, and I fight the urge to knock him out again, "Why did you want to save the Rensha?"  "I didn't." In a way, though, that is a lie.  He knows it is, too. There is so much disgust in the way he shakes his head and steps away that I feel it in the pits of my stomach.  He leaves me with my trembling hands and my whispering doubts in the light of the rising sun.

unrequited 

[unrequitedmime]

He doesn't move from his spot on the bed, watching the rhythm my fingers seem to fall into as I plait my hair. It's getting too long. I need to cut it.  "I'm going to cut it," I announce, eyes flickering to his in the mirror. He doesn't look away from my chocolate strands.  "Don't," His voice is soft, distant. He is lost in his head again.  I turn to him, hands on hips, mouth ready to utter the words that I have been aching to release.  "Gabriella," His tone changes so fast, but then again, it always does. I never see the shift coming- the transition from doting boy to Explosives Commander. "Don't cut it."  The words, as they somehow always do, deflate inside of my chest. They sputter to dust, and only I can hear them dissolving in the wind. We stare at each other for a few moments in the silence of my dorm. He looks away first. He always does. He always glances down at his shoes, or drag his eyes to a wall, or finds someone in a passing crowd to catch gazes with. Now his eyes fall upon my strands again. Perfectly plaited. As usual. The way he likes it.  The door opens. My head whips to the person in my doorway, glare ready, heat burning. No one enters my dorm without knocking.  Taja stares back at me, black eyes hard as steel today.  "Knock," Is all I say.  "Let's go," She almost snaps. She closes the door with a whoosh, and Grayson flinches as it slams. I do not, but the fire inside of me burns a little hotter. I try to settle the flames in my gut, because I understand. Taja is afraid today. I will not burn her.  I say nothing as I scoop up my daggers and slip them into the dozen pockets of my brown cargo pants, flipping them around my fingers as I slide a few into my boots and one into my bra. Grayson remains on the end of my bed, watching not with curiosity, but with disapproval.  "You're going to cut yourself if you put too many in."  I spare him a glance as I slide the last two up the sleeves of my gloves. Black gloves. Everyone hates my gloves. They are the colour of evil, of the enemy. I don't care. I like them.  "Only if I don't place them right."  "How do you know if you're placing them right?" The curiosity comes out now; the inquisitive mind making gentle waves.  "If I don't cut myself."  I flick off my lights the same time I flick on my lamp, and the soft red light oozes into my walls. Half of Grayson's face is hidden in the shadows as he stands. He hates the light, too. But I love it. I turn it on when I leave for missions, and I turn it off when I come back alive. It is a reason to come home.  Despite Taja's harsh impatience, I do not move as Grayson makes his way over to me. Together we stand in the near darkness, skin awash in blood red. His hand finds my neck and slides up to my cheek. Despite the words I wanted to scream just a few moments ago, I lean into his touch.  "You know the rules," He whispers.  "Don't be stupid," I whisper back.  "That includes dying."  "Dying for this cause is stupid?"  His kiss is soft, and I almost sigh into the gentle caress of his lips.  "Dying for this cause is the best way to die," He breathes, "But we should do it together one day. When we're both ready."  Die together. One day. When we're ready.  I don't think I'll ever be ready to die.  "Sounds like a plan."  "Great. It's a date, then."  -------------------------------------------------------------- I do not look into the eyes of the man I plunge my knife into, but I do whisper a prayer to Reja as he slumps against my body. I let him drop and I continue on through the warehouse, body alert, blood pumping.  The adrenaline races through my veins, but I stay calm as I turn into a hallway between the two warehouses. My steps are almost silent. I ignore the sound of gunfire below me, the smell of blood and gun powder that stings my nostrils. The dust coats my ugly plait, but almost blends in with the light browns of my uniform.  Where is Raki?  He should be back with Anastasia by now. I check my watch; identical to the rest of the team's watches to the very second. He is two minutes late. Raki is usually late, but this one is cutting it fine. Nothing to do but wait.  I slip into a side office and begin to count the seconds. I do not focus on the screams of the Fiors, or the voices of my team as they call out to each other. They are strong, they are smart, they are fast. They are not my responsibility in this mission. Anastasia is.  My spy. She has been gone for two months, undercover in the mouth of the beast itself; a Rensha camp. It took two months for them to realise her heart did not belong to their gods, but by then she had already disappeared. If we don't get her back to Base today, we will lose some of the most valuable information the Crade has ever gathered.  I check my watch again. Five minutes late. Fucking hell, Raki.  It takes two more minutes for me to find them. Three corridors away. My eyes fall on Raki's familiar mop of curls as I turn the corner and I swear.  "Dammit, Raki-" And then I see the blood.  It pours from his leg in rivers. The ruby red blood falls like a waterfall from my best friend. His head whips up at the sound of my voice, and there is a fever in his dark eyes that I have never seen before. It is real fear. Sweat coats his caramel skin, dampens his curls, beads on his top lip.  "Hi, Angel," He grunts, quickening his pace despite the wound on his thigh.  I say nothing as I sprint to him, gathering myself up under his arm and taking on his weight. I glance across his chest at Anastasia. She stares back at me, dirt stained but alive and unharmed.  "What happened?" I almost growl, mind racing. How the fuck are we going to get out of this one, Raki?  Anastasia opens her mouth to respond, but Raki's voice cuts her off, "Don't," He spits the word at her as if it is a curse. He glances down at me as we turn the corner, just a little bit closer to the meeting point. "She thinks the Rensha have a tracker on her voice."  I stare at Anastasia for another moment before nodding my understanding. She nods back.  How the hell are we supposed to get her information if she cannot say the words?  "What happened then?" I ask Raki, almost demanding, "What did you do?"  He laughs at the accusatory tone, "I shot myself in the fucking leg, Gabi. Just for shits and gigs." ' I only glare back. We fall silent and focus on moving my blood stained best friend to safety. Two more turns until we are at the checkpoint. Two more corridors.  "Keep walking, Ki," I whisper, "Please keep walking."  I almost laugh when we turn the corner and find three Fior soldiers at the end of it. Of course this has to happen to us now. My free hand slips into my pocket and finds the three daggers I have left. I do not make a noise as I throw them all at once. Every single blade finds it's target. We wordlessly step over their bodies.  Please Reja, I pray, Please bless us with safety. Let us find our destination with no more obstacles. I have nothing left to fight with- "Prayers aren't going to save us now, Gabs," Raki's voice slurs as he begins to lose consciousness.  I grunt as he teeters on his feet, "Stay awake you big Goof, or I'll kill you. " His chuckle is breathy and distant.  We turn the last corridor. I prayed, but Reja did not listen.  A Fior stands at the end. He is our age, perhaps younger. If I passed him on the street, I would take one glance at his flushed cheeks and his long lashes and call him a Tjue. A flower in my language.  Flowers do not hold aimed guns, though.  We come to a sudden stop, Raki swearing under his breath at the sudden jolt of stillness. My blood pumps in my ears, until all I can hear is my heart, Raki's struggling gasp, and the tap of the boy's finger against his trigger.  "Don't move."  "Don't shoot," I call.  "Why shouldn't I?" Even his voice is young.  I glance around the deserted corridor, at the debris and the loose bits and pieces of scaffolding that lay scattered around us. The boy is two metres away, maybe three. His grip on the gun does not falter. My eyes find it the same moment he steadies his stance. I know that stance. Spreading of legs, puffing of chest, a breath in- I have seen Raki train young Shooters enough to know what someone preparing to kill looks like.  I do not say a word as I leap away from Raki and Anastasia. My hand closes around the pipe the same moment Raki's legs finally give out. A cry escapes Anastasia's lips as he collapses onto her. The boy's eyes widen- that is all I see before I throw the pole with all of my might. Every single shred of my strength goes into that throw. It embeds itself in his chest and sails right through his body. The pole clatters onto the ground a moment before he drops dead.  A moment of stillness. I stare in the silence, my chest heaving. If I did not know any better, I would say that those were sobs rattling my heart cage. But I do not cry. A warrior cannot cry.  I say a prayer out loud this time, breathless and raspy. I have killed a young boy. This prayer, this acknowledgement of sin, deserves to be heard by any gods listening. I deserve to be acknowledged as broken.  "Gabi," Raki murmurs from the ground, trying to crawl through the debris towards me. Despite the rawness of his pain, his voice is soft. He knows what that kill cost me. He knows what every kill costs my heart. I do not turn around to my bleeding best friend. I only stare at the body of that boy. He has a mother, a best friend, a father, a family. He had a life. I took it away from him. The thoughts tumble through my body like a pinball, hitting every single one of my bones and rattling them. For a few moments, there is nothing but my gasping chest and my murmured name on Raki's lips over and over.  And then Anastasia says my name. She says it differently; heavier, sadder, louder. Something about it makes me look. My eyes find hers first. She is covered in white dust from her spot on the ground. And then my eyes find the Rensha standing behind her.  "No!" My scream is broken glass and jagged blades and the lost life of a little boy. I throw myself at Anastasia, over Raki's body, and claw at her. Her hand finds mine the exact moment the Rensha grabs her.  The last thing I see before they disappear are her blue eyes. They are so, so sad. I know that look. My spy says a final goodbye. And then my hands are left empty. The Rensha are going to kill her.   ----------------------------------------------------------- Grayson has not said a word the entire time. He has only stood frozen, chin resting on his palm as he thinks, that familiar frown dotting his eyebrows. I glance up at him as Raki argues with Justine from his spot in the corner. The sound of their voices fade into a familiar buzz as I watch Grayson. "You don't think I should do it."  He finally looks up at me, his light brown eyes almost hazed over with thought. It takes him a few moments to respond.  "I think that if you step into that camp, you will never step back out."  I clench my fist, "You don't think I can survive it?"  "I don't think anyone can survive it, Gabriella." I look back down to the map resting on the old oak table. My eyes skip and dance over the points I've drawn. Our paths, our target, our escape routes. I see so many flaws that it almost scares me.  But what scares me more is losing my spy.  "We cannot let Anastasia go just like that-"  "We didn't let her go just like that," His voice has an edge to it now, as it always does when I try to argue with his logic, "You stormed a Fior warehouse to find her. Raki got shot in the leg. Kina suffered a minor stab wound, Taja still hasn't stopped trembling, and you cut your hair."  I make a tsking sound with my tongue and glare, "Me cutting my hair ISN'T a sign of a mental breakdown."  "You're lucky no one died, Gabriella."  I almost hiss at the scorn in his voice. "Do not scold me," I snap, "You are not my superior, Grayson."  He rolls his eyes, and I feel the fire ignite once again. I have not felt that fire for the past two days, since the moment that boy's heart stopped beating.  "What do you suggest we do, then?" My voice is louder than I'd like it to be, and Justine's argument with Raki quiets at the sound of my anger. "Just leave her to die?"  "She knew what she was sacrificing-"  "Don't hit us with that bullshit," Raki calls from his corner, the disgust clear in his voice. "We all know what we are getting into. Does not mean we all deserve to die in enemy territory."  "Yes," Grayson's voice trembles with barely restrained frustration. He hates when Raki and I argue against him, "But as a spy, Anastasia understands-"  "You know what I don't understand, Grayson?" Raki interrupts, almost shroud in shadows. His voice seems to come from everywhere at once. "Why you won't assist us. You live and breathe bombs," Grayson's eyes flicker at the mockery, "So why can't you create one that helps make this plan a little easier for us?"  "Because it is a suicide mission, Rakiel," Grayson spits, "And I do not involve myself in stupid plans."  The hurt hits square in my chest, and I know I do not do a well enough job of hiding the look on my face, because Grayson's expression falls.  "I didn't mean-"  "I don't care what you meant," My voice is cold, "I am getting my spy. And I am coming back home when I am done." He stares at me, and I do not look away, "Leave my lamp on."  -------------------------------------------------------------- "How am I supposed to walk among them without killing every single one of these motherfuckers?" Taja's voice is raw with hatred.  I glance away from the camp and at her, crouched in the shadows of the fern. She hates the Rensha more than anyone I have ever met. We all hate the Rensha; the race of power shifters that kill and pillage as they please. I was born hating them. I do not like to think of my Ma and Pa; farmers tortured and murdered by a few bored Rensha when I was only eight. I still have nightmares about their screams, sometimes. Every single Crade has lost something to the powers of the Rensha. The war between the Crade and the Rensha started when I was nine; a bloody and hateful conflict between the races, each side fighting for freedom from each other.  I have killed more Rensha in my year with the Crade Forces than I can count. I spent my entire childhood jumping from Crade rebellion to Crade rebellion. Only when I found the power of the Crade Forces did I realise that the trick to winning this war is not politics, it is action.  "You don't," I respond to Taja, glancing back out at the camp. In a few more moments, their Guardian Rens will finish their rest and come back to enforce the magnetic field. We have mere seconds to act.  "Please let me kill-"  "This isn't about your desire for vengeance, Taja."  She glares and opens her mouth to snap back at me, but I am already gone. I do not look back at my dark skinned warrior as I stride right into enemy territory. I know without glancing back that her eyes will track me for a few moments, and then she will disappear into the shadows. I wonder how well she will do it. We all have our moments of glory. Raki is at his best when his guns are aimed, Grayson does best when his hands are cutting wires, Kina does best when her swords are swinging. Taja is at her best when she is bellowing in battle.  She will not like the silence of the shadows like I do.  The fear does not rip into me as I walk through the centre of the camp, eyes down, pace steady. Instead, the fear slowly gnaws away at my stomach, eating me from the inside out. I wonder if I will be a half devoured corpse by the time I find Anastasia in this maze of tents. The Rensha do not pay attention to me as I walk, and for once I thank Reja above that there are no visual differences between my people and theirs. I am lucky we are not like the Fiors- with their ancient tribal tattoos, or the Sie- with their silver hair.  No, instead I look like the enemy. Why not pretend to be them?  My skin crawls as I walk. I am too close to the heart of Rensha people. These people killed my family, these people left me an orphan at eight, these people killed Raki's little brother, these people-  I almost trip over the girl that passes me, swift and smooth as running water. A nymph. I have heard the stories of the Rensha that can control water; they move just like it.  I focus on my task. Walk. Find the Commander's tent. Find Anastasia. Give the signal to Taja. Disappear into the shadows.  I am stupid enough to hope that nothing goes wrong.  I try to ignore the sounds of life around me. Music playing softly in a tent I pass, the smell of freshly baked bread, the sound of training not far off, the laughs of a group of Rensha sitting by a fire.  They seem so human, but they are monsters.  It takes me seven minutes to find the Commander's tent. Seven minutes of screaming thoughts and trembling steps and hurried breaths.  It is a rather large tent; hulking and black and powerful. I can feel the Rensha energy from where I stand, and I fight the urge to throw up.  I slip in without a sound, shadows and silence embodied. I do not scan the tent before closing the flap and taking a breath. If someone were in here, I would have died already. I took the chance of dying the moment I decided to walk in here. I cannot face a Rensha in their territory and survive.  I send up a quick prayer to Reja and wait until my heart stops screaming in my ears. And then I turn.  On the journey to this camp I spent hours wondering what they were doing to Anastasia here. I wondered if they were torturing her, or starving her, slowly killing her, keeping her in a cage, in chains, in darkness.  I was wrong. Anastasia dozes on the King Bed, her naked body covered in thick furs and her red curls dancing down her pale back.  I did not guess she would be raped. I fight the tears that prick my eyes.  I do not have time to cry for her violation now; I need to help my warrior. I swipe up her clothes, laid out on the table closest to me, and I stride over to my spy.  The rage is so hot and burning inside of me that I almost hiss from the flames in my blood. I want to set fire to the world for wronging Anastasia like this. I want to burn this fucking camp to the ground-  Anastasia stirs, and for some strange reason, I pause. She stretches her long limbs out like she is a purring cat, and her sleepy smile is soft.  "Nathaniel," I have never heard her speak like that. Today, her voice is low and husky. Her tongue slips and slides over her syllables as if that name is music and she is a singer, "I hope you've come back to offer  me breakfast in bed."  Her blue eyes finally open when the tip of my dagger comes to rest on the hollow of her throat.  There is a terrifying sort of silence that follows, in which she stares at me and I stare back. On her pale face is her horror, her shock, her fear. I am not sure what is written over my features. I do not feel much but the ice that had crawled through my veins the moment she stretched like that bed was hers to stretch in.  "Gabriella," She breathes, syllables trembling now. The sexiness has been ripped from her voice. "No purring my name, Anastasia?" I ask, cold as frost, "I'm offended."  She does not say a word. She only stares at me.  "Why?" I whisper finally.  She gulps, and my blade draws blood. I watch the bead of red pool in the dip of her white throat. She is lucky I have not slit it yet.  "You have to go," Her voice is quiet, but there is fear in it. Both fear of me, and fear for me. "They will kill you-"  "I should kill you," I do not spit my words, but she flinches nevertheless. Her movement draws more blood.  She stares at me for a very long time. I do not say a word. I want to kill her, she knows I do.  I suddenly understand why she looked so sad back in that Fior corridor. I thought that her blue gaze was saying goodbye to me and hello to death. It was not. She was just saying goodbye for the sake of farewells.  "You can kill me," She says a little louder, "Or you can leave before they find you. Because once Nate finds you, he will-"  "Kill you," The voice that speaks is smooth and deep. I do not turn around as he calmly presses his Rensha hand - a hand that holds more power than every bone in my body - to the back of my head. "Because once I find you, I will kill you."  Anastasia meets the gaze of the man behind me. Despite the knife at her throat and the blood against her skin, her smile is slow and adoring.  I fight the urge to laugh. What a fucked up situation. My mind races through all of the possible options. Kill Anastasia, get my brains blown out. Stall for long enough to snap Taja's impatience, and let her come in here with guns blazing. Talk enough to distract the man, and then kill him. If I die, Taja will be left to die waiting for me. I think of Grayson's rule. Don't be stupid.  I think of that red lamp, waiting for me to come home.  The man does not move fast enough to deflect the blow I deliver to his nose. He makes a grunting sound as it breaks and falters long enough for me to spin. My heavy boot lands on Anastasia's throat and pins her, choking, against the headboard of the bed. The man's powered fist lands in my gut, and I expel one gasp before snapping my elbow up back into his nose. The cry that escapes him isn't entirely human. He swipes my feet out from beneath me, but I roll through his legs with the momentum and jump up in time to put my dagger to his throat from behind. He grabs my thigh with rough hands and throws me towards Anastasia. I am meant to land on the bed in a heap, I suppose, but I do not. This man does not know something about me. I do not fight with force, but with grace. An animalistic slyness.  I do not land on the bed. I land on Anastasia's throat. My boot smashes into her windpipe, and I pin her once again against the bed head. She chokes as I crush her diaphragm. The man strides towards me, but I ignore him as I lean down to Anastasia's red face.  "Traitors deserve to die gasping," I hiss to her.  The man's steps falter.  I glance up at him, the daggers slipping into my hands faster than time itself. He stands a few feet away from the bed, blonde hair dishevelled, brown eyes dark, eyelashes long.  Warrior, a voice whispers in my mind, a True Warrior. I ignore it.  "You take one more step, and you watch your girl die," My voice is almost unrecognisably deadly. My words are spoken with a cold sort of calm. The killing calm, Raki calls it.  The man - almost a boy, actually, not even a few years older than me- just stares for a very long time, face unreadable.  "She's not my girl," He says finally.  "You let me leave this tent unharmed, and I let you keep your little pet," I say slowly. My voice does not tremble despite the helplessness inside of me. I can cornered, and he knows it.  Anastasia tries to gasp my name, but I only press down harder on her throat, eyes still on the stranger.  "You are not supposed to be here," He finally whispers. Something in his voice is raw with pain.  I do not have time to consider it-  His eyes are the last thing I see before the world goes black.

unrequited 

[unrequitedmime]

The nightmares are like a plague. They creep in slowly, reaching through dreams of beautiful blue eyes and black curls fluttering in the wind, staining the peace like ink on a page, slowly spreading across my vision. Until the darkness is all that is left. I see my father first, his eyes hazed and his fist closed. I see the bruised cheek of Keonin, the tears in his eyes as he cuts into the morning bread for our siblings. I try to touch him, try to reach out  to my brother, but I cannot move from my place in the doorway. My siblings do not hear me calling their names. I can only watch them wait for their slice of bread, sullen and silent at the old table. They have more bruises than I have ever seen on any of them. There is a patch of hair missing on nine year old Cody's head. I feel my heart shatter in my chest, over and over for each bruised sibling I see. Father's gangs must have found him. Found them. The rage does not seep in slowly, like the ink. It rushes in, punches me square in the chest, consumes my blood. I try to gasp it down or ignore it, but I cannot. In my hands I hold a knife, and I am walking. My father enters the kitchen in a stumble, and within moments my knife is in his chest, hilt deep. Images swim and blur around me, and suddenly it is not my bleeding father in my arms, but Keonin. I feel rather than hear my scream of horror. The ink swims in again, dragging my dying brother and my broken siblings away from me in waves. I try to claw onto my closest brother, gasping for air as his own blood drowns him, but he disappears in the cloud of black. And then the Queen is there, dagger to my throat. Her eyes, usually golden and shining, are red. She bares her teeth in a grin, inches from my face, and shows teeth sharpened to their points. I want to scream, want to cry, but I cannot move in my terror. "I found you, little Witch," She whispers. I cannot even cry out as she slits my throat. And then the ink sweeps in again. And again, and again. ------------------------------------------------- The door to my chambers opens with a flourish, and I startle, spinning in my spot on the balcony ledge. Standing in my room, eyes running appreciatively up and down everything that is there, is Lord Sebastian. Sebastian Rosales. I have not had a chance to confer with him much over the past week, but I have caught glimpses of him in conversation with others. Lord and Lady Rosales were close friends of my fathers, yet they often kept Sebastian at their estate when they visited the Palace for business. War meetings are no place for a child. I do not remember much of him over these years, but I have heard the whispers around the Kingdom. His father died before he had even reached his teenage years. His mother, Lady Beth Rosales, became sick when he was 17, almost three years ago now, and he was left to run the Rosales estate and manage the businesses with help from his parents' advisers. The Rosales fund the military units of Lorath. Imagine that; a 17 year old boy left to devise war plans and instruct battalions of soldiers in their training courses. In the three years of his mother's slow deterioration of both mind and body, he maintained perfect development of Lorath's military regime and plan. He never visited the Palace once. Only now that his mother has finally left this Earth has he decided to make his face known. I hear that Sebastian Rosales is quick witted, and charming, and dangerously intelligent. Not one thing slips by him, they say. But no one said that he had eyes the colour of green amber. I clear my throat, not moving from my position on the ledge, "Good morning, Lord Sebastian. Can I help you?" His gaze catches onto mine, and I have the strangest sensation that he can not only see the blue of my eyes, but every single thought that lays beneath. His smile is slow and sweet. "It IS a good morning, isn't it, Your Highness?" I nod, glancing towards my door for a moment. Surely the guards would have stopped him from entering uninvited. I look back to Sebastian's grin. No. Surely that smile would have been enough to let him pass. He takes his time wandering out onto the wide balcony, and when he steps into the sunlight he stops. He closes his eyes, tilts his head to the sun, and breathes in the fresh morning air. I look away, short of breath for some strange reason. When I look back, he is but a few steps away. I refuse to startle, but instead casually slip off the stone ledge. I may be trusting, but not enough to sit on the edge of death with a near stranger by my side. Sebastian takes up a spot beside me, and together we stand overlooking the Kingdom. My room has the most beautiful view in all of the Palace. Eventually, Sebastian turns, one arm on the ledge as he watches me. I do not look at him but stare out into the distance, face blank but not cold. I have learnt the games of the Royal Court. "You are not like other Royals," He murmurs quietly, "Are you, Prince?" Now I do look at him. His gaze, a dozen shades of green in the light, is heavy. "I'd like to think that not all Royals are the same," I respond, voice smooth and honest, "And I'd like to think that whats in my heart is what makes me different." He doesn't believe my words. He does not need to. I do. Nevertheless, he nods and looks back out at the horizon. "Is there something you have come here to discuss, Lord Sebastian?" I ask finally. He shakes his head to himself, "Do not call me that." I blink, "Pardon?" "I am no more a Lord than you are a King." The words sit heavy in the air, and I almost flinch from them. Instead, I let them sink in, let the implication ooze into me. He does not think I am suited to be a King. He does not think I want to be one. I do not let any signs slip that indicate he is right. The whispers were true. Not one thing passes him by. "When do your Engagement weeks begin, Your Highness?" He asks, ignoring my earlier question. I swallow back my blatant fear at the mention of it, "Tomorrow." "Ah, are you excited?" "Yes. Very." He suddenly leans in close, very close, too close. I should step away, push him, tell him to respect my space. I do neither of these things as he steps closer, until we are almost chest to chest. I do nothing as his mouth finds my ear, so close that if I moved even a fraction of an inch his lips would brush against my skin. "You might want to practise that line, Your Highness," He breathes, the sound of his delicate whisper chasing goosebumps along my arms, "It does not sound so believable right now." A punch to the chest. And then he steps back, face bright and easy again, and bows. Neither of us say a word as he leaves. Only once the doors close behind him do I realise that I was holding my breath. ------------------------------------------------------------------- I do not see him in the hall in front of me. I only feel him when I rush right into his chest. I gasp as I hit him, spinning and falling. My arms flail desperately for a moment as I trip. Suddenly his hands are on my waist, tugging me back. I land against him with a gasp, taking a few moments to settle my rolling vision. And then I look up into Renzo Addington's eyes. Today his gaze is just as beautiful as ever; rolling oceans of softness. His smile is amused, gentle, small. "Hello, Divine," He whispers. I gulp, "H-Hello, Lord Renzo." "You seem to be in a rush," He breathes, voice quiet and secretive as he looks down at me. His hands are still on my waist, and I am still leaning against his warm chest. The heat seeps into my skin, and it almost suffocates me. I try to remember how to talk, how to function under his gaze. I feel the blush rush into my cheeks before I can even think to stop it, and I watch his eyes flick down to them. There is something heavy in his gaze when he meets my eyes again. I do not want to decipher it, but I feel a burst of warmth bloom deep in my stomach. "I am a bit," I agree with a small laugh, "I'm sorry, I wasn't focusing." "No problem," He smiles, "I am not complaining at all." I do not want to decipher those words, either. I will not let myself. He leans down slightly, lowering closer to my face, "You ought to watch where you're going, lovely Divine." His breath flutters the stray hairs that have escaped my ponytail like a soft breeze. And then he winks, and his hands snake out from around my waist. I step back with a small breath, burying my fists in my skirts to hide the trembling. I do not know if I am shaking because of the beautiful Lord in front of me, or the magic that has bunched up like electricity at the tips of my fingers. Probably both. "Of course, Lord Renzo," I curtsy slightly, breathless. He smiles when I do it, "I hope to see you at the festivities tomorrow, Divine." And then he walks away, whistling. The sound is high and sweet and perfectly in pitch. Before I can think to call out after him, the pain shoots through my fingers like sparks. I bite back my gasp and bring my hands out from where they hide. I almost throw up when I see them. My pale skin runs along my arms, but on my palms looks like slowly spreading blotches of black ink. It swims under my skin towards my fingers. To the ends of them. I do not know what will happen once they reach there. I glance around, panic suddenly hammering in my heart so loudly that I can hear nothing else. I have no time to escape to my room on the other side of the Palace. The magic will explode from me before I can even reach my hallway. I ignore the electricity in my hands, rumbling underneath my skin, and think. I have memorised this Palace. All of its hiding spots, all of its hidden rooms. My mind catches on a destination. I begin to run. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- "Grace," He calls my name louder than he should, and I spin in my spot. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can I am there, hand on his lips. "Do NOT say my name like that," I almost growl to him. We stand inches apart, chests heaving. His eyes are a light sort of brown, and they stare wide at me. In fear. In lust. I cannot decide which one. Standing here this close to him in the middle of the hallway is dangerous. Anyone could turn the corner ahead. Eventually I lower my hand and step back, but his fingers find my wrist and wrap around it. Tight. "You cannot just leave me here," He hisses, rage burning through his syllables as he tugs me back against him, "I thought we had a connection." My glare drips with my venom. I rip my hand from his. "Damion, we had sex once. One time. I slept with you because you are handsome and I was drunk. There is no connection between us. I stated this before we took our clothes off that night, and I stated it after, as well. You need to stay away from me." I do not know why I slept with him my first night in the Palace. He had been kind, serving me drinks no matter how many times I had asked at the ball, and he was admittedly handsome. Deep brown waves, freckles, brown eyes. I will admit to myself that I slept with him because he is handsome, but I cannot force myself to voice that I slept with him because his handsomeness reminded me of someone. His brown hair had a tint of dark red in the light of the ballroom. And if I closed my eyes, I could imagine his own were a deep blue. I shake the thought of Lord Ronan from my mind and focus instead on the boy in front of me. "You will not call me Grace. You will call me Your Highness. Do you understand?" He opens his mouth to respond, but his gaze catches on something behind me, further down the hall. I create distance between us instantly, smoothing down my hair as I turn to look behind me. The Divine, Fayre, runs towards us. Her hands are buried in the long skirts of her dress today as she sprints, and I catch a glimpse of recognition in her eyes as she catches sight of me. "Your Highness," She barely manages a nod as she passes, not slowing down as she runs on. I stare after her even as she turns a corner and disappears from view. There was something about her today. A wild look in her shining eyes, a flush to her cheeks, her hair bouncing behind her, an urgency in her step that runs deeper than her forced loyalty to the Prince. She was scared. More than that, though, she seemed to be surrounded by something I cannot describe. I only felt it as she passed; a ripple in the hallway, like the splitting of air as she passed. It took my breath away. I do not stop staring for a few moments longer. There was an energy about her, I knew that straightaway. But it takes me a few more seconds to realise that it was darkness. -------------------------------------------------------------- The stairwell is ancient. It is also forgotten. I came across it by accident my first week in the Palace, and I have never been back. It is dark, and it spirals deep into the abandoned tunnels. When I first found it, I was enchanted by the eeriness, as I always am. Moss covered the walls, making the stone cool and slightly damp. The door to it is heavy, but it is soundproof, and that is what's important. I lock myself in the darkness for a moment, taking one singular second to feel the tremble in my bones before I race down the stairs. I reach the bottom within moments. It is almost pitch black. I am not afraid of the dark. I have darkness in my veins. The fire in my blood sparks again, so rough and strong that my knees give out. I sink to the damp floor, the thick skirts of my gown sliding around me until I am sitting on a cloud of soft material. My entire body trembles with barely restrained magic, and the gasps that heave from my chest are pained. I should not have held it in for so long. I should not have ignored it, suffocated it. I should have released it in small bursts. Now there is too much inside of me. It is going to explode out, and I have no idea how powerful it will be. It could tear this stairwell apart. I can feel it in my fingertips now, cold as ice and as hot as fire. With one last conscious thought, my mind almost overcome with the buzz of darkness, my eyes catch onto the barely perceptible torches in the walls. I set them aflame before I release the power inside of me. And when they catch light, orange fire sizzling, I see what I did not before. Luca Addington. "No," I whisper, feeling my heart stop beating, my stomach drop to the centre of the very Earth as he stares at me. "Why... You- you cannot be here." The darkness is so desperate to escape now that my entire hands quiver in jolts that shake all the way up my arms. I release a muffled scream through gritted teeth as the agony of it ripples through me. I cannot hold it in. I have to release it. And then Luca Addington is kneeling in front of me. I manage to meet his gaze. It is dark and burning in the low light, but his skin is cool as he grabs my wrists. I almost gasp from the sensation of his icy fingers on my burning hands. "Fayre," He murmurs, voice deep and urgent, "You cannot release it. Please," His voice cracks, and I barely have time to flinch from his words. You cannot release it. "My brother- Finnan- is in the tunnels below us. You could kill him, Fayre. You could kill him if you release the magic." Release the magic. He knows. He knows what is happening. He knows what I am. He knows that I am about to burst. He knows that darkness is coming- "I can't," I force out, teeth clenched as I fight the tremors that shake through my abdomen now. I gasp at the pain, "I can't fight it. I'm sorry. There's too much inside me. I can't- I can't hold it in!" The darkness comes without warning. I look up into his eyes as I feel the magic burst inside of me. He sees it in my gaze; the power that suddenly surges through my veins towards him. His own eyes widen, face paling. Time seems to slow as I feel the darkness rush from me. Everything happens in beautifully slow detail. I watch the flush in Luca's cheeks swirl. I watch him take in a sharp breath of fear. I watch him glance down at my hands, and then back up at me. In this lighting, his eyes look less like mud and more like mountain rocks. The ones from the North. The flames throw shadows across his face; all sharp angles and harsh lines and soft skin. I can do nothing but scream as the darkness erupts from my hands, and I can only watch in slow motion as Luca Addington moves. He dives onto me, burying himself in the clouds of my skirts as he tackles me to the ground. I try to push away from him, but I do not have time as the magic rips into the air. Luca Addington cocoons me with his body, his hands across my back and my head in his chest. I feel rather than see what happens next. The dark magic erupts from my entire being like a halo of shadows, expanding out into the room in a flurry of blackness. The torches flicker out from it's touch as my magic swells towards the walls, but before it can get there, it freezes. For one devastating moment, the force of the black shadows tremble in the air, as if fighting some force. Suddenly, it snaps back towards us on the ground. I do not scream as it comes flying for us, a cloud of screaming smoke and darkness. Instead of burying itself back into my trembling body, it bounces against Luca's back. And the shadows simply turn to dust. We do nothing for a few moments. We do not even move. There is nothing but the silence and our gasping breaths. My body trembles against Luca's, but his limbs are steady. Our chests heave against each other, and I realise that I am limb to limb with him. There is a spot on his neck that has been exposed by his askew shirt, and his skin is as cool as night air. Without even thinking, I bury my head in it and breathe in. My entire body is on fire, and the coolness of his skin might just save me. His elbows are on either side of my head now, my hands on his back. As I settle my breathing in the space of his shoulder, his head falls down to the crook of my neck in exhaustion. I do not flinch. "What the hell was that?" I croak, voice raw and broken. I feel his Adams-apple bob against my forehead as he gulps, "I need to find my brother." He gets up in a flurry, but it is not ungraceful. Within seconds, he is standing above me. He teeters for a moment before righting himself. He glances down at me for a second, and despite the darkness I can feel his gaze on me. It is heavy, and it is scared, and it is exhausted. "Do not speak of this," He whispers. And then he is gone.

unrequited

[unrequitedmime]

Alexander pushes the old oak doors open with a flourish, and they make a booming sound as they hit the walls. Father flinches and mutters a curse as the bang echoes through the library. Asha and I wince, too. Father does not like loud sounds because his head pounds with the pain of a hangover. Asha and I do not like loud sounds because it reminds us of dark nights and shattered wine glasses and crying. Alexander almost hurries in, golden hair dishevelled and bright eyes happy, "Good morning, all. Sorry I am late." I fight the urge to smile at my cousin. I have not seen him nor talked  to him for 11 years, but even when we were children he was late to everything. It is nice to know that this habit, this little flaw in the boy I knew and loved, is still here. Today he wears a sky blue tunic with his black trousers, and the golden jewels on his chest do well to make this eyes shine. The Divine enters behind him, quiet and sleek. Her attire today is not as it was at the ball. Her dress is shorter and less grand; a form that is fitting at the chest but frills out at her waist into a dozen layers of black material that cuts at her knees. The dress, like the other night, is so black that it seems to darken the light around her. It makes her pale skin shine. With the void of her dress, the piercing blue of her eyes, and her serious expression, she seems a quiet sort of threatening. A dark sort of powerful. She takes up a spot against the closed oak doors, almost leaning against the wood as she watches the Prince address us. "I was hoping we could spend the next few hours together. As you all know, we are the newest generation of the Circle. Our powerful parents are entrusting us with new responsibilities in our domains, and it is my personal belief that maintaining the connections and trust that the Circle has held for decades is one of the most important things to take care of." He glances around, looking for support. I catch sight of Lord Ronan grinning at the Prince, nodding his head with a supportive wink for his best friend. Princess Valeria does not even blink, only stares at him as if he has not spoken. Renzo Addington, shining beside his brooding brother, smiles gently at the Prince. Luca Addington is not even looking at Alexander; he studies the Divine in the corner with blank eyes. I clear my throat and force a smile, "That sounds lovely, Alexander." ----------------------------------------------------- Alexander checks his watch as he walks, "Ah," He curses quietly so himself, speeding up his pace a fraction, "We're going to be late again." "You always are, Prince." He glances up at me in surprise as we reach the oak doors of the library, "Was that a joke?" I wipe any amusement from my face, "No. Just a fact." He laughs softly, "Oh, Fayre. You're warming up to me." I don't bother telling him not to call me by my name. I have told him every day for weeks now. He has not stopped. And then he opens the doors. He does his usual apology, running his hands through his hair as he attempts a nervous grin at out at the assembled Circle members. I slip into my spot of darkness near the door, ignoring the way it whispers to me. Yesterday was simple but excruciating; five hours of mingling over tea. I stood still for five hours straight, keeping my face neutral as I studied each member of the Circle and ignored the tendrils of darkness that tried to dance their way up my arms. Today will be the exact same. Except this time- The Prince turns back to me, and I blink as I realise he has addressed me. I have no idea what he has just said. He grins as he realises I wasn't listening. "My Divine," He talks to the members of the Circle, but his eyes do not leave mine, "Is a lovely young woman, and as she is going to be with us for years and years, I do not see why we cannot all get to know her." My stomach drops. All pairs of eyes pierce into me, almost burning my skin. I want to wrap myself up into my magic and disappear. I can feel it in my veins, begging me to let it free, begging me to curl into it. I ignore the call, smother the power, as I always do. A man steps forward, his footsteps cutting through the silence as he strides towards me. I fight the urge to shrink farther into the corner, and instead I force myself to take a light step forward. My eyes lock onto his face. Lord Ronan. Alexander's best friend. I have heard Alexander's rants of Ronan; their memories and their fights and their laughs over the years. They have not had a chance to catch up since Ronan has visited this time around, but I know that Lord Ronan is kind to his oldest friend. His face is sprinkled with freckles as if it is fay dust, and his smile is gentle. He extends his hand, "I'm Ronan, and it is an honour to meet the person who Alexander is going to annoy for the rest of his life." I take his hand, and he bends down to kiss the top of it. I almost startle. Lords only kiss the hands of Ladies or Royals. I am neither. He glances up at me, a sudden seriousness in his blue eyes that was not there before, "I do not know what others see," He murmurs, voice only loud enough for me to hear, "But I see that you are a young woman with a story. Not a slave." "Thank you, My Lord," I whisper as he steps back. I do not know whether I want to blow this library apart in my anger or break into sobs. I am a young woman with a story, he is right, and I am grateful that he can see that. But I am also a slave. No matter what, I will always be a slave to the Royals before anything else. Alexander offers his hand. I stare at it for a few moments before taking it. And then he leads me into the lions den. -------------------------------------------------------------------- I recognise her the same moment she recognises me. Her jaw drops open, and I cannot stop the smile from spreading across my face. She stands utterly still, unsure of the boundaries. So I take the lead. I stride those extra few steps between us and wrap her into my arms. She releases a surprised breath as I bury myself in her chest with a giggle. A moment later, she is laughing softly into my hair as she squeezes me tight. Her body is just as warm as it used to be, just as soft and safe. I am taller now, though, and she seems so much more fragile in my arms. I pull away and grin down at her. There are tears in her eyes as she reaches to stroke my cheeks. I lean into her hand. "Gracey?" She whispers, almost to herself. Her accent is still so thick, "Is that you?" I laugh again, the sound thick with threatening tears, "I've missed you, Costa."   Her smile is old and happy, "You ARE here! I have missed you, my beautiful child. But where have you been? Why come back now?" I pat her head, as I used to do when I was a child. She rolls her warm brown eyes and clicks her tongue, as she used to do when I was a child. Costa was my favourite servant; the head maid. Asha, Alexander and I used to play hide and seek in the servant halls and quarters when we were very young, so often that we knew every maid and every footman by name. They used to help us find new hiding places when they had time. Costa was always in the kitchen hall, the busiest place in the entire castle; a large hall of benches and stoves and fires and rushing kitchen maids. It was my favourite hiding spot, and she was my favourite person in the entire world beside my family. I truly loved her. She used to sneak me bread rolls and braid my hair and tell me ancient stories of the old Witches. Asha, Alexander and I all had particular servants that we considered our family more than the Royals, and Costa was mine. I gulp, "Mother has passed," Despite my attempt at strength, my voice wobbles slightly. It has been four months, yet my heart still aches. "Asha and I have decided to mend the gap between our families in our mother's absence, for Alexander. I have always missed my cousin." Costa's eyes darken with sadness, and she bundles me up into her arms again, "I am so sorry, my dear," She breathes, voice soft and Mercan accent heavy as always, "Your mother was a beautiful woman with a kind heart and a good head. You take after her, both in looks and spirit." I smile into Costa's shoulder and step back, wiping my tears. "Thank you, Costa. I have missed everything about my old home. Everything in this Palace has hardly changed since I left all those years ago." Costa smiles, "The Prince has changed the least! That cursed boy still sneaks his way through the servant halls in the early hours of the mornings! Sometimes I wake up to find him reading in the kitchen hall by candlelight. I have to shoo him out like a stray dog." My heart soars. I have not had a chance to talk much to Alexander, to get to know the man he has become, but I hope more than anything that he is still the kind and curious boy I left behind. Costa suddenly frowns, glancing down at my red dress and my elegant makeup against the dullness of the servant halls, "But why are you down here, my dear? Surely you have things to do?" I sober up instantly, the shine of happiness blinking out within me. I remember my anger, my mission. "Yes, there is something I have to do." ------------------------------------------------------------ Loretta does not look up from where she chops the tomatoes. I sit perched on the bench beside her, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of bread I snatched from Ergo. He let me, as he always does, with a shake of his head a click of his tongue. I only smiled and curtsied before him. "So," She chirps cheerfully, "Which one of the Addington brothers is the most beautiful?" I almost choke on my bread, "Is that a trick question?" I cross my legs, the black of my dress falling across my legs like a second skin, "Renzo Addington, of course!" Loretta pauses in her cutting for a second and looks into the distance, thoughtful. Her hazel eyes are shining right now with her good mood. Sometimes they are less bright and more sad. Her cheeks are flushed from the heat of the room, and and the strands of her brown hair tumble down her back. In my weeks in the palace, she has become something close to a best friend. "I disagree. I think that Luca Addington is sexy." This time I do choke on my bread. I have not seen Luca Addington properly, have not had time to inspect him. I will admit that every time I plan to observe him and his behaviour, Renzo's laugh wraps me up and takes my attention away. I have spent a lot of time studying Renzo's beauty, and although I do not remember much about Luca Addington's face, I know that it cannot be more handsome than Renzo's. "Don't sound so shocked," Loretta scolds, slapping me with her tomato stained hands. The red juice reminds me of the pink splashes across Lord Ronan's fingers. "I served him his tea this morning. He is a dark sort of sexy. Very brooding, very angry." I narrow my eyes at her, "Brooding and angry sounds dangerous. I do not like dangerous men." "YOU are a dangerous woman," She reminds heavily, "And you are not so bad." "I am not a rich Lord with a seemingly never ending power," I remind, tossing my roll up and flipping it, "Spoilt men are not to be meddled with. They are used to getting their way, and when you do not want to give them what they want, they-" "They what?" Loretta has stopped her chopping now, and her eyes watch me carefully, searching my gaze for the rest of the story. I look away. "They make sure they get it anyway." A moment of silence lasts between us. I know she is watching me, watching the hammering pulse at my throat. Eventually, she sighs. "I suppose you are right. I have heard the whispered stories of Luca Addington. He has a temper, and he has a cruelty streak that runs incredibly deep. He hardly speaks, and when he does he is harsh. I heard that he runs most of the family's business behind the scenes. The-" She clears her throat, "You know... Illegal businesses." Prostitution, human trafficking, drug transportation. I know all too well of the Addington rumours. I open my mouth to respond, but before I can a sharp and loud voice echoes across the hall. "Listen up," A firm woman's voice calls from near the door. Those two words alone demand attention, with all of the anger in them, and within moments the room falls silent. I glance up, searching for the voice. And then I find her. Grace Herald-Gueneeve; an elegant presence in the doorway of the hall. In her hand she holds the collar of a sagging man, head down. It takes me only seconds to realise it is her father, Richard Herald. I blink in shock as I study the man, drunk and half conscious, as he leans against the doorway. His daughter's grip on him is strong. Grace's usually shining face is dark with anger, disgust, as she stares out at the hall. The disgust is not aimed at us; the servants. It is aimed at her father. "If this man," She shakes him a little, "Ever approaches any of you asking for anything, say no. If this man ever flirts with any of you women here or make an advance on you, say no. You say no, and you come find me." Her jaw tightens. When she speaks, her voice is pure steel and mountains, "If this man tries to force you into anything you do not desire, you come find me, and I will make sure he never harms another person again. Do you all understand?" Silence. The bread seems to be stuck in my throat, but I do not dare gulp. Eventually, she takes the quiet as answer. She nods once before striding her way through the hall, dragging her stumbling father behind her. No one moves as she marches through. As she nears Loretta's bench, her eyes catch mine. Her green gaze burns with recognition. "Fayre," She murmurs as she nears me, her father almost unconscious in her hands, "Can you help me get him to his room?" Again, I feel every pair of eyes fall upon me. Fayre, the Prince's Divine. I glance down at the man, mumbling quietly to himself. He looks sallow and dirty and drunk. Old. He reminds me of my father. Memories flash through my mind of sleepless nights waiting up for him, of dragging him to bed, of cleaning up his vomit, of the ache his drunken fists left behind. I swallow back the bread, "Of course, Your Highness." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ For someone so thin, the Divine sure is strong. She supports half of father's weight and walks with purpose through the servant halls. I get lost in the maze within moments, not having been in them for years. I trust that she knows where she is going. How she knows where my father's room is, I do not want to ask. We come to a door that leads into the main palace hallways, and she glances over at me. Her blue eyes have flints of steel in them. She is quite pretty. A sharp sort of beautiful. Subtle and deadly if it needs to be. "We will have to walk a few hallways in public. We may pass other Royals." I never noticed yesterday, but her voice has a lilt of an accent. It makes her syllables a fraction sharper than mine. She hardly spoke yesterday. She spent most of the day seated beside Lord Ronan, pretending to listen to passing conversations, but her eyes roamed. Over the books, the people, the clothing, the faces. Studying and thinking, analysing everything. Ronan was right. She is a young woman with a story. No stupid slave, as the Queen wants her to be. I huff out a sigh, "I guess we must. But I do not know what I will say if anyone sees him." The Divine-Fayre- studies my father for a few moments. "I have a cover for him if need be," Her eyes flick up to mine, remembering who she is talking to, "If that is alright with you, Your Highness." I wonder if she knows she says my title with fire in her voice. A resenting sort of hatred. I nod, "That is okay." We pick up him, and we step into the open. The halls are empty for now, but we still walk as quickly as we dare, our heels click clacking on the floors. I almost grunt under my father's weight- I have not trained in weeks. Fayre, on the other hand, does not make a sound, her eyes flicking around her to watch for passing Royals. It is early morning, so no Royals should be out of their rooms. Passing servants will not blink twice at the scene, Fayre whispers to me. She says they have seen worse in this Palace. I wonder what whispered stories she has heard. I wonder if I am in any of them. I know that my father must be now. I wonder if the maid that I stole him from will tell the others what happened. She will. I know how the servant's gossip beneath us. She will tell them that my father drunkenly bed her last night, and that I exploded into the room like a storm this morning. She will tell them of the awful names I spat at my father as he dressed, and of how quickly I dragged him out of that room like a child. He is a child. Acts like a teenage boy; drunk and flirtatious and reckless and embarrassing. How dare he drunkenly court women in my mother's old home? We find our way to father's room without any interference or prying eyes. I fling his door open with an angry huff, and we drag him in. I glance up as we close the door to find Antonia standing by his bed, arms crossed. She taps her foot as she watches us drop him onto his bed. "What is this?" She asks angrily. I shrug, "Your shitty boss." Fayre does not flinch from my curse. Instead, she glances away to hide her smile. Antonia glares at me. "Grace," She sighs, exasperated as she makes her way over to my father and begins unbuttoning his coat, "Do not speak that way about your father. For all you know he could have been dead last night!" "But he wasn't," I respond blankly to my childhood nanny, "He was sleeping with one of the maids." Antonia looks up sharply, freezing for a moment. In her dark gaze is her disappointment in my father. But also in it is her loyalty to my family. She focuses again on undressing him. Fayre glides her way over to the window, taking the hint when I lean against the door. We may still need her help. "Your father is a troubled man, Gracey," She murmurs, peeling his vomit stained shirt over his head. The disgusting man does not even stir. "He is lost in his grief." "We all are, Antonia," I snap at the woman. She frowns a little, not liking where I am directing my anger, and I let out a calming breath. "She was our mother, but you don't see Asha and I making a fool of ourselves like this." Antonia shakes her head as she tosses his clothing at me, I catch it with a grunt, "You and Asha are coping in other ways, but they are not necessarily healthier." I ignore the sick feeling in my stomach at her words, and she lifts my father up, "Help me carry him to the bath." "Wait," I drop the clothes, "I'll run it first."' Antonia nods to herself, glancing down at my father, "I was worried when the bed was unmade this morning. If we weren't in the Palace I would have assumed that he has passed out somewhere without a fuss. But this is a dangerous place, there are enemies in every hall. I prayed to the Witches when I found the room empty." Fayre, for some strange reason, flinches and looks over. -------------------------------------------------------------- Grace pauses her in stride to the bathroom and slowly turns to her family's maid, a deep frown in her face, "No need to pray, Antonia. You know they are not real." Antonia clicks her tongue, "The Witches are not real? You are foolish not to believe that, girl." Grace only huffs a sigh of contempt and disappears into the adjoining bathroom. Despite myself, despite the rushing blood in my veins, I turn towards the maid. "You believe in the Witches?" My voice is quiet but not weak. The older woman glances over at me as if noticing me for the first time. Her dark eyes scan my body, lingering on the blackness of my dress before meeting my gaze. "I do," She murmurs, almost defensively, "There is magic in this world, as you well know, Divine." She recognises the clothing, "So why wouldn't the White Witches be real, too?" She cocks her head, "Do you believe in them, Divine? Do you believe in the White Witches' black magic?" I do not speak for a few moments. I do not trust myself to. "No," I finally manage, voice raw, "They are just folk stories. Black magic is not real." She stares at me for a long time. I will my face into a bored mask. I ignore the singing in my blood at the mention of black magic. I cannot. I will not. "Black magic is the most powerful essence on this Earth, Divine," Antonia replies finally, and from her words alone I know she is from the North. She has grown and learned and loved in the lands of black magic. No one speaks of the White Witches unless they have witnessed the beauty itself. "The White Witches are otherworldly, and they are fierce, and they are fearless. You know the stories, do you not? They conquer what they want. They hold a connection to every living thing, for what human does not have a scrap of darkness in their soul?" She studies me for a long time, for what feels like years. I do not dare move, in case she sees the shadows I am losing control of in my fear. "The Divine hold magic, but theirs is nothing compared to the Witches. But you..." I try not to breathe, "You have a darkness that I can almost feel. Shadows that almost whisper to me. And, as you well know, dear, darkness can only be born of-" "Bath's ready," Grace's smooth voice cuts through the air, pulling reality back. I jolt from the loss of tension, feeling everything that was escaping snap back into me with a violent pop. I cannot breathe. Antonia glances back at me, dark eyes serious. I do not say a word as I leave the room. ----------------------------------------------------------------- A small hand grabs my wrist. I almost gasp as I am jolted back from my step, startling. I glare down at the young maid with my hand in hers. Her little fingers hold on tighter than needed. Alexander notices the maid a few steps ahead and halts, too. He does not ask, or interfere, only watches as I glare at her. "What?" I almost spit, not in the mood. I hardly slept last night. The words of Grace's maid has kept me up for almost a week straight. The girl is young, perhaps 15, with beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes almost an identical colour to mine. She glances nervously at the Prince, a blush creeping up over her cheeks. It is unheard of for a maid to interrupt a Prince's activities. The first rule among the servants in the Royal Palace is to be invisible. And yet here she is, with the Prince's gaze heavy on her. "P-pardon me, Your Highness," She murmurs to him, curtsying awkwardly with my hand still in her grip. She glances up at me, ignoring his kind face. Her expression is so serious for such a young girl, but then again, I had killed a man by her age. "Loretta was taken  this morning by the Addington brothers," She murmurs to me, urgent, "One of them claimed that she had spoken out of place, and he called her up to their quarters to punish her." The breath is knocked from my chest. That is why the girl has risked the Prince's wrath by coming to me. Loretta and I have been inseparable lately. "What punishment?" I breathe. Her blue eyes flash, "40 lashings." I stumble back from her, struggling to think, to breathe. 40 lashings is enough to debilitate someone, perhaps even kill. No one deserves 40 lashings, especially Loretta, and especially for simply talking out of line. I try to imagine Loretta speaking rudely to an Addington brother. She would never. She would absolutely never. The girl hurries on without a word, glancing back at me once. Alexander appears to my side, catching me as I teeter. "Fayre?" He murmurs quietly, confused, "Are you okay?" I step out of his support and find the world spinning. 40 lashes will kill her. I look at the Prince. He stares back, blue eyes earnest and concerned. I turn and run. --------------------------------------------------- I don't think as I run, almost tripping over my long skirts. The ruffles dance around my ankles as I sprint through the hallways, dress flying like a cape behind me. I have memorised the hallways of the Palace; I know the way to the Addington quarters. I am there within minutes, the door right in front of my face. I do not have time to glare at the Addington family crest on the thick wood; three coins in the air. One for each son. There is one guard stationed at the door, and he reaches his sword out to me as I sprint. He knows who I am; the Divine. Powerful, and faster than him. Without even thinking, my hands fly towards him. I ignore the warning screams in my head as the magic shoots from my palm, the darkness surrounding him for a moment like a cloak. He screams in his blindness, and I slip by without a word. I throw the doors open with all of my weight and almost stumble into the light of the room. Before I can right myself, I stumble to my knees and land on smooth, polished tiles with a huff. "Don't hurt her," I gasp, chest heaving. I glance up to find Loretta staring at me, kneeling a few paces away with ties around her bound wrists. The sunlight from the wide balcony makes her pale skin glimmer. Her doe eyes are wide and scared. For herself, for me, I do not know. The Addington Quarters are beautiful; a central room of rugs and lounges and art leads to the balcony, with adjoining closed doors that lead elsewhere. I can hardly focus. My eyes scan the room for the boys. Finnan is no where to be seen, but Renzo Addington stands a few metres in front of Loretta. Luca Addington stands by the balcony, leaning against the open doorway that leads to it. His head whips towards me as I speak, dark eyes widening slightly in surprise. Other than that, his face remains stoic. "She does not deserve 40 lashings," I force out again, still on my knees, "It will kill her." My eyes meet Renzo's deep blue ones and I know that the desperation shines in my face. The emotion is written all over my trembling body and heaving chest. He stares at me, so still that for a moment I think I have frozen time. And then he blinks, and a slow rush of colour springs to his cheeks. From where he stands, in his deep blue and red colours with his messy hair and heavy gaze, he looks like a beautiful Prince. He looks at me as if I am some beautiful creature that has wandered into his path. As if I am something worth looking at. Loretta whispers  my  name, urgent and quiet and fearsome, but I ignore it as Renzo slowly walks towards me. He extends his hand, gaze something I cannot decipher, and I take it. His skin is nice and soft and warm. As I stand up, he turns to his brother over by the balcony. Luca does not even watch us. His eyes are on the horizon. Renzo blinks down at me and smiles softly. My heart quivers in its wake, "You are the Divine, are you not?"   He knows who I am. I manage a nod. "Loretta- this maid," I do not even glance down at my friend, "Is one of the best in the palace. She is kind, and if she has wronged you, then surely there must be good reason." Something flashes in Renzo's eyes at that, but I hardly notice it, "Please give her a lighter punishment. 40 lashings will kill her, Lord Addington." He smiles at the title. And then looks back to Luca Addington. "Luca," He calls to his brother, voice light and soft. Luca glances over at his name, but says nothing, "I think that you have been too cruel in your punishment. 40 lashings is too much for this young maid. You will let her go, brother, please." Luca blinks once, eyebrows raising in surprise or confusion. He narrows his eyes at his younger brother, clearly shocked and unimpressed with the recent turn of events. I hold my breath, waiting for him to deny the request. He is the cruel brother, after all. Renzo simply stares at Luca, still as death in the corner, and waits for him to react. Eventually, Luca kicks off the wall and slowly makes his way over to Loretta. He wears all white; white trousers and a white loose shirt. His entire body seems to tremble with barely restrained anger, darkness, fire. Loretta watches him approach her not with fear in her eyes, but confusion. She must be confused that he is letting her go, when Luca was so desperate to punish her earlier and watch from his spot by the balcony. Renzo glances back down at me as Luca crouches beside Loretta and begins untying the cloth at her wrist. I do not hear the words his deep voice murmurs to her, because Renzo speaks instead. "Your friend will be released, and I will tell Luca to leave it be," His smile is soft, and, dare I say it, flirtatious, "You are very brave for finding your way up here, Divine-" "Her name is Fayre," Luca's deep voice is quiet, but the steel in it carries. Both Renzo and I glance over in surprise. Loretta stands beside Luca, her shoulder almost brushing against his arm. She seems not to cower from the young Lord, but instead into him. Luca's eyes are a deep dirty brown, and they shine with a darkness I feel rumble in my very bones. I did not know he had taken notice of my name. Renzo looks away from his glaring brother and blinks back down at  me. I almost lean into his chest, "Yes, but Divine sounds so much lovelier, doesn't it?" I try to remember how to breathe.

unrequited 

[unrequitedmime]

The Princess of the Mercan Mountains already walks like a Queen. She enters the sitting room like a sweeping storm of clicking heels and raised chins and a thousand layers of red silk. She does not glance at even one of us as she takes her seat on a chaise lounge, her young guard silently positioning himself behind her. Her hair falls down her back like shimmering oil, dead straight strands the colour of black ink. It does well to make her skin glow, and her dark eyes pierce.  I cannot decide if she is more striking or intimidating.  She is beautiful. I will say that much.  Father looks her up and down, something close to appreciation shining in his blue eyes. I fight the urge to elbow him in the face or be sick. Before I can do either, Asher clears his throat. A subtle sound, but loud enough to drag Father's attention away from the young woman poised so elegantly. When Father catches the disapproving look in my brother's striking green eyes, his face flushes red and he glances down to his shining boots. Asher and I share a glance over our Father's head; one of shared hatred for the man that created us. Silence settles again, as it does every time we wait for the next guest. I fight the urge to fidget. I am not in the mood to hear Sara's scolding after this meeting. She stands at my back, stoic and silent as a death angel. I don't dare glance back at my General. She will scold me for that, too.  Instead I study the occupants of the grand room we sit in. Leaning casually on the wall opposite me are the Addington brothers. I marvel at their differences and similarities. They look as if a mad scientist has mixed and matched different features to three versions of the same person. The eldest brother, Luca, is a storm all on his own. Of dangerous nights and quiet brooding and ripples of caution that seem to poke beneath his skin. His short cropped hair, like his brothers, is black. Yet his hair is so short shaven that it appears a dark brown. His dark brown eyes, the colour of mud, jump from person to person in the room, likely weighing strengths and weaknesses. The second eldest, the middle brother, is not another page in the family book but seems to be in another book completely. His black hair is curly and messy, as if he tugs at it when he concentrates. His eyes are a striking dark blue, unlike his older brother's. This young man, Renzo, does not have the same harsh expression as Luca. Instead, his face is softer, more beautiful, gentle. He has the face of a dreamer, a scholar, someone that belongs to words on pages and flowers in stories. He is the charmer. Rumour has it that he is the favoured son; the one paraded in the Addington parties and socialite events to show off the beauty of his family's fortune. My eyes fall upon the youngest brother next, and despite myself, my heart softens. Luca is easily 20 years old, Renzo perhaps only a year younger, but the youngest brother, Finnan, cannot be older than thirteen. His hair is softer, less unruly curls and more soft waves that flop in front of his face. His skin is pale unlike his brothers', and his eyes are the same dark shades as Luca's. I wonder why they felt the need to bring a mere child on this trip. Finnan looks to be falling asleep on his feet.  I glance back at Luca, and I find his piercing gaze already locked onto mine. Where Renzo seems to be gentle laughter and clinking wine glasses, Luca is the sharpness of a jagged blade and the growls of a trained winter wolf.  I wink.  And then the doors open again, and I glance up at the newcomer. Rather, newcomers.  Tia and her Aunty have arrived.  --------------------------------------------------------- I have heard the stories of Queen Tia.  A spoilt young woman, her beauty shining like the ocean and her slyness as soft as the gentle rock of water. The stories say she killed her parents for the throne she stepped up to a few months ago. Her younger sister, Adain, does not join them today. They say the youngest daughter of the late Tidal King and Queen has left to the Coastlands in her grief, to study the powers of Elementals.  I do not believe that. I have met Adain, once, a few years ago. Despite her young age at the time, she was kind and intelligent. Quick witted and morally righted. I remember having the fleeting thought that she would be better suited to the throne. I know I was not the only person with those whispered words dancing in my mind.  I do not believe that Adain chose to leave her childhood home to study in the harsh Coastlands. I believe she was exiled.  Tia would drown me if she knew I was even thinking that.  I watch the woman settle herself down on a chair in front of the Addington brothers for a few moments longer before looking away, down to my ink stained hands. Mother almost killed me this morning when she saw the pink etched deep into my skin. Flowerberry Pink. It will take weeks for this to wash out. She loves my art, my painting, my studio. But she knows that a Lord does not win arguments with splashes of messy colour on his  hands.  I say I can win them despite that.  It takes only a few more moments for the doors to open again. I almost breathe a sigh of relief when I catch sight of the people in the doorway. The Royal family has arrived.  Finally, the festivities can begin.  ------------------------------------------------ Ora smiles at me as I step into my room.  She steps back from my bed and stretches her hands out towards it in a brilliant 'Ta-Da' gesture. I glance down at the clothes laid down in my bed, and I confuse myself in the pieces of blue and gold fabric. I clear my throat and try my best to sound enchanted.  "Ora," I nod, "This looks great."  I almost wince at my tone. Ora drops her hands and huffs a sigh, shaking her head at me. I have never been one to understand Royal fashion.  It seems even in my own Engagement weeks, I have no eye for royalty.  Ora almost dances her way into my bathroom, and I hear the clinking of vials as she leaves me alone to dress. A few minutes later, she floats back into the room and settles me down at my table. I read here most days, but she has set up a strange assortment of glittering cases this evening. I almost blanch away from her hand when I realise it is makeup.  "No thank you," I croak, voice tight.  She only narrows her doe eyes at me, pale skin pinching in frustration and exasperation. Just from the frown in her eyebrows I know what she does not have the words to say.  Not her orders. My mother's.  "Surely only a little bit, then?" I ask, not liking the crack in my voice.  She almost giggles. She would, if she could. Sometimes I still wonder what her voice would sound like if she could speak to me. I wonder what my name would sound like on her tongue; if the syllables of my name would sound as soft and sweet as I imagine.  I cannot help but feel the familiar burn of hatred in my gut. Hatred for my mother, for the rules, for what they did to Ora before I could stop it.  Ora recognises the look in my eyes and taps my forehead insistently until I blink myself out of the rage. In her soft brown eyes is both her sorrow for the past and her love for me. Ora may be my maid by title, but she has never been anything less than an older sister. She does not like when I waste my time grieving the sound of her voice. It is gone. There is no point wasting thoughts on things that cannot come back.  As she applies the makeup, I fight the urge to hum to myself. An old habit that I cannot seem to shake from my childhood. Mother likes to try her best to slap the tunes from me.  Future King's do not hum.  Especially King's of Lorath. The most powerful nation cannot survive if it is led by a heart that softens for music, Mother says. Lorath has only lasted this long because it's leaders have been fearless.  Ruthless.  I gulp. I do not know if I have it in me to be ruthless.  ------------------------------------------------------------- Loretta's instructions were clear enough. Do not move, do not speak, do not react.  I am a statue, she said. Nothing but a symbol of power for the Royal family to use. A symbol of protection. I know this, I have had it drilled it into me for weeks. I will be stared at, and I will be sneered at, and I will be treated like an object.  I am a weapon.  I repeat the words in my head to keep from throwing myself off the Royal podium and running away from everything I have learnt. The ballroom is filling with people so quickly I cannot keep track. Before me is a sea of glittering jewels and flowing gowns and beautiful women and powerful people.  And yet the Prince's throne remains empty. The Queen glances back at me; a barely susceptible move of her shin towards her left shoulder. I catch it, though, and I step forward to her with sweating palms. Despite these weeks of training on the palace grounds, the thought of the Queen looking at me for too long makes me so terrified I could throw up. I live every single day walking the edge of a knife, wondering if I will wake up in the morning with her dagger at my throat. I kneel by her side.  "Yes, my Queen?" Despite my nerves eating away at my insides, my voice does not shake.  "Where is Alexander?" Her voice is sharp and regal. Her voice is almost as beautiful as she is.  Before I can respond, the ballroom doors sweep open one more time, and there he is. The Queen catches sight of him the same time I do, her golden eyes narrowing at her only son as he strides through the crowd. Prince Alexander is not like most Princes. Instead of marching his way to his powerful throne beside his powerful mother, he takes his time swimming through the sea of people. He stops a few times to kiss hands, squeeze shoulders, and smile his Alexander smile at the younger Royals that have travelled long ways to see him. He will be a great King.  I step back into my place as he finally mounts the steps up to the velvet dais. He catches sight of me, golden eyes dancing down my dress and back up to my face. While the Queen's golden depths shimmer with the threat of her ferocity, the Prince's shining gaze is nothing but spirited.  'Nice dress,' He mouths to me with a grin. I look away, refusing to take part in his kindness, but my lips twitch despite themselves. I have ignored Alexander's attempts at friendship for weeks now, no matter how often he has tried to make me laugh.  I don't like to think that he is finally getting through to me.  I go back to studying the crowd, the guards, the servers slipping between elite bodies like ghosts. My eyes catch on a head of unruly black curls, almost glistening under the light of the chandeliers. The man, facing almost completely away from me, turns his head to the side to smile at his companion. My breath, for some strange reason, is suddenly knocked from my chest. He excuses himself and spins in his spot, turning to the front of the ballroom to approach someone new. I study his youthful face as he walks, eyes trailing over the high cheekbones and the light pink lips and the strikingly blue eyes. He is tall and slim; the body of a lean scholar.  Renzo Addington.  Loretta made me memorise every member of the Queen's Circle; a collection of closely trusted Royals and Lords. The most elite in the world. Renzo Addington is one of three sons, all belonging to Lord and Lady Addington. The Addington's are the most elite family in Lorath without Royal blood. They hold power over almost half the towns and villages of Lorath, and own dozens of estates all over the nation. They reside in a grand manor half a day from the Royal Palace; Countryside Castle, they call it. Their family gains their enormous fortune from the farms of gold they have harvest. The Addington's are responsible for almost all of Lorath's wealth. They specialise in currency. Renzo Addington is only 19 years old, as I am, yet he shines with maturity. His smile is ancient, knowledgeable, secret. The way he moves is regal, as smooth as flowing water. He is the second eldest, yet it is known that he is the face of the Addington's. He is the charm and the wit. He lives and loves for the people.  He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.  "Where have you been?" The Queen's voice slices through my thoughts as she scolds her son, "You have made a fool out of me and yourself."  Prince Alexander kisses his mother's hand delicately, and she lets him. He takes his own seat beside her. I stand between the thrones, in the shadows behind.  "I spilt water on myself, and it took Ora an extra five minutes to fix the makeup you insisted I wear."  The Queen watches her son with a soft expression, in case there are eyes watching, but the words that are spat from her smiling lips are deadly, "Royal's must not have one flaw in their appearance. Flaws in appearance leave room to suggest flaws in character, Alexander."  "I did not need makeup, Mother."  They spit each other's names like poison.  "You have ugly bags under your eyes. King's do not look tired."  I glance away. It is true that dark circles have bloomed to life beneath his eyes over the past few weeks. He does not sleep much; I have learnt that much from the nights of guarding him. I am not permitted to sleep until Alexander does, and because Alexander is plagued by insomnia most nights, I am sure I have bags under my eyes, too. Loretta covered them with makeup. The Queen clicks her tongue at her son once and suddenly stands with a smile. In moments, the room falls silent.  --------------------------------------------------- It seems to me that the Queen of Lorath does not age.  I remember visiting her as a young girl; when my parent's would deem it appropriate to take me on their trips to the Lorath Palace. The last time I saw this woman in the flesh was eight years ago.  If I were not too tired to focus clearly, I would say that she appears younger now. Her chestnut hair falls down her back in brilliantly  orchestrated waves, her cheekbones high, her smile beautiful, and her golden eyes sharp and shining. Her dress, a beautiful gown of golden gems, reflects upon so many surfaces that there seems to be a halo of light surrounding her.  I have no doubt the gold on her dress is real.  "Welcome," Her voice does not strain as she calls out to the hundreds of people in her ballroom, "To the Royal Palace of Lorath. It is a privilege to host such wonderful guests tonight, and my son, Prince Alexander, is honoured to have so many elite's attend the festivities and formalities of his Engagement Weeks." I glance at the Prince. He smiles into the crowd, a face of sunlight and glimmering kindness. He seems to have an energy about him that his mother lacks. It takes me a moment to realise what he embodies. Genuinity.  He calls out, voice smooth but full of emotion, "It is an honour to have so many people travel far and wide to witness my trial and engagement to an Heir. I hope to spend time with each and every one of my guests over the upcoming weeks, to truly show my gratitude." I don't miss the way the Queen glances down at him at these words. That is not part of her plan.  "Before we begin the festivities of the night, I have a few announcements to make," Queen Seraphine smiles out at the crowd, face gentle, "First I must acknowledge the presence and attendance of special guests that have travelled to my Kingdom for my son." Must acknowledge. My Kingdom. Words placed as carefully as daggers to throats. A reminder that despite our Royal blood or title, she has the power in these lands.  "First I would like to acknowledge the Addington brothers, visiting as representatives for their parents." She spots them in the crowd the same time I do; the three brothers standing side by side in union and strength. "Lord Lucas, Lord Renzo, and Lord Finnan." Only Renzo and Finnan smile up at her. Luca bows his head slightly. I almost smile at the small act of resistance. "Next I would like to thank Queen Tia of the Tidelands for gracing us with her presence," Tia curtsies gracefully in her light blue dress of silk. It glimmers as she moves- like rolling water over her limbs. "I am honoured to welcome back Lord Ronan to my palace, my son's oldest friend," She smiles softly at a tall young man with reddish-brown hair and a light spray of freckles over his pale face. He grins back at at her, placing a hand over his heart. There is pink ink all over his thin fingers. Alexander grins at Lord Ronan, too, his face shining with love. Lord Ronan is Prince Alexander's best friend. "May we have a moment to thank my nephew and niece for attending tonight for the first time in eight years. My late sister's beautiful twins, Asher and Grace, as well as their father, Ronan Herald." I follow her gaze to the family of three. Asher, tall and broad, smiles kindly up at his Auntie, as does their ruggedly handsome father. Grace does not curtsy, as she is expected to. She simply stares, her brilliantly green eyes shining against her olive gown. "Lord Sebastian Rosales visits us tonight, in place of his late mother, Ruth Rosales," I do not see the man she talks about, but I have heard of Sebastian Rosales. Young and intelligent, with a brilliant mind for battle. "And finally, may we welcome Princess Valeria, who has travelled from the Mercan Mountains to see us." It is my turn to curtsy. I do not. I only bow my head at the Queen. She is Queen of Lorath, but Lorath is not my nation. I owe her nothing.  ---------------------------------------------------- I watch Princess Valeria incline her head to the Queen, barely glancing down before meeting the woman's golden gaze again. I look up to the dais to find the Queen's face regal and frozen in a smile, but in her eyes I see the rage. I cannot fight my grin, and I tap my fingers against my thigh to hold back the laughter bubbling in my chest.  I have known the Queen all my life, and I have never liked the woman. She is cruel, and she is stern, and she is hungry for power. Everything to her is a chess game.  But I guess that is what the Royal Court is for everyone.  Valeria, for some strange reason, meets my gaze from across the ballroom. She wears the same dress as earlier; an expanding gown of what seems to be a thousand layers of bursting ruby red. Her tan skin glows in the light, her lips full, her lashes long. Her gaze is as dark and serious as her chocolate eyes.  I wonder how someone who lives in the brittle Winters of the Mercan Mountains can shine with such a natural bronze tan.  She looks away.  A pair of hands catch at my fingers, and I flinch as a girl materialises from the crowd. She doesn't look at me as she wrenches my hand up to her face. I open my mouth to swear, to pull away, and then she looks at me. My mouth dries up, and I freeze. Those... those are some mighty nice eyes.  "You tap your fingers a lot. Did you know that, Lord Ronan?" She purrs, a slight lilt to her words as she studies my fingers with that big green gaze.  It takes me a few moments to remember how to speak, how to form coherent thoughts about something that isn't her beauty.  "I was a brilliant musician in another life," Despite my hammering blood, my voice comes out light and lively, "I'm sure of it."  It takes her a few moments for her to meet my gaze again. And when she does, I realise who she is.  Grace Herald-Gueneeve. The Queen's niece. Alex's cousin.  I have met her once, when we were mere children. I have not seen her since, no matter how many times I have stayed at the palace. I'm sure she hasn't been here since she was nine, since her mother decided to move to the countryside rather than reside in the heart of the nation beside her own sister.  I had no idea she'd grow up to be so stunning.  "A nervous habit is not a good look for a powerful Lord," She almost whispers her words, somehow encasing us in a cocoon of just me and those wonderful eyes of hers. "Neither is ink stained fingers."  I glance down to where her skin touches mine, her delicate fingers holding my pink ones.  "Not only am I a wonderful musician, Your Highness, but I am a wonderful artist. The best, actually."  Something like amusement shines in her green gaze, and I feel my heart startle. Laugh, I silently beg her, I want to know if the sound of it is as beautiful as you are.  But alas, the Queen's voice echoes across the ballroom yet again, and the distant Princess glances up at her auntie on the dais. I almost curse before looking up myself.  "Finally, I would like to share some grand news. Prince Alexander has grown into a strong and intelligent man of honour." Alex doesn't blush at his mother's words. He'd have to believe them first. "He has decided to follow in his father's pursuit." Something in the Queen's face shutters at the mention of the late King, perhaps grief, perhaps something else, "He has taken a Divine."  A few gasps are heard around the ballroom. Some of simple shock, some amazement, and some disgust. Grace's grip on my fingers tighten, her face hard as she stares at her auntie and cousin.  Alexander warned me of this. Warned me of his mother's enforcement of the cruel family tradition. She forced Alexander to keep a Divine; an oracle woman of power and magical abilities. They have been used as Royal guardians for centuries, but the tradition has waned down over the past few decades in all Kingdoms but Lorath. The practise of keeping one is seen as inhumane, an unnecessary slavery. The Queen never saw it as such. She sees it as a show of her power, of her families invulnerability. The Royal family of Lorath is not only strong, but invincible.   A young woman suddenly seems to unfold herself from the shadows, stepping forward between the two thrones until she is by the Queen's side. Alexander rises beside the stranger too, shoulder to shoulder. At Alexander's subtle touch the woman, almost cowering, seems to remember her place and stand tall. Her dress is made of silk so black that it snatches light from the air and wraps it up into its smooth fabric. The material is not skin tight, but it clings to her curves and emphasises the lean shape of her body. The neck of the gown dips so low that her torso can be seen between her breasts; a triangle of delicate skin. Her hair is a nice light brown, and it dances across her shoulders and down her back like an oozing snake. She looks to be about my age, 20, perhaps a year or two younger. There is a fire in her light blue gaze; a challenge in her icy eyes. Despite her position in the palace, a slave, at first glance she seems bolder than most people I have come across.  I like her immediately.  She raises her chin as the Queen introduces her, "The Prince's Divine."  That is it. No name, no story. She is only the Divine.  Only an object. A weapon.  The ballroom bursts into applause.

unrequited 

[unrequitedmime]

He fits himself into my body like a piece in a puzzle.  I close my eyes as his little hands wrap around my waist and tug tight, face disappearing into the folds of cloth across my chest. No one says a word as I embrace him, breathe him in, listen to his heartbeat, memorise his soft warmth.  And then another set of arms find my back, and I lean into the taller boy behind me, face between my shoulder blades. His breaths rattle against my spine, and without even realising it my hands have found his.  And then, slowly, I find two more embraces. Two more brothers twisting their way into the huddle so that they are joined, so that we are all joined.   I almost burst into tears right then and there.  "Are you okay?" Jules' deep voice breathes into my ear, loud enough for me to hear but soft enough for the boys to miss.  My eyes flutter open, and I glance sideways at my closest sibling. He stares back, brown eyes a grounding calm to my lightning.  Julian. My brother. My rock. For six years his steady hands have been there to help my trembling ones, for six years his voice has been quiet when mine has been loud, for six years he has helped me when the pressure has got into my very pores and started to suffocate me.  He is my breath of fresh air.  "I'm okay," I whisper.  Gregory clears his throat behind us. Despite the causality of the sound, I recognise it for what it is. A warning.  I almost burst into lightning in my anger, but instead I begin to very slowly de-tangle myself from my brothers. He has control over them; he could kill them if he wanted. I am not stupid enough to convince myself that Gregory cares for his sons anymore. His family is the rebellion, and his heart belongs to his fucked up version of justice.  He has no qualms about hurting the people I love the most in this world.  As the boys step away, my hand finds Rico's and holds it tight. He stops where he is and glances up at me, usually shining face pale. His green eyes burn, as mine do, and he stares. I ignore everyone as I run a hand through his chocolate curls, just like Drew's.  "I'm sorry," I whisper to him, voice trembling.  He blinks up at me, and then for some strange reason, glances over at Demiun. I cannot help but look at the golden haired man too, a thousand thoughts swirling in my mind.  He sits by the window yet again, hair a mess and his t-shirt slightly askew on his broad shoulders. He stares back at Rico, his light brown eyes soft. In this sunlight, with that kindness in his gaze, I realise he is not so much a man as I thought he was. He is perhaps only a year or two older than me. 21 tops.  The most powerful controller in the world. Working for the rebellion; the Charge. Working against the Monarchy of Hidra. He could kill us without blinking if he wanted.  But he helped Rico. Ran to him, held him, soothed him.  I do not understand that man.  Rico glances back up at me, "It's okay, Lina," He shrugs in the way only Rico can, "Not your fault." My knees almost buckle.  "Riccardo," Gregory's deep voice is a slap in the face, and Rico flinches from his full name, "Step away from your sister."  My defences flare almost instantly, and if not for the silence bracelets around my wrist, lightning would bubble in my blood. My head snaps up to stare at my father, eyes narrowing as I step in front of Rico. The tension snaps into place so perfectly I wonder if everyone was expecting it.  "Why?" I ask evenly.  "Excuse me?"  "Why must they stay away from me?"  Gregory only stares blankly at me, and in the silence I wonder where my dad went. I grieved for him for years. Cried for months. He used to be my favourite person in the entire world, my guardian, my best friend, my rock. For one moment, I try to remember who he was before he became this stern General. Eyes crinkled from smiling so much, a deep and booming laugh, warm hands despite his ice, such kind and sparkling eyes. A loving man.  I guess years leading a rebellion turns you into ice.  Well, I guess years raising a family of five as you're growing up yourself turns you into a storm.   "Alina-"  "I will work for you, Gregory," I say evenly, thunder in my tone despite the bracelets, "But you will NOT separate me from my brothers. If you keep me away from them, God save you. You keep these chains on me to silence my power because you know. You know that the moment I have control back, I will fucking kill you for threatening them. You have my cooperation, but you will never have my allegiance."  He stares for such a long time that I feel uncomfortable. The anger sizzles to nothing, and I can only stare back. The silence lasts for too long.  "You are so much like Adera," He breathes.  I flinch.  "Do NOT say her name," I hiss to Gregory, finger pointing as I take another step forward. In my peripherals, I see Demiun take a slow step towards me. He is a controller. He can feel my heart thundering, my blood racing in rage. How dare Gregory mention Ma. How fucking dare he- "You have NO RIGHT to say it. YOU LEFT HER. She would hate you if she knew what you did to us. She would fucking kill you."   It is Gregory's turn to flinch.  For one singular moment, I see it. I see him. I see it in his eyes; the ice cracking. In that crack, in that split second, I see a frozen ocean of grief and pain and regret and love. He never stopped loving my mother. He never will.  ------------------------------------------------------------- I expect to hear the door slam behind me as I stride into my room, but it does not. She catches it before it closes and slips in, silent as a ghost.  She has always been so quiet, so sleek.  She does not make a move towards me as I pace, shoulder hunched and muscles tense. She only stands by the closed door, calm. She is still in her silk red robe. The one I took off her body only a few hours ago.  "You're angry at me," She announces finally, blank and careless and as smooth as glass.  "Of course I'm angry at you," I spit, finally turning to face her.  The red lamp and sheets around this room do well to compliment the auburn in her shining waves. She knows they do. That's why she designed the room like this. I came back from a mission last month to find a red room and her naked body on my bed. I didn't mind it then.  I mind it now.  "Why?" She asks evenly, hazel eyes narrowing.  She is a beautiful woman; Sarah. Red waves and deadly eyes and softly pale skin. A sprinkle of freckles across her high cheekbones, a few dancing across her long legs. She is almost as tall as me, but she makes the height look graceful.  Everything she does is graceful, planned, precise.  "Why?" I scoff, my temper trembling on the surface of my skin, "Because they are kids, Sarah!"  She rolls her eyes. I hate when she rolls her eyes at me. She is just so good at making me feel stupid.  "Grow up, Dem," She quips, striding towards the love lounge and settling herself down. She rests her head on one hand and looks at me as if I am a child that needs to be scolded. I try not to bristle from where I stand. "A job is a job. Gregory asked me to."  "A job is a job? That's your excuse?" I shake my head, and it takes me a second to realise it is in disgust. I realise it the same moment she does, and her eyes widen in anger. I have never been disgusted by her before.  "Yes," She snaps, suddenly cold and removed, "That IS my excuse. Our General asked me to do this, and I couldn't very well say no, could I?" The question is sarcastic, laced with scorn.  I run a frustrated hand through my hair, tugging at the locks. She glances at my strands when I do that and frowns in distaste. She is always telling me off for messing up my hair.  "He asked you to do this, Sarah, but we both know you didn't hesitate before saying yes." I shake my head again as I pace, finally turning to her. "Did you even try to say no?"  She only stares, face blank. That is the answer.  "Why do you care so much?" She asks finally, words frosty, "They are strangers."  "I care because they're kids!" I snap yet again, my voice as loud as hers is quiet.  "And?"  My steps stutter to a stop, and I can only stare in the silence. She stares back, earnest, confused, bored.  Bored. She is bored.  When I speak, my quiet voice trembles in anger, "I know you were not raised with other children, Sarah-" She snorts, sitting up straight as she rolls her eyes yet again.  "Oh, god!" She cries dramatically, waving a hand, "Is this another sob story about your little siblings? I am so sick of hearing the names Michael and Haylen, Demiun! There is only so long you can milk the pity from people! Grow up! Move on!"  I feel the words like a punch to the chest, and I physically stumble back. My mind empties of all thoughts but the hurt, the shock at her words. My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. She watches me for a few moments, her hazel eyes glowing in her annoyance. And then, as she takes in the effect of her words, her harsh face softens. She stands and takes a slow step forwards.  "The chances of them being alive is almost non-existent, Demiun. Your mother is certainly dead," Another step. Another punch to my chest. "So they have no reason to keep the twins alive. You need to move on. There are other people that care about you, that deserve your attention, your heart." Another step. "I am one of them, baby."  I stare at her for a long time.  "Get the fuck out of my room."  She blinks. She makes even the act of being surprised purposeful, "Excuse me?"  "You have no right to speak about my family, about their lives," I snap, "How can you stand there and throw those words in my face, and then ask why you aren't in my heart?" I run another hand through my hair, "How can you even fucking ask that?"  Her eyes flare in anger.  "For two months I have been sneaking to your room," She almost yells, "For two months I have given you my body and my time-"  "But never your kindness, Sarah!" I shout louder than her, trembling, "Never your fucking compassion."  She takes a step back now and laughs. It is not a kind sound.  "You are a fucking coward, Demiun! You have the audacity to get angry at me for obeying the rebellion that fights against the people that took your siblings? How does that make sense?"  "Because this rebellion is taking Alina's brothers from her like the Monarchy took the twins from me! How can you not see the resemblance? What you are doing; what you've agreed to, Sarah? It's inhumane."  She rolls her eyes. I almost poison the blood in her body.  "Get the fuck out of my room," I tell her, "And don't you dare come back."  ----------------------------------------------------- Rico jumps when the doors bang open.  One moment of quiet as someone walks in. Only one singular moment before Rico jumps to his feet and sprints.  I guess he recognised the determination in those steps as much as I did.  Alina does not say a word as she rounds the corner, and Rico does not say a word as he goes flying into her arms. She catches him with only one expel of a breath, and as she squeezes him tighter than life, Drew rounds the corner. The youngest brother, seven years old. He glances at the embrace with only a small amount of curiosity before surpassing them and walking to the bench attached to the wall in front of me. His curls bounce as he toddles across the training room. He does not glance at me as he hops up onto the bench, nor Sarah in the corner. He only gets himself comfy and sits, studying his training uniform as he swings his legs. He sings to himself under his breath; a gentle humming sound. His training uniform is not loose, as it is for many of the other children I've seen train. It is almost identical to my fighting leathers, yet it is dark grey rather than oblivion black. I shift uncomfortably, wishing I could give the boy my loose trousers and black shirt to wear rather than the tightness of the leathers. For a moment an image of the little boy in my shirt and trousers comes to mind, and I can't help but smile a little. He'd drown in my clothes. I would lose him in the folds of the cloth.  "Good morning, Andrew," Sarah calls from the corner, voice sweet and threatening at the same time.  I cannot fight the urge to glare at  her, my muscles tensing as I do. She doesn't look at me, only smiles a sick smile at the boy.  She's threatening a fucking seven year old?  I want to break her bones.  Drew looks up from his uniform finally and stares at Sarah for a long time, chocolate eyes big and innocent. He doesn't realise that this woman could snap his neck at any second.  "Hi," His voice is quiet, but it is polite. Soft.  Very cute.  I have to look away.  I like these boys too much.  Alina strides over with Rico in tow. Rico sits beside Drew on the bench, in a similar outfit to his younger brother. Alina's uniform is like her brothers', yet hers is a purple so deep it is almost black. I blink at the unusual colour. I have never seen an electrodes colour before. Alina is the only one I know of.  The sister does not sit with her siblings. Instead, she strides right up to Sarah. Alina is not tall- in fact she is quite short beside Sarah's graceful height. Alina's eyes are in line with Sarah's chin.  Sarah does not shift uncomfortably; Sarah is never anything less than cool and calm. I wonder if, on the inside, she is frightened of this lightning girl. Alina's silent bracelets are off today, and she could probably kill Sarah if she was quick enough.  "I want you to know," I hear Alina whisper, "That if you hurt one of them today, or ever, I will make YOU hurt more than you could ever imagine."  Before Sarah can respond, we hear the doors yet again. A loud creak as they open and an echoing boom as they close.  Alina only spins on her heel and stalks towards her brothers. The two older ones, Jules and Vince, round the corner as Alina sits between Drew and Rico.  Such an interesting tribe of siblings.  What's more interesting is the way that Gregory has deigned to split them up.  Alina and Drew stay together in a room that locks from the outside.  Jules and Vince were put in another room on the other side of HQ; one that I have not even been shown.  And Rico, the eleven year old boy with the olive eyes and the gaze of fire, stays with me.  I do not know why Gregory paired the boy up with me rather than his brothers, but I do know it was strategic and it was carefully planned. Rico does not speak to me much, only follows quietly on my jobs and errands around HQ. For the past three days, the most he has said to me is goodnight and good morning. He speaks a lot in his sleep, though. The couch is across the room from my bed. Only a few steps away.  It is close enough for me to know what his nightmares are about.  His mother. Always his mother.  I wait until they are all seated.  "Well," I announce finally, "Let's figure out what your powers are, shall we?"  ------------------------------------------------------ Lina flinches as Rico falls yet again.  Despite the fact that we are captives, that we have all been separated, that we are in constant danger, I can't help but enjoy myself.  I laugh out loud when Rico trips for the fifth time.  He glares at me as he jumps to his feet, "Shut up, Julian!" The boy has too much fire in his blood than any eleven year old should.  I glance at Lina, eyebrows raised. She watches me carefully from her tank across the room, submerged in water up to her waist.  "Julian," I say to her, almost astonished, "He used the full name."  She laughs quietly.  "Focus, Alina," Demiun calls from his spot beside Rico. His deep voice is both rough and smooth at the same time.  She glares at him.  Sarah throws another knife at my head. I barely dodge it, hissing in distaste. She stares back, bored.  "Why don't you just split my head open with your power?" I shoot at her, glaring, "It's faster."  I see Drew glance over at me from where he sits with the blocks.  Fuck. I am not to lose my temper. "Wait!" Rico's strained voice echoes through the giant room.  I can't help but stop what I'm doing and look over to where he stands with Demiun. The two of them have a strange bond, and although he is a controller, I am somehow grateful for the connection. Demiun will save Rico's life if it ever comes to it, I know he will.  Demiun stands above my little brother now, taking one small step back and crossing his arms.  "No time to wait, Rico."  Rico glances desperately between Demiun and Lina. When Lina catches Rico's distress and his fluttering eyes, I almost feel her adrenaline start pumping. She wades to the edge of her rectangular tank and puts her hands on the edge, at her chest, as if making to jump out should she need to.  "Save her, Rico," Demiun whispers.  And then Lina screams. She thrashes back into the water, splashing about as she fights off the spasms in her body. I can hear her bones cracking from here.  I feel Sarah lock her power into my muscles almost instantly, and I know she has caught Drew, too. I cannot move, cannot scream, cannot fight to help Lina. I can only stand still, trapped under the red heads power as I listen to my sister's cries.  "Stop!" Rico begins to cry, but Demiun only stares calmly down at my brother, "PLEASE STOP!"  "Make me stop, Riccardo," Demiun almost whispers, but we all hear it.  Lina cries out, "DEMIUN," Her voice is caught somewhere between a scream of pain and a roar of anger.  "PLEASE STOP!" Rico shrieks, tears streaming down his face as Lina screams again, throwing herself under the water to try and soothe some sort of agony.  "Make me stop, Rico," Demiun demands again, a bit louder this time, but still calm.  He makes Lina stand up still, so that we can all hear her gasps of pain. She clenches her jaw to fight it, to fight the scream building up in her chest. Even drowning in whatever Demiun is doing to her, she does not want to upset her brothers by crying out.   Demiun glances over at the silence, eyebrow raised.  The scream that erupts from Lina is like nothing I have ever heard before. I almost throw up from the agony in it. I have never heard someone in so much pain. The glass almost shatters at the sound of it.  "STOP!" Rico roars.  "MAKE ME," Demiun demands.  Lina starts to sob. Her cries are guttural, animal like. She is going to die. Demiun makes her wail one more time- And then the glass of her tank shatters. As does every single window in this room.  Sarah does not even let Drew and I flinch as they explode. And then there is silence. No more screaming.  I finally blink away the glass in my eyelashes to find Lina laying on the ground, saturated and unconscious in a giant puddle of water. My heart lurches in my chest.  And then Rico attacks Demiun. Demiun catches the little boy and falls to the floor with him, letting the eleven year old scream as he punches his face over and over again. He lets Rico punch until Demiun is a bloody mess and my little brother is a sobbing pile of limbs on his chest. Demiun does not say a word as he hugs Rico close to stop the boy from trembling so hard.  Lina wakes with a gasp. She coughs up her water as she sits, spitting out blood and spit and chlorine. Her eyes lock onto Demiun. I suspect the only reason Demiun is not dead is because he holds Rico in his arms.  Lina closes her eyes and rests her forehead against the floor.  Demiun glances up at her as Rico quietens.  "You okay?" He asks softly.  She takes a few calming breaths, "You asshole," She whispers.

unrequited 

[unrequitedmime]

She moans under my touch.  I grin as I watch her above me, head stretched back and sweat running down her glowing skin. She truly is a sight like this.  And then my entire body lights into flames.  I scream, jolting from the electricity that courses through me, and throw myself off the bed. I take her with me, but my ears are pounding too hard to hear her strangled cry as we fall together. We land in a tangled heap of limbs on the hard floor, her scrambling off me as I roar again.  The pain is unbearable. The agony ripples through every single nerve in my body and seems to burn it to pieces. I can do nothing but scream one more time as my body seizes up. I cannot hear anything but the pound of my heart and the sizzling of my blood. Everything burns. I wonder if my body is tearing itself apart, limb detaching from limb. I wonder if I am bleeding out, my organs and my heart and my soul strangling themselves. Every single nerve seems to cackle as it sets itself aflame. Over and over and over. I have never felt pain like this before. It is in everything, drowns everything.  I think I scream again as the pain rips through my muscles, but I don't know.  I can feel nothing but the agony.  And then I feel her heartbeat.  The staccato of her heart is a breath of fresh air in a drowning ocean and I gasp from the ground. The pain flutters away as fast as it first struck, leaving nothing but an empty shell of a body. Everything trembles, and I lie a forgotten heap on the cold floors. I focus on her heartbeat, fluttering and pounding and racing. It takes a few moments for me to concentrate enough, to not pass out right there. That thudding sound is the only thing keeping me awake. It tethers me.  "Alina," I gasp, stumbling my way to my feet despite the haze of my head. My trembling fingers find my boxers and slip them on. Georgia talks to me, yells at me, screams, whispers, sings. I do not know what she says. All I can hear is that heartbeat, drumming away somewhere in this HQ.  Close.  Closer than I thought.  I lose track of the hallways I run through, chest heaving and muscles flinching from the ghost of that earlier agony. Whoever's pain I was feeling; she killed them. Over and over and over.  My thoughts do not exist. They come and go like splashing water, sprinkling over my head before disappearing. I try to grab them as I run, try to read or hear or talk to my racing mind. It does not respond. It does not have the strength to tap into Alina's body.  I can only follow the sound of that heartbeat.  And then suddenly, I am following the sound of her screams.  I run faster.  -------------------------------------------------------------- I can't think.  I can feel nothing beyond the panic, the anger, the rage, the terror, the grief, the fear. Everything crashes in like rolling waves, crushing my windpipe, turning my chest to dust. I am nothing but the fear.  I am nothing but the anger.  I kill another guard without thinking, and I do not flinch when I hear his scream. For a moment, I swear I hear an echoing scream. A deeper one, off in the distance.  And then cold hands clamp down on my shoulders.  The lightning in my palm dies.  There is nothing but silence in me.  I can only blink. Where has my lightning gone? For my entire life there has been an insistent trickle of power in me; a crackle of lightning in my very blood. For the first time in 19 years, my blood is silent. I fight the urge to throw up. I try to summon the storm, anything in my veins. Nothing comes. I cannot even hear the hum of thunder within me. I am empty.  The panic flares harder, so hard that I almost buckle underneath the weight. Instead, I try to fight off the body wrapping itself around me. I cannot. He is tall and muscled and thick and heavy. He suffocates me, my power. I swear he is squeezing the lightning from me.  He is squeezing the life from me.  I try to breathe, try to scream, try to fight. But I cannot. Slowly, everything begins to seep from my body. Every feeling, every thought, every spark. I almost can't feel my heart.  "GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF HER."  Despite everything, I manage to glance up before the life drains from me. At the end of the hallway stands a young man - with a jolt I realise he is the same man that held Drew in the warehouse. This time, though, he is dishevelled beyond relief; honey hair a birds nest and brilliant brown eyes feral. He wears nothing but a pair of aeroplane boxers, and they sit quite low on his golden hips.  Aeroplane boxers.  The last thought in my mind before the fog lifts. The hands killing me are suddenly gone, and I gasp as life comes rushing back in. It slaps me in the face. Every thought snaps back into my mind, every feeling claws its way back into my chest. The sparks dance to life again at my fingertips.  I am woken up.  Before my lightning can strike out against the stranger across the hallway from me, I make the mistake of meeting his gaze.  And suddenly, he is right in front of me, chest heaving, sweat rolling down his neck. My entire body is frozen. When did he get so close? Why am I so still? WHY THE FUCK CAN'T I MOVE?  The panic rushes in again-  He catches me as I snap into unconsciousness.  ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Drew's hand slips into mine through the bars.  I grasp onto his little fingers, and try not to wince too loudly as I shift closer to him. I can feel his curls tickling the back of my neck.  Vince glances up at the movement, bubbling face pale for once. Bright eyes dull. No racing thoughts for now. He glances back down at his tapping fingers. I wish I'd taught myself Morse code like Alina. I could understand him right now, I could help him settle the nerves in his veins.  I guess I always thought Alina would be here to do it.  "Jules?" Drew breathes into my ear from behind. His voice, surprisingly, doesn't tremble, "Is Lina dead?"  I take a deep breath before turning my entire body. I spin slowly in my spot so I face the wall separating our cells. Drew, little Drew, sits cross legged on the other side of the bars, brown eyes wide. He doesn't dare look at my shoulder, at the blood still seeping through my shirt. A streak of blood dances across his cheek.  My blood.  I glance behind him, to Rico's sleeping body. The 11 year old mumbles in his sleep, a small whimper before he curls in on himself tighter. Drew doesn't look at his brother, only stares at me.  I clench my fists to fight the anger, the fear, the need to go to Rico. My two youngest brothers are alone in a cell, and I can do nothing but sit in another one and bleed out.  "No," I whisper to Drew, "Lina is the strongest person in the world. She'll come back to us, I promise. Just you wait."  I wonder if Drew can hear the lie in my voice. I know I can.  For a moment, I hate myself for making a promise I cannot keep. I don't know where my sister is, or if she's alive. The last time I heard her voice she was screaming our names.  That was a few hours ago at least.  "Will she come and save us?" Drew whispers to me.  I stare at him for a long time, and he waits patiently. His brown eyes, so much like Rico's, just watch me. Such an open, earnest, innocent face on such a loving boy.  I open my mouth to answer- The door slams open. Our cells do not sit in a dungeon, but instead in a wide room separated only by a wall of steel bars. Drew and I hold hands through that very wall.  The man that storms in is large, smooth, and cold. I feel the icy mist oozing from his skin in his rage. I do not have time to jump to my feet before he speaks to the guards behind him.  "You put them in cages?" I have never heard words breathed so angrily. Deadly calm, quiet, threatening, deep.  I would recognise that voice anywhere.  ----------------------------------------------------------------- The door of the library opens, and Alina jerks herself up from her slump so fast that I can't help but look.  Gregory strides in first, fur coat as thick and heavy as his thudding boots. The thick dreadlocks hanging down his back are edged with grey. Long years spent working alone with only the cold as company.  The boys trickle in after. The brothers.  Instead of watching them, I watch the girl; the sister counting her charges as they file through the door. Her dark eyes scan each one head to toe as they walk. Her entire face tightens, and I glance over curiously to study the source of her worry. A teenage boy, perhaps 17 or 18, with a bleeding shoulder. Minor shot wound.  These kids have been here for three hours and no one has thought to heal them? I don't say a word as I close the wound on his shoulder, don't even glance at the oldest brother. My blood trickles with warmth as I heal him from across  the room. Instead, I study the two middle children. I've met the youngest; held a knife to his neck only two days ago.  The middle two are not much different from the others. Same coffee skin, same dark hair. One of them, though, has sparkling green eyes rather than deep brown. Olive green.  The second youngest brother stares right at me, bedazzling eyes intense and determined. Shining right beside the fear in his gaze is a threat. I fight the urge to smile. What seems to be a ten year old threatening me.  I like that one.  I glance away before my lips can twitch.  "Julian," Alina says finally, voice unusually steady as she studies him, "Your shoulder." She speaks as if she is not tied to a table by silencing chains, and as if her four brothers have not been placed in front of her like an execution line. She speaks as if her long lost father, her captor, is not standing right beside the sons he abandoned.  She speaks as if she is their mother.  The boy - Jules - glances down at the blood stain on his shirt.  "It's okay," He murmurs, voice deep and calming. So much like his father's. "Someone healed it as I walked in here."  I do not meet Alina's gaze as her head whips to stare at me. I only study the second oldest brother. The one tapping his fingers so insistently on his right thigh. The older boy, Julian, notices my attention and shifts closer to his brother, defensive.  I glance back out the window.  "Are you okay?" Alina breathes finally, and I know she is speaking to all of them.  Despite the voice in my head that tells me not to involve myself in this family moment, I can't ignore the pull. She speaks to her brothers like I speak to the twins. I look over yet again.  Julian nods first, gulping, eyes hard. And then Drew, the little boy forcing a smile. Olive eyes nods firmly, not meeting her eyes despite his steady gaze earlier.  The last boy- the silent one with the tapping fingers- does not say a word. Alina does not stare at his face, but instead at his hands. After a moment, she sits back in her chair, satisfied with some sort of answer.  Morse code.  I can feel the silent boy's heart thundering in his chest.  Alina stares at her father now, dark eyes harsh and hateful and full of rage. I shift, uncomfortable, and thank the gods for those silencing chains.  "Speak," Alina demands Gregory, that unrecognisable fire back in her voice, "Present the deal."  Ah, that's right. The deal.  Gregory, the one offering. Alina, the one accepting.  And the brothers, the leverage.  "You are living in poverty, Alina. Join the rebellion, and we can offer you refuge."  "We don't need refuge," Alina spits.  Gregory ignores her.  "In HQ we offer education, working jobs, pay, safety, and training."  "You offer death," Alina almost growls, shaking her head, "You train these people like soldiers and send them out to die for an unworthy cause." "An unworthy cause is the Medra," Gregory fires back as calmly as he can, "And if I recall correctly, you have been working with them since you were 15."  Alina's face flushes at the smooth accusation before rattling her chains in anger. Drew glances away at the sight of it.  "I relayed coded messages between air headed twats," Alina argues back, "I did it for the money, because we were starving. Because you LEFT US."  Gregory does not flinch; only closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, his face is yet again blank. No point letting the guilt drown him now. Alina is a shark, and he needs to stay afloat to catch her in this deal. "The point is, you worked with a rebellion. It was for the money back then, so why can't it be for the money now?"  Alina laughs and shakes her head. Beside Gregory, the brothers are silent. I do not let them speak.  "You pay people to fight for you? How is that loyalty? We are in a poverty ridden nation; anyone will agree to join for the chance to survive."  Gregory nods, "That is true. But we believe firmly that people join for the money and stay for the cause."  Alina snorts, "Get fucked. My answer is no." "Alina-"  "My answer," Alina purrs calmly, "Is no."  Gregory hears it as clearly as I do; the resolution in her voice. Her answer is no. And no amount of talking will change that.  He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for something. I frown into the silence, power trained on the brothers but thoughts on the General.  What is he planning? "I had a feeling you'd say no," Gregory's voice is calm, but both Alina and I catch the sorrow in it. Her eyes widen cautiously at the apology in his tone.  The oak doors of the library swing open. For a moment, I frown at the figure standing there.  And then I realise why Georgia is here.  Her power crashes into mine a second before can I throw up the defences, and I almost gasp as her cool energy snaps into the channel of connection and suffocates my warmth. I take a small step back as her power kicks mine away and she gains control of the boys. I grit my teeth as I fight to get back into the channel, to get back to those brothers, but she is too strong.  That's why she hasn't been using her power this week.  And that is why Gregory has made me use all of mine. A small fraction of her essence swipes across the room and slams into my head. My knees almost buckle at the pain, and my power stutters  to nothing for a second. That one moment of  silence is enough for her to strengthen her wards. I can't get in. "Son of a bitch," I swear, stumbling back against the wall as my hands fly to my throbbing head. I can't make the pain go away; only she can. "Georgia," I almost growl, my ears ringing.  "Wh- what's happening?" Alina demands, voice trembling slightly.  My head is splitting in two. "GEORGIA!" I almost roar, falling to my knees. "STOP!"  She keeps going. I know she is giving me more pain, staring me down as I begin to tremble in my spot. And suddenly, just like that, the pain stops. I gasp at the relief, and I fall onto my hands and knees. It takes me a few moments to remember how to breathe. How to think.  "What the fuck is happening?" Alina demands louder now, angrier, "Who is she?"  I do not glance up as Gregory speaks.  "Georgia," The General almost breathes, "Is a controller from the ice tribes of the North. The second most powerful in this nation, after Demiun." I feel his gaze on me, but I cannot focus enough to glare back.  Gregory takes a small breath, preparing himself for the reality of his next words. "Georgia has control of the boy's bodies. If you do not agree to this plan, she can do anything she wants to them. Right in front of your eyes."  There is silence. I summon enough strength to throw myself up so that I kneel on the ground, chest heaving. Alina is deadly still, staring at her father. If not for those chains around her wrists, he would be dead.  "You are threatening to kill your own sons?" Alina's whisper is so full of rage that I shudder.  "Not kill. Harm, change, shift. For the greater good."  Alina does not say a word. Only stares for a long time. A very long time.  "I don't believe you," She breathes her bluff, voice steady. A moment of silence, and then a gasp of pain from one of the brothers. The boy with the olive green eyes screams before his knees buckle. As he falls, his body flops in helpless agony like a fish out of water. Alina jumps to her feet within a second and makes to sprint to him, but her chains tug her harshly back into place. None of the other boys can move as their brother screams in pain from his spot on the ground, but I can.  I am by his side in a moment, my rage triggering my power so strongly that it leaks from my very hands. As I grab the boy, my warmth soaks into him, as powerful as Georgia's cold. The numb washes over his body within moments, and his screams stop. He only falls, weak. I catch him and hold him against my side.  I glance at Alina, pale faced where she stands, her wrists raw from tugging at the chains. She stares at her trembling brother in my hands, her face so pale and her eyes so haunted I have to look away. She may throw up right here.  My gaze is so heated that Georgia is lucky I cannot control fire.  "He is a CHILD," I spit at her, almost yelling in my disbelief.  She stares blankly back at me, "Just following orders, baby."  I flinch at the pet name. "Okay," Alina whispers, lost as she stares at the boy in my hands, "I agree to the deal."  Gregory releases a small breath of relief, "You will join the rebellion?"  Alina nods.  "Say it," Gregory prods.  She only watches the young boy I hold. There is so much pain and fear in her face that I almost cannot stand it. Such plain, overwhelming fear for her brothers.  "Rico," She whispers softly, voice something gentle and loving as she summons her little brother's gaze.  He finally glances up at her, "It's okay, Lina," He whispers back, voice raw. She almost crumples where she stands.  Instead, she gulps. Stands taller. Meets her father's gaze. "I will join your rebellion."

unrequited 

[unrequitedmime]

"Get your fucking hands off my brother," Her voice is a storm.  I glance up not at the thunder, but at her footsteps. Fast, hard, unforgiving.  Despite the strong facade, I can feel the fear hammering away at her heart.  "Alina," I greet with a nod, "Nice to finally meet you. Unfortunate that we have to finally see each other like this." My eyes flicker down to the young boy trembling in my grip. His curls tickle my chin.  Her breaths are heavy, distressed, ragged, "What the fuck do you want from me?" She demands, chocolate eyes only on her youngest brother. Her face softens when she meets his gaze.  He whimpers her name. Lina.  "I want you to listen," Is all I say.  She frowns, face contorting in confusion and rage. And then the man steps from the shadows.  Her eyes fall upon him, immediately ready to seize up an enemy, but it takes her only a second to recognise him. The world seems to stop when she does. The entire spinning Earth freezes as she realises who she is looking at. I feel the intake of breath, the drop of her stomach. I know her vision blacks out for a moment before flooding back in a rush. She doesn't breathe. The blood drains from her tanned face, and her knees almost give way. I watch them wobble as she steps back in shock.  "No," She manages, voice like broken glass, "No."  Gregory does not say a word. Only stares at her for a very long time. In his deep blue eyes is love, and guilt, and grief as he stares at his lost daughter.  "You're dead," Alina whispers, trapped, "I watched you die."  Gregory extends his hands, as if to show more of himself, "I'm alive, baby girl. I'm real."  The boy in my hands flinches when he hears the loving nickname. Gregory is a stranger to his youngest son; gone so soon that even the memory of him does not remain. I hold the boy tighter to stop his trembling. He reminds me of Michael.  "Lina," The boy whispers, "Who is that?"  It is Gregory's turn to flinch. He turns to study his youngest son for a very long time, the harsh plains of his face melting into something full of pain and regret. Interesting that someone who is your spitting image does not even recognise you. Same dark hair, same brown skin, same nose.  "Drew," Alina straightens when she remembers her brother, and she takes a determined step forward. Her face shatters into something harsh, unforgiving, as she stares at her father. "Let him go."  Gregory shakes his head, "I-I can't."  Alina almost growls, temper snapping already. She must get that from her mother. In the three months that I have been working with Gregory, he has been nothing but stoic and calm. Commanding, lethal, smooth. Tonight is the most vulnerable I have ever seen him.  "He's your fucking son. Let him go."  "If I do, you will not listen to all I have to say. You will not take me up on my offer."  "What?" "Join the rebellion, Alina."  Her dark eyes fly wide, long eyelashes fluttering. She takes a step back almost instinctively, but takes one more forward as she remembers her brother. A crackle of lightning sparks to life on her fingertips. It glows fire-white.  "That's where you've been all these years?" She demands, "In the fucking rebellion?"  Gregory takes a step forward, "The Charge needed a leader-"  "And it had to be you?" She demands, "Don't you dare tell me you are the leader of the rebellion."  The rebellion. She says the words with disgust. Almost spits them.  Gregory only blinks, "It seems to me that you don't understand what The Charge is about-"  "I couldn't give a flying fuck what it's about!" She is almost yelling, "People are dying every day for that cause-"  "People are dying for their freedom," Gregory's voice never rises when he is angry. It only strengthens. "Oh yeah?" Alina demands, "Then where is it, huh? Where is our freedom? It has been six years, and nothing has changed."  "That is why we need you, Alina."  Alina rolls her eyes.  Gregory takes a deep breath, "The rebellion needs you and the boys."  She does not roll her eyes this time. She flinches. She stares at her long lost father, and I can feel the heat simmering to life on the surface of her skin. It crackles with the electricity of her anger.  "The boys and I needed YOU." She hisses. Gregory flinches, but she continues, "You were our FATHER. And you abandoned us."  Gregory's jaw works for a few moments before he speaks, "I did not abandon you. You have your mother-"  "Ma is dead."  I can almost feel the hit of Gregory's grief. I can almost see the words settling over his large body, sinking into his skin. I can see it- the grief start it's cycle. It begins eating away at his insides. His ragged breaths are the only sound in the warehouse.  "She..." His voice cracks, "She's...?"  "She died the same day you did," Alina almost whispers, her grief and anger blending together in her words, "You died in the morning. She died in the night. She was-" Alina's voice cracks, and she closes her eyes as if scolding herself for crying, "She was the last kill of that battle."  Gregory falls to his knees. Alina does not move to comfort him. Only watches him sob silently into his hands. She stands still, frozen, as she watches her father grieve for the woman he never stopped loving. She looks up to her young brother, her love for him written all over her face. At the sight of her, I feel the young boy in my hands slowly stop trembling. He has put his trust in his sister. She will not let him die tonight. She just needs him to be brave for a little while longer.  Finally, Alina speaks.  "We have been alone for six years," She tells her father. Her voice is quiet, but it is not soft. "I raised your sons. For six years I have bled for your sons. I have worked for them. I have loved them." The hatred in her voice begins to stand out, "You left your 13 year old daughter to raise her four brothers on her own."  Gregory cannot even reply, horror and pain and grief ripping him apart. It oozes from his skin as he sobs.  Alina looks up at me. Her eyes spark.  "Give me back my brother."  I do.  The boy runs to her in a flurry of tripping limbs and hiccuping sobs. She catches him when he barrels into her, and their hug suffocates. All of their love steals the air from the room as Alina picks up the eight year old and holds him firm against her chest. Her cries into her skin.  She meets my gaze over her brother's shoulder. In it is hatred. In it is also gratitude.  I let her brother go without a fight.  She glances over at her father, then back to me.  "Don't try to find us again," She whispers.  They disappear in a storm.

unrequited 

[unrequitedmime]

His grip is vice-like. Harsh, unforgiving. It is doom. Both for me, and for the people of Akuta. Despite his easy strength, despite his power, I tug and pull with all my might as he drags me through the villages. I cannot take my eyes off the wreckage of the dirt lined streets, can hear nothing but the screams of the people. My gaze snags on a pair of teenagers, perhaps a few years younger than me. The girl's grip on the boy's jacket looks as strong as Vele's grip on me. Hers is loving, though. She cries and weeps as she supports his blundering weight, ignoring the blood that seeps through his shirt as they search for safety. "Veleium!" I spit his name like a curse, nails digging into his flesh. He doesn't let me finish my demand, his fingers only closing tighter around my wrist as he continues his march. He steps over corpses like they are bugs in the way. I wonder how many dead bodies he has seen in his life for him to not even flinch. I dig my heels into the dirt street, trying to anchor myself to anything at all. He doesn't even seem to notice and my feet go sliding, leaving tracks behind me as I scrabble for support. I pinch and punch and tug, throwing my body in any direction to loosen his grip. It only tightens. We march past a young boy with hazel eyes and unruly curls. He meets my gaze, and I almost throw up right there. He looks so much like Milo. Too much. "Please," I sob, my throat suddenly raw with emotion, "Veleium, they are dying!" "Saving them isn't part of the mission, Arora," He almost snarls back, sick of my rambling. I almost explode in my anger. Stupid, selfish, cruel man. "Fuck your mission!" I almost scream, tugging harder than ever, "There are children here! You cannot let them die!" "I can, and I will," He responds, voice blank, "It is not my responsibility to save this island from the Wrecker's." "Then who's responsibility is it?" I can feel my despair, trembling inside of me. A wave about to break. He doesn't respond. Coward. I try again. "Veleium-" My shout stutters to nothing but dust as I feel it. My feet stop completely, and I fall to my knees. He looks behind him and snarls in frustration, "Grow up, Arora-" I ignore him, scrabbling to my feet faster than I ever have before. I can feel the blood draining from my body as I search the horizon, my power stretching out to feel it, to find it. Vele must see it in my face, because he suddenly stops. I feel his heavy gaze assessing me. The rest of the world fades away. "What is it?" He breathes, soft for once in his life. "Water," I whisper. I feel it just before it appears at the end of this long street, and my scream almost shatters glass. "RUN!" I roar to the villagers. They glance back at the wall of rushing waves, more powerful than any natural tsunami could possibly be, and they run. I can feel their terror. I can feel Vele's. He starts to run, too, dragging me along. I focus on the rushing flood, the water coming so fast and hard that it will kill anything that comes in it's path. We are in it's path. "Arora-" Vele roars to me as I go limp, a dead weight to drag him down. He can carry me without a sweat, we both know he can. But it's a waste of time to swing me up into his arms. My power connects with the flowing wave, almost 30ft high now, and somehow, miraculously, I rip my hand from Vele's. He stutters to a stop, gaping at his fingers as if they are broken. No one is strong enough to pull away from Vele. "Aurora," He yells to my back, voice tinged with desperation, "Run!" I take a step closer to the wave. It is almost upon us now. 40ft high now. Unnaturally harsh, unnaturally tall. Water weavers are controlling it. "No," I whisper. I don't know how he hears me, but his fingers find my wrist again, one more attempt to save my life. I am surprised he has hesitated this long. Considered someone else's safety but his own. "You are going to die, Arora!" I feel it in my blood, in my bones- my connection to the water. I feel every tug in that wave, every roll and rush and trickle. I feel everything it is, and everything it takes, and everything it isn't. We are born of the same thing. The same harshness, the same power, the same destruction. I lose track of where my blood starts and the water ends. "Wrong again," I whisper, the wave so close I feel the spray of it against my face, "They are." I throw my hands out at exactly the right moment, the scream erupting from me as my power bursts out. My smile is a wolf's grin. --------------------------------------------------------------- She paces in front of me, her heavy boots thudding as she stomps. I stare not at her, but at Vele. His gaze, on every part of her body, is transparent. I wonder if she knows her second in command is in love with her. But of course, she must. General Selia notices everything. Cruel, cruel woman. I wonder how long this little puppet show of hers has been going on for. Months? Years? I wonder if she'll ever stop stringing him along. Maybe she feels powerful, turning down such a desirable soldier. Letting him and other women know that even Veleium is not worthy of her. Her boots stop and face me. One foot taps, thick thuds that give me a headache more than her voice does. I almost spit on those perfectly polished shoes. "Tell me, Arora Lossi," She sneers the last name like the insult it is supposed to be, "What, exactly, was the objective of your assigned mission today?" I take my time replying, stretching out my legs as if they are sore, rolling my neck. I know it infuriates her. I can feel the heat rippling off her in waves. Tsk, tsk, General. Such a temper. "Veleium's objective was to trigger the golden swan and send the signal to the Furies." I look only at Vele. Not at the glowering General he loves. He frowns at me in warning; I mustn't upset his baby. "The objective belonged to both you and Vele, did it not?" Selia snaps, her voice like living flames. I'm surprised the fire doesn't spark to life on her very skin. I tire of this conversation already. I roll my eyes and finally meet the awful woman's gaze head on. Hers burns. Mine drowns. Fire and water have never got along. "I would rather you didn't talk to me like a child, General," I announce, voice firm and thick with boredom. "I will talk to you like an adult when you start acting like one, Lossi." I scoff, jumping to my feet faster than she thought I would. She blinks. Her blue eyes burn. Such peculiar eyes for a firebringer. They are the colour of a weaver's gaze. Funny, that she has my eyes and I have hers. "Are you mad at me, Selia?" I almost growl, the sarcasm almost dripping from my lips. "Damn right, you imbecile!" She snarls back, "You almost cost me my second in command today!" I can almost feel Vele softening at the affection. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "Fuck your second in command!" I laugh, shaking my head in disbelief, "I saved at least one hundred lives today!" Her finger prods my chest hard enough that I stumble back a step. "I DID NOT ASK YOU TO SAVE ONE HUNDRED LIVES." I freeze, staring down at my throbbing chest. A long moment of silence passes between us. I feel the heat rippling from her body. I look back up at her, meet her fiery gaze with my own. I hear Vele shift behind her, and I wonder if even he can feel the air changing with my mood. I wonder if even he can feel the cool rage that pours off me. "Arora," He murmurs quietly.   Oh, he can definitely feel my anger. "Shut up, Vele," Selia snarls at him without even turning around. She faces me, so she does not see his reaction. But I do. My eyes flicker to him just in time to catch his whole body flinch, spot the way his entire face shutters. His eyes lose a bit of their brightness, and he clenches his jaw before looking away. She treats him like a fucking dog. I've never liked masters. Her gasp is the only indication of her pain. I do not even blink as her entire body locks into place, her eyes widening as she stares at me in shock. In fear. The usual shine of her tan skin dances away, back, and away again. Under my influence. "What's wrong, General?" My voice is so calm and cold that I do not even recognise it. "You look surprised. Did you forget that 60% of your body is made of water?" I see Vele's head whip to stare at me in my peripherals. I ignore his attention. I feel the faint traces of water, all throughout her body. It is in almost everything. I have her entire life in my hands. I could destroy anything I want in her body. Dry her blood out, drown it. I take a slow step forward, gaze only on her fearful eyes. The water pours into her lungs slowly, almost soaks into them. "You will not talk to me like a child, Selia," I demand smoothly, voice a slicing blade, "And you will not talk to Veleium like he is your dog." She cannot respond. She cannot even breathe. "Don't ever fucking touch me again, General," I snarl into her ear, finger resting softly against her chest bone, "Or I will drown you from the inside out." I wait until she is almost choking. And then I release her. I turn as she falls, gasping, to her knees. Vele's steps boom as he races to her side, hand on her back to help her cough out the water. I do not look back as I walk out. -------------------------------------------------------- The knocking almost breaks my damn door down. I throw it open with as much fierce anger as I can muster this late at night. Who the HELL- Vele rests against the door frame, golden hair dishevelled and bronze eyes burning. I only blink up at him. He stares down. I am not short, not by a long shot, but Vele is a hulking young man. His finger taps against the metal frame, and the awful florescent lights of this awful underground base flickers behind him. A muscle in his jaw ticks. "It's 1am," I announce blankly. He ignores me, "You almost killed her." His voice is... different. Nothing like the usual smoothness that I have heard in the few weeks I've been here. Tonight, it is rough, raw. Jagged edges. "I don't care." It is the truth. General Selia is not my General, and she never will be. "I do not answer to her." He ignores me yet again. "I do not need you to fight my battles, Arora." I roll my eyes and crack my neck. His eyes track the movement. "You fight every battle but the one you need to, Veleium. You are a lovesick coward." He doesn't even seem to hear me. Just stares. In his gaze is something I don't recognise. Something intense. "Is there anything else?" I prod impatiently, a strange heat blooming in me. I do not understand his eyes. I can't seem to meet them. I must be tired. "One more thing," He breathes. "Well? What?" His kiss is crushing, deep, warm. Before I can even blink, the door is closed behind him and his hands are on my body. They are heavy and heated. Before I can even blink, my hands find themselves tangled in his golden hair. He kisses me harder, pulls my hips against him harder. I moan into his mouth. I moan a lot for the next few hours.

unrequited 

[unrequitedmime]

"Take another step and I pull the trigger," Her whisper is soft, shaky. But true.  He hears it; the honesty of her words. She will shoot him. He stops, eyes never leaving hers.  I almost look away from the deep ache in his gaze. The love and the grief entwined in his hazel depths. He licks his lips, almost frozen, and slowly brings his hands up. A reach for her despite the metres between them. She stares at her lover, bottom lip wobbling but fingers steady. A few strands of her blonde hair dangle in front of her eyes. She ignores it, and I watch the strands flutter in the breeze of her breaths.  "Andrea," He whispers, such raw emotion in his voice that I clench my jaw and glance down at the carpet. I do not like the love that he does not hide. It reminds me of blue eyes and sun bleached curls.  "That's not my name," She responds, teeth grit.  "Yes it is," I call calmly, voice the only smooth one in the room.  None of them look at me. Andrea knows that if she so much as glances away from Justin he will punch that gun right out of her hands. Justin just doesn't want to look away from the girl he lost and found. I wonder when he'll realise that she'll never be the same girl he lost. I wonder when he'll realise that her six months wiped clean have given her time to become a new person.   "And who the hell are you?" My best friend demands with a growl.  Justin lets out a small breath at the phrase. Who the hell are you?  I don't bother telling her that we were raised together, that she is the only family I have left, that she is the most important person in the world to me, and that I was once the most important to her.  I don't bother telling her that it's my fault she was caught, and that her boyfriend didn't look me in the eye for three months after.  I cannot find the strength to tell her that she ran into a burning building to find me, not knowing that her boyfriend had already found my unconscious body and dragged me to safety. I don't want to tell her that she had a life, and a love, and that it is my fault they made her forget it all. I don't have the strength to tell her that I miss her so much I can hardly breathe anymore.  "I'm Laurel."  "And you are?" She nods to the boy she loved.  He doesn't bother blinking back the tears, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes in disdain. He promised me before we came that he wasn't going to lose control.  "That is Justin," I respond for him, hoping he can feel the weight of my disapproving gaze. "He's the one who broke down your door."  "Not my door," She replies calmly, "It's the hotel's, and YOU are paying for the damage."  I don't know whether to laugh or cry. She sounds so much like the Andrea I loved. I choose to laugh softly. Justin chooses to cry some more.  "Why have you been in a hotel?" I ask, glancing around the elegance of the room. If I talk enough, she'll finally look over at me and Justin will have his chance to get the gun away from her. Despite her six months clean, her body still knows the instincts of fighting.  "None of your fucking business," She spits, eyes hard on Justin. "Get out."  I pick up a half empty water bottle from the table, studying it's abandoned twin beside it.  "You're not here alone," I breathe, eyes lifting up fast to study the room. "Who are you here with, and where are they?"  "I'm not here with anyone," She snarls.  "Wrong," I quip calmly, eyes studying the drinks and food containers scattered amongst the room. "You don't eat very much, Andrea, and there is a lot of food here. Plus," I decide lightly, eyes trailing over to the cans on the bedside table, "You don't drink Lemon Squeeze soft drink-" My voice cracks as the connection clicks into place. The neurons in my brain light up at the realisation. I feel them, a thousand tiny little lights flickering to life in my mind.  Cody drank Lemon Squeeze.  The silence lasts for a thousand years. I do not take a breath once. I forget how. Justin finally glances over at me, concerned by the paleness of my skin.  "Laurel?" He asks uncertainly.  I hardly hear him. I do not move as I study every single object in the room. My brain whirs to keep up with my eyes as I find the clues. As I find the pieces of him that used to litter my life. The pieces of him that I still fall asleep thinking about.  Lemonade Squeeze cans everywhere. A half eaten apple in the bin. A white towel tied around the door handle the way he tied them. Blue striped button ups in the half hidden suitcase. A bowl of fresh chocolate chip cookies sitting on the table. A cupboard half open. That was one of his worst habits.  I stumble back with a sudden gasp, hands flying to my chest. I feel like someone is tearing it apart with sharp and dirty nails. Everything is being torn apart.  "Is- is this some sort of joke?" I breathe. I was fine. I was doing so fucking fine.  Seeing these reminders of him have suddenly slapped away six months worth of healing. Six months worth of numbness.  "Laurel," Justin calls, eyes hard on me as he ignores the gun pointed at his head. "What is it?"  I sink onto the double bed, eyes blurring with the memories of him. He is everywhere. I wonder if I'll ever escape him.  "How-" I struggle to stand up, eyes sharp on Andrea. "How did you do this? Who did this?"  "Laurel," Justin calls again, softer this time as he watches me panic.  "WHO DID THIS?" I demand. She does not look away from Justin, jaw clenched. "HOW DID THEY KNOW WHAT HE WAS LIKE?"  "Laurel!" Justin snaps louder now, staring me down, "What the fuck are you talking about?"  "He's everywhere," I yell back at Justin, glaring as I beckon around the room, "The soft drink, the cookies, the shirts!" My voice cracks as I throw my gun at the open suitcase full of shirts as hard as I can. "They even got his FUCKING SHIRTS!"  The blood drains from Justin's face as he realises. He does not breathe as his own eyes track the signs, the habits that they so clearly left as a reminder for me to find. They must have known I'd come after Andrea.  "Fucking pricks," I whisper, voice wobbling with the pain of my grief.  I was doing so well.  "Ignore it," Justin whispers back, both a comfort and a demand, "Ignore it, Laurel."  I know what he is trying to say. He understands that I am grieving, that I am in pain, that I cannot feel anything but the ache, but he wants me to focus. He wants me to focus on what I do have; my best friend. He wants me to focus on that love rather than the other.  He wants me to focus on the love that is actually living.  "Who the hell are you talking about?" Andrea demands, voice low and dangerously full of anger. I guess she is sick of us being in her room despite her threat of violence.  I flop back on the bed, eyes closed and breaths deep. I don't bother responding. I am busy patching up the holes in my body. They are everywhere.  I hear Justin take a breath to explain.  "Don't," I warn him quietly without even opening my eyes. My voice is raw and thick with tears, "Don't you fucking dare."  There is silence.  "This has been an interesting visit," Andrea quips finally, voice tearing through the quiet, "But I think it's about time it came to an end. Get the fuck out. I'm not the person you're looking for, and I sure as hell am not going to go on a field trip with you to find out who you're missing. Leave. Now."  I open my eyes finally. Release a long breath.  Put myself back together again in a matter of seconds.  I sit up and whip the second gun out of my belt. Andrea does not glance over at me, so she does not see me take aim. Justin does, though, and his eyes widen in shock. He tries to yell my name as he runs to Andrea, ready to take the bullet I intend to put in her.  Andrea was true to her word.  Justin takes one singular step towards her and I watch in slow motion as she squeezes her eyes shut. Just as her finger pulls the trigger, I pull my own.  The bullet imbeds itself in her shoulder, and her scream is muffled by Justin's chest as he barrels into her. He catches my best friend as her leg's give way to the pain. His head snaps up to me as he holds a moaning and gasping Andrea.  "What the FUCK, Laurel!"  I shrug and sheath my gun. I silently stalk to the abandoned suitcase. I listen to Justin hoist the love of his life in his arms and try to calm her grunts of pain behind me. I very slowly kneel by the suitcase, trapped in a moment of silence and nothing at all. My hands tremble as I gently pick up my thrown gun and tuck it into my coat. I know I should get up, call Adam, get us a car out of here, but I can't look away from those stupid fucking shirts.  He loved those shirts.  "She's bleeding a lot," Justin snaps, the sharpness of his voice tugging me back to the hotel room. I blink away the memories of those shirts rippling in the wind of the beach and glance behind me. Justin holds a struggling Andrea steady. His hazel gaze is hard and angry.  I sigh and stand, "Okay, fine," I huff dramatically, "I'll call Adam."  He makes a choking sound at my tone, "Have Cecilia ready for us when we get there, Laurel."  I roll my eyes, "Yes, sir."  ---------------------------------------- "How is she?" Justin leaps from his chair so fast that he almost flips it over. I catch the plastic abomination on instinct, rolling my eyes at the love sick boy.  Cecilia glances nervously at me for a moment before meeting his wild gaze.  "She's- um-" She stutters, gulping for a moment to calm herself. She has had feelings for Justin for three years, and in that time has only managed to say one coherent sentence to him. He has always been nice to her, and her kind to him, but that is all it have ever been. It suddenly occurs to me that for the past six months she believed Justin to be single. I wonder if she thought that Justin was going to heal enough to one day notice the beautiful colours of Cecila's eyes, or the way her flaming hair shines in the daylight. I wonder if Cecila has been waiting these six months to finally make her move on the boy she's been pining for.  I wonder if her heart broke when she saw an unconscious Andrea in Justin's arms a few hours ago. I wonder if she cracked when she saw the way that Justin looked down at the bloody girl in his arms.  For all of our sakes, I hope that she realised that Justin is never going to love anyone the way he loves Andrea.  "She's fine," I cut in, voice smooth, "Stop stressing."  Cecilia meets my gaze and nods, a small blush creeping over her cheeks. Justin spins to me and glares before facing the short red-head again. He barely glances down at her as he thanks her, and a part of my truly does not understand why. Cecila is beautiful, and she is kind, and she is smart. I wonder why Justin never looked at her twice. And then I remember that my best friend is quite literally the most beautiful person I have ever met.  Can I still call her my best friend when I don't even know who she is now?  "Can- can I go in?" Justin sounds like a small child asking his mother to play.  I roll my eyes again. Cecilia bites her lip and nods. He barely waits for the okay before rushing into the room and closing the door as gently as he can. Cecila stares at the closed door for a long time before releasing a small breath. The silence is heavy.  "I'm sorry," I say to her from across the hall, still in my plastic red chair.  She turns to me with a small jump, as if she forgot I was still here. I don't bother being offended. I get it a lot. I am too quiet and still for my own good.  "For what?" She asks softly, voice high and smooth and lovely.  I only nod to the door. She looks down to the wooden planks below her and blushes.  "There's-" She forces out her words as if they hurt, "There's nothing to be sorry about. I don't... Justin is... He's just a friend."  I watch her for a long time. "Okay," I finally whisper. She knows I don't believe her. She can hear it in my voice. In that one word.  She huffs a small sigh before crossing the hall and flopping down onto the seat beside me.  "Do you have your flask on you today?" She asks, the exhaustion clear in every single syllable.  I glance sideways at her. "I don't drink," I say evenly.  "Yes you do," She replies honestly, "I know you think we don't know, Laurel, but we do. We really do."  I stare straight ahead, refusing to admit or deny anything. She stares at me expectantly for a few minutes.  "I don't have it today," I admit finally, "I couldn't bring it with me."  Cecilia's sigh is small and disappointed.  Together we stare at the closed door in front of us. I look down the hall where my bedroom rests. I know Cecilia is glancing to her left, at her own bedroom.  "This is fucked up, hey?" I huff finally, resting my head back against the wall.  Cecilia nods, "I'm sorry."  I glance at her, "Why are you sorry?"  "Because she's your best friend." I really wish I'd brought my flask today.  I shrug, "She's alive. That's good."  "But..." Cecilia struggles to find her words for a few moments. "But she's not the same person," I agree softly, "I knew it the moment she opened that door. I think Justin did, too. But he'll never admit that. Not to himself or anyone else."  We both think for a long time.  "He really loves her, doesn't he?" She asks quietly, gently.  I turn to study her, but she only stares at the door. Lovely freckles, golden eyes, small lips, heart shaped face, bright flaming curls. I don't want to hurt her, but I know she is already hurting. She deserves to start healing. Healing starts with the truth. "Yes," I whisper to her, "He really does." She nods once. I see her blink back the tears before she stands quietly and makes her way to her room. I don't stop her or call out as she slowly closes the door.  I only stare at the door in front of me.  After years, I sigh to myself.  "I need a drink."  -------------------------------------- "Laurel!" His shout startles me enough that I mess up the pancake flip. I stare sullenly at the half folded thing in my pan as he rounds the corner and trips his way into the kitchen.  "Wayne," I moan," You made me mess up my pancake."  His red curls, a twin to Cecilia's, are all over his face from his rushing. He ignores the mess of his strands as he stares at me. His mouth hangs a little open.  "First of all," He announces, voice thick with desire, "You moaning my name is quite literally my dream come true." I frown in distaste. "And second," He continues quickly, a patchy red flush creeping up his neck, "Justin said if you don't go to the room right now he will kill ME. Which doesn't make any sense, to be honest. But be a darl and save my life, won't you?"  I glance sadly down at my pancake, unconcerned with Justin's empty threat. I pick a little bit off and nibble as I weight the pros and cons of entering that room. Wayne leans against the kitchen doorframe and watches me carefully.  "Laurel," He asks slowly, "Are you drunk?"  I shrug, "I'm always drunk, Wayne." Not a lie.  He laughs softly. I continue nibbling at the pancake, oblivious to the lust shining in his dark brown eyes. I don't even try to act sober.  "Come on love," He sighs eventually, not noticing the way my head whips up to stare at him, "Let's go-"  "Do NOT call me that," I snap suddenly, voice cold with sudden sobriety. I haven't heard such anger in my voice for a long time. For months.  Wayne startles at the sharpness of my words and stares for a moment in surprise and confusion. The comfortable energy of the room slowly fizzles up and fucking dies. I killed it. I don't meet his gaze. Instead, I pick up my pancake and stride past him without a word.  He lets me pass as he connects the dots.  "That's what he called you," He breathes to himself as I almost barge past him, "Wasn't it?"  I stop and glare, dark eyes full of anger. I don't even know what I'm angry at. Probably myself, for being weak enough to let that word still affect me.  "Fuck off, Wayne."  He doesn't follow me as I stomp my way through the house.  ---------------------------------------- She appears in the doorway like a storm.  "What?" She demands, voice cold and rocking with thunder.  The boy spins from the window at the sound of her voice and for a moment he just lets his eyes trail over her. I assume he is taking in her angry posture, the haziness of her eyes, and the half burnt pancake in her hand. He widens his feet subtly, almost as if he is preparing for a fight. I watch her notice it, her chocolate eyes flickering down to his stance and back up to his face.  "She's awake," He almost chokes on his words, nodding his head in my direction as if I am not even here.  The girl looks over at me as if I am a bug and she wants to squash me. I stare back, relentless. I will not shy away from these people. I am not afraid of them.  "Okay," She replies slowly, glancing back at the boy, "And?"  The boy watches her for a long time, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching. The light pouring in through the window washes his large and muscled frame in a halo of sunshine. It makes his light brown hair glow. I look away.  "And you should talk to her," He suggests finally, teeth grit as if the slowness of his words will affect whether or not I hear them.  "What would we talk about?" I snap from the bed, "Her shooting me in the shoulder?"  The girl snorts, running a hand through her dark and long strands of wavy hair, "Says the woman that tried to shoot Justin in the face."  I glance at the boy. Justin- that's right. His name is Justin.  "He's a stranger to me," I argue. "And you are one to me," She points out. Justin flinches. Laurel's eyes flick up to him at the movement, and they narrow in something close to disapproval. He spins to look out the window instead of meeting her gaze.  It takes a long time for Laurel to glance back at me. When she does, I don't bother looking away. I study her openly. Now that I'm not cornered in a hotel room, I have the freedom to observe the girl that shot me. She stares back, calm. Her eyes are so deep and dark that I cannot hold her gaze for too long. They look like they used to be warm. I cannot decide if her skin is tan or not. It seems brown enough to suggest a Latina heritage, but light enough to pass as white. Her hair is a long mess of chocolate waves and curls, and her body is curved and muscled. She studies me as hard as I study her.  "Justin and I are going to go sleep in our rooms now," She announces finally.  Justin spins from the window and glares at her. She glares back.  "No," He responds evenly, the challenge clear in his tone, "I'm not." "Yes. You are."  "I'm not tired."  "I am."  He frowns, "Go to sleep, then. I'll stay here and make sure Andrea doesn't do anything dangerous."  "That's not my name," I snap.  They ignore me.  "Justin," Laureal announces firmly, "You haven't slept in three days, and I am very drunk right now. We both need sleep."  "I've slept!" Justin argues, "I slept on the plane to Washington!"  "Bullshit. I TRIED to sleep on the plane to Washington and couldn't because your knee kept bouncing nervously against mine. You did not sleep, and you are going to now."  "What are you? My fucking mother?"  "What are you? A little brat?"  They stare at each other for so long that I try not to shift. I am afraid I will disrupt the tension.  Laurel leans back into the hallway, "Josh!" She calls to someone, "You're on Andrea duty!"   "Are you fucking kidding?" Justin snaps, striding to her, "Josh can't babysit for shit!"  "I'm not your fucking prisoner," I spit, the anger almost consuming me, "You shot me, and now you're going to let me go!"  Laurel raises an eyebrow in pity, "We shot you, Andy. Do you really think we're going to just let you waltz out?"  I glare.  "That's not my name!"  "What is it then?" Justin demands, voice harsh for the first time as he stares at me.  I stare back, "Alessia."  Laurel's flinch is whole body. She jerks so violently that Justin's hand finds her wrist and holds it still. Something about that word hit both of them square in the chest. Justin spins and stares at her with his mouth hanging open, shock oozing from every pour of his skin. The pity in his gaze is as clear as the rage. Laurel ignores the comfort he offers, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she fights some internal battle. I watch her shudder for a moment before opening her eyes. They shine with tears.  She shakes her head and doesn't hold back the bitter laugh that escapes her, "Assholes," She whispers to Justin, voice trembling just a little, "First that fucking room, and now this." He gulps as he watches her watch me. The love in his eyes is familial.  I don't know how long they've known each other, but they are family. They are all each other has got.  "Fuck them," He whispers softly to her, shuffling closer, "Fuck them, Laurel." She stares at me for a very long time, ignoring Justin and the gentle grip he has on her arm.  "I'm not calling you that name," She forces out finally, as if the words hurt to speak.  "Call me Alessia or call me nothing."  She does not even blink.  "I'm going to bed," She announces finally, drained and empty. Justin, this time, does not fight it as her hand finds his and she leads him out of the room. He glances back at me only once before he follows Laurel out.  There is something I cannot define in his eyes. Some sort of pain.  Some sort of ache.

unrequited 

[unrequitedmime]

"Hi," He breathes, chest heaving. I glance down at his white shirt, listening to the puffs he tries to expel quietly. And then I look up into his hazel eyes.  Beautiful.  "Hi," I whisper back, my voice tickling his very eyelashes, "Were you just running?" "Yes," His voice is soft, like swaying blade of grass.  "Why?"  "To get to you."  He says it as if it is the most normal thing in the world. As if he has done it many times before, and will do it many times more.  "Oh," My smile is slow, and so is the pink that dances across his cheeks.  "I have something to tell you," He blurts, face flushed and beautiful.  "Okay."  "I'm very in love with you, Archery."

unrequited