(no subject)
...Comtesse Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève.
It is quite a mouthful, for a name. A name and a title.
Who is "Delaunay", and what is "Montrève"? It is frustrating, the order in which my memories like to return.
Though I suppose they make sense this time. The snow and the festivities...
It feels, half the itme, as if I am reliving a grand ball. Every turn I make, I expect to see masks, and instead stare into the faces of the inhabitants here. Sometimes, my hands will fly to my throat, and I will not notice until minutes later, as if something is missing. A velvet cord, a diamond hanging at the base of my throat... How I hate it and long for it. Every move was pain and pleasure, and embarrassment to match.
"I'll not parade you naked in front of half the peer of the realm!" A boy's voice. But I... was not naked. I could feel the fabric, and the tiny, tiny sharp points embedded in it.
...Diamond-studded gauze. What did it go over. It went over me.
And there were the hands and the blades, and...
"Hyacinthe."
That was what she wanted me to say. That was what I said, and it... stopped.
A flower? Was it a password?
And I was kneeling, too, keeping my head low lest they see my eyes, my imperfection, holding a tray of tiny clinking glasses. It must have been a different time; everyone towered over me.
Joy...
Joy on the longest night.
...These memories are fooled; this is not the longest night.
And there was snow touching me. Snow and grief melting into numbness, and that stupid, stupid, proud, stubborn, beautiful...
I thought he was going to die.
And if it weren't for him, I would have died, and my land as well. All because I was drunk on a pair of sapphire eyes, set in alabaster skin chiselled to perfection, a blue-black cascade of hair, beauty and cruelty that rivaled the gods'.
...Beauty and cruelty that near matched the gods'.
And the snow, the cold... If we had lived through that, what I feel now, I should be ashamed to fear.
...And on one night, there was healing of the heart... Healing for the Bitterest Winter...
It is quite a mouthful, for a name. A name and a title.
Who is "Delaunay", and what is "Montrève"? It is frustrating, the order in which my memories like to return.
Though I suppose they make sense this time. The snow and the festivities...
It feels, half the itme, as if I am reliving a grand ball. Every turn I make, I expect to see masks, and instead stare into the faces of the inhabitants here. Sometimes, my hands will fly to my throat, and I will not notice until minutes later, as if something is missing. A velvet cord, a diamond hanging at the base of my throat... How I hate it and long for it. Every move was pain and pleasure, and embarrassment to match.
"I'll not parade you naked in front of half the peer of the realm!" A boy's voice. But I... was not naked. I could feel the fabric, and the tiny, tiny sharp points embedded in it.
...Diamond-studded gauze. What did it go over. It went over me.
And there were the hands and the blades, and...
"Hyacinthe."
That was what she wanted me to say. That was what I said, and it... stopped.
A flower? Was it a password?
And I was kneeling, too, keeping my head low lest they see my eyes, my imperfection, holding a tray of tiny clinking glasses. It must have been a different time; everyone towered over me.
Joy...
Joy on the longest night.
...These memories are fooled; this is not the longest night.
And there was snow touching me. Snow and grief melting into numbness, and that stupid, stupid, proud, stubborn, beautiful...
I thought he was going to die.
And if it weren't for him, I would have died, and my land as well. All because I was drunk on a pair of sapphire eyes, set in alabaster skin chiselled to perfection, a blue-black cascade of hair, beauty and cruelty that rivaled the gods'.
...Beauty and cruelty that near matched the gods'.
And the snow, the cold... If we had lived through that, what I feel now, I should be ashamed to fear.
...And on one night, there was healing of the heart... Healing for the Bitterest Winter...