{Sione} It's over: Part 2
She stumbled through the freehold and up towards her chambers. Her throat was thick with tears she'd been choking back on the climb to the surface in an attempt to retain some essence of leadership but the dam was breaking and soon nothing would hold it back.
Phillipe had seen her coming through the gates and the second she came into the room, closing the doors behind her, Alexiel's sword in one hand, he'd moved to her side to comfort her. "What's wrong?"
She stuttered, her voice breaking as the tears claimed her, "Fa...father's dead."
His arms came about her, holding her near, yet his face remained impassive. He leaned in, whispering lowly in Arabic. Slowly, her tear-streaked face lifted to his, eyes drying of their sorrows as they fled her across the cantrip's hold. Her demeanor changed to one of solid understanding, none of the emotional mess of before, explaining what had happened as he continued to hold her.
The hardness of her face was unmistakable as she steeled herself for the next, "I need you to do something for me, and it's not going to be easy." The wings twitched at her back, he conceded. "I need you to flay the skin from my back with cold iron."
His voice was even, unbreaking, "Why would you have me do that?"
She lifted the wings open, stretching like some great demon, the tar-like substance webbing between the black pitch feathers and oozing there. "They are corrupt from the actions I have taken." He noded slowly, agreeing though she imagined the reluctance was hard to hide. "The dark glamour will only be affected by that which kills all glamour," she added.
He nodded and let her go, crossing to one of the sai that lay cradled in the mount on the wall, weapons that belonged to him, weapons of cold iron. He moved back towards her with it. She trembled slightly, her eyes following him, "You should probably tie me down. I make no feign with this that I will not scream." He nodded once more and took a sash, gagging her solidly with it. She made no resistance.
He went to her opened back and placed a hand there, the contact warm against the shaking of her nervousness. She waited, a single breath seeming like a thousand years until coldness of it touched her, shocking her to the core. Her body reacted instinctually, flinching to coil away from the bane of her blood...and yet, no pain came. She faced the wall away from him, feeling the sharp movements of his hands, the smell of his tears filling the room.
That cantrip again. He was siphoning her pain... She almost broke then. The small sound like crystals chiming rebounded in her ear and she saw a lazy black feather drift briefly past, turn to a hard substance in mid-air and fall to the ground. A dozen followed it, followed by a dozen more. Her wings... her beautiful wings...
She noticed his hands had stopped moving on her what seemed like hours later and turned, catching her reflection in the mirror. Two long spindly limbs stuck out at crooked angles from her back. Empty, ugly bone and sinew, damp with the blood that had started flowing down her back. Small flecks of black down clung to them, shielding the defining mangled mess of muscle beneath. Her breath caught. The feathers... all... gone... One hand reached up tentatively to curve behind her back and touch this thing which stood before her, this illusion.
Real...
Phillipe stood behind her in the reflection, the tears now falling unceasingly down his face as he wiped the blade clean and returned it to the wall. She watched him with some regret at having to have asked him this. He looked older... her eyes drifted back. She looked older...
She felt her knees weaken as the banality slammed into her with a waking force. Phillipe swept her up into his arms, her body weakening as the blood began to flow ever more. She leaned her face into his chest, whispering, so tired. So very tired, "My love?"
"Yes, Sione?"
"Thank you." She moved like a doll in his arms as he ran to the balefire room. "It is a husband's duty to serve in such capacities." She closed her eyes against the dark that welled up before her. A husband's duty... He kicked open the balefire room's doors and laid her gently beside the glowing flames as her body began to twitch and shiver.
"Do you know what father said to me the last time we spoke?" Her voice was soft, fading and tired.
"What was that?" He held her, watching over her as he began to send missives across the barony interociters to bring healers.
"He told me how proud he was of me, of us, and how he knew we would make beautiful children together." Her voice was sluggish, the energy gone. "He wanted to see them so much."
"He will. You should get some sleep." He finished sending the messages and turned back to her, holding her in his lap.
"Rest... yes..." She watched him with lidded, dull, silver eyes. "I love you...so much."
"And I, you. Until the end of time." His soothing words were the last thing she heard before she drifted into a weakened slumber. She smiled slightly, the dreams rising up to greet her. She slept.
I'll wish for you, I'll plead and I'll steal.
Hold me precious, hold me dear.
I'll wish for you,
I'll sing and I'll feel.
Don't stultify, don't hold me high.
Like a Gothic staple, a last good-bye,
One way to float is if you die.
And it's over, it's over, it's over.
It's over, it's over, it's over
It's over, it's over.
Phillipe had seen her coming through the gates and the second she came into the room, closing the doors behind her, Alexiel's sword in one hand, he'd moved to her side to comfort her. "What's wrong?"
She stuttered, her voice breaking as the tears claimed her, "Fa...father's dead."
His arms came about her, holding her near, yet his face remained impassive. He leaned in, whispering lowly in Arabic. Slowly, her tear-streaked face lifted to his, eyes drying of their sorrows as they fled her across the cantrip's hold. Her demeanor changed to one of solid understanding, none of the emotional mess of before, explaining what had happened as he continued to hold her.
The hardness of her face was unmistakable as she steeled herself for the next, "I need you to do something for me, and it's not going to be easy." The wings twitched at her back, he conceded. "I need you to flay the skin from my back with cold iron."
His voice was even, unbreaking, "Why would you have me do that?"
She lifted the wings open, stretching like some great demon, the tar-like substance webbing between the black pitch feathers and oozing there. "They are corrupt from the actions I have taken." He noded slowly, agreeing though she imagined the reluctance was hard to hide. "The dark glamour will only be affected by that which kills all glamour," she added.
He nodded and let her go, crossing to one of the sai that lay cradled in the mount on the wall, weapons that belonged to him, weapons of cold iron. He moved back towards her with it. She trembled slightly, her eyes following him, "You should probably tie me down. I make no feign with this that I will not scream." He nodded once more and took a sash, gagging her solidly with it. She made no resistance.
He went to her opened back and placed a hand there, the contact warm against the shaking of her nervousness. She waited, a single breath seeming like a thousand years until coldness of it touched her, shocking her to the core. Her body reacted instinctually, flinching to coil away from the bane of her blood...and yet, no pain came. She faced the wall away from him, feeling the sharp movements of his hands, the smell of his tears filling the room.
That cantrip again. He was siphoning her pain... She almost broke then. The small sound like crystals chiming rebounded in her ear and she saw a lazy black feather drift briefly past, turn to a hard substance in mid-air and fall to the ground. A dozen followed it, followed by a dozen more. Her wings... her beautiful wings...
She noticed his hands had stopped moving on her what seemed like hours later and turned, catching her reflection in the mirror. Two long spindly limbs stuck out at crooked angles from her back. Empty, ugly bone and sinew, damp with the blood that had started flowing down her back. Small flecks of black down clung to them, shielding the defining mangled mess of muscle beneath. Her breath caught. The feathers... all... gone... One hand reached up tentatively to curve behind her back and touch this thing which stood before her, this illusion.
Real...
Phillipe stood behind her in the reflection, the tears now falling unceasingly down his face as he wiped the blade clean and returned it to the wall. She watched him with some regret at having to have asked him this. He looked older... her eyes drifted back. She looked older...
She felt her knees weaken as the banality slammed into her with a waking force. Phillipe swept her up into his arms, her body weakening as the blood began to flow ever more. She leaned her face into his chest, whispering, so tired. So very tired, "My love?"
"Yes, Sione?"
"Thank you." She moved like a doll in his arms as he ran to the balefire room. "It is a husband's duty to serve in such capacities." She closed her eyes against the dark that welled up before her. A husband's duty... He kicked open the balefire room's doors and laid her gently beside the glowing flames as her body began to twitch and shiver.
"Do you know what father said to me the last time we spoke?" Her voice was soft, fading and tired.
"What was that?" He held her, watching over her as he began to send missives across the barony interociters to bring healers.
"He told me how proud he was of me, of us, and how he knew we would make beautiful children together." Her voice was sluggish, the energy gone. "He wanted to see them so much."
"He will. You should get some sleep." He finished sending the messages and turned back to her, holding her in his lap.
"Rest... yes..." She watched him with lidded, dull, silver eyes. "I love you...so much."
"And I, you. Until the end of time." His soothing words were the last thing she heard before she drifted into a weakened slumber. She smiled slightly, the dreams rising up to greet her. She slept.
I'll wish for you, I'll plead and I'll steal.
Hold me precious, hold me dear.
I'll wish for you,
I'll sing and I'll feel.
Don't stultify, don't hold me high.
Like a Gothic staple, a last good-bye,
One way to float is if you die.
And it's over, it's over, it's over.
It's over, it's over, it's over
It's over, it's over.