Pomegranate #25 [bullying], Chocolate Chip Mint #17 [Familiar], Dark Chocolate #19 [avoidance]
Title: Old Amends
Author: Lady Macbeth
Story: Cracks in the Dawn
Character: Butterfly
Challenge: Dark Chocolate #19, Pomegranate #25, Chocolate Chip Mint #17
Topping: n/A
Summary: "Rani. What are you doing here?"
Butterfly almost made an exclamation of shock as she saw the familiar figure standing in her small cell of a room. She was almost twenty now, meaning she had managed to avoid this man for the last seven years. Butterfly had no idea what could have driven this man, a man who hated her and whom she hated, to come and see her. He looked up as she entered and smiled weakly. Butterfly didn’t return the gesture.
“Rani,” She said, her tone flat and betraying no emotion. “What are you going here?”
“I came to see you.” The man admitted, smiling. Butterfly now understood what Herra had meant in all her letters when she had described that aging had done the boy well. He used to be scrawny and small, with dark hair oily and messed up as he threw fits when the servants or his parents attempted to brush it. Now his slightly darker skin and almost violet eyes made him look attractive and more mature than the twenty-two year old really was. From Herra Butterfly also knew that the man was now studying at the Luian Institution and becoming, in Herra’s words, ‘quite the intellectual’.
Butterfly glared at him, making Rani shift uncomfortably under her stare. After a moment’s silence Butterfly asked the, what seemed to her, surplus question, of “Why?”
Rain flashed her his charming smile. “We spent our childhood together Butterfly; don’t you think that justifies a social visit?”
“You spent most of my living memory bullying me. I don’t think that merits you anything.” Rani looked troubled at Butterfly’s hostile face.
“I want to apologise for what I did in my youth.” He said sincerely. His eyes left little space for disbelief, though Butterfly still eyed him sceptically, remembering the early apologies that she had accepted. She had viewed them with relief and gratitude. That was, until he and Nemi threw her on the ground again and ran off, laughing at her stupidity at falling into their trap and her humiliation. Now Butterfly wasn’t going to make the same mistake.
“What do you really want, Rani?” she asked. “If its money you’re after, I have none, and if it’s a favour, I can’t spare any of those now either. Even if I could, I doubt I would waste my precious time on you though.” Butterfly was surprised; Rani flinched at the insult instead of shooting a worse one back at her. He just looked down at the floor.
“I’ve changed.” The whisper was so quite that Butterfly didn’t hear it the first time the man said it. He repeated himself as she leaned forward in an attempt to hear what he said. “I’ve changed, I really have, Butterfly.”
“What made you change?” She asked mockingly.
“You.” The answer was too frank. Butterfly stared at the man in surprise, hoping dearly that she was misreading the connotations that word had just had.
“What?” She demanded.
“You made me change, Butterfly. After you left, I became apathetic and listless, but I didn’t know why. I stopped playing the Nemi, I stopped caring about Herra and my mother was convinced I had some illness. Mortes’ leading expert medical officials and best healers all diagnosed me with different phantom diseases, though only the cleverest one diagnosed me as love sick. Even I didn’t realise how much I cared about you Butterfly, how much I-”
“Don’t say it.” Butterfly interrupted the taller man before he could utter one more word and her voice was so menacing that there was little doubt of her anger. “Don’t tell me that after all these years of brutal and violent intimidation it was all because you really loved me. You’ll want me to forgive you because you were a victim of your whims and passions. You’ll want me to see that it was really all my fault, because you were a victim.” She spat the last word out in contempt.
“I-”
“But you see, you weren’t the victim.” Butterfly continued on her rant, waving the man’s interruption aside. “I was the victim all along, suffering from your brutal antics.”
“I know.” The man looked shamed. Butterfly scoffed.
“You know?” She demanded. “You know, do you, that you put me through pain? Why, thank you. Thank you very much.” She was becoming sarcastic now as she began pacing, glaring at the man in her room. “I don’t care.” She suddenly decided. “I don’t.”
“About what?” Rani asked cautiously.
“I don’t care. You can love me or hate me. You no longer have anything to do with my life.” He didn’t answer. Surprised by the silence, Butterfly paused. For the first time Butterfly looked at the man, examining him as if he was a stranger rather than assuming that he hadn’t changed in the last seven years.
His face had lines or worry which didn’t look right, even in a twenty-two year old. His hands were calloused and had several cuts and bruises. This surprised Butterfly: she had remembered Rani as a man who didn’t bruise easily. His eyes were accented by purple bruises from lack of sleep below his eyes. His demeanour, if standing tall, gave an aura of insecurity which Butterfly had initially believed had something to do with her. She realised that this aura was not one of a briefly uncomfortable man, but that of a troubled man.
“That wasn’t the only reason you came.” She induced, still angry, but her anger muted by slight worry. “Is everyone alright? Herra is okay, isn’t she? What about Nemi? She didn’t get injured, did she?”
“No.” Rani shook his head sadly, earning him only another glare from Butterfly as she demanded to know why else he would be here. “I’m here because my wife and child died.” Rani admitted.
At first there was the shock of the first part of the sentence: Rani had a wife and child? Herra had mentioned none of this, and her last letter had been some three months ago, so there should have been some mention of this had it been true. The second part was that they were dead. The two members of her adoptive family she didn’t even know about were dead.
“How?” Butterfly asked, the anger having evaporated her voice, though she was careful not to allow any of the sympathy she felt towards Rani to contaminate her tone.
“My wife was killed herself. She took poison, infecting my unborn child with her. She left no note or explanation as to why she did this. I thought we were happy.” The pain that was evident in Rani’s voice, and even more so in his haunted eyes, made Butterfly flinch, though she hid it well from Rani. The fact he had no idea about his wife’s unhappiness probably made the suicide worse. Rani took a deep breath, as if to stabilize himself, and continued. “I thought it best that I learnt to appreciate every day. It could a system of retribution for all the wrongs I have done. They have all come back to haunt me, giving me what I deserved. It’s what the Cricians teach. So I’ve come to make amends.”
“Amends?”
“Yes. I want to apologise and see if there is anything I could do for you, in apology for the crimes I did in my youth. And I also wanted to tell you something I have wanted to tell you for all those years because I have realised that tomorrow is too late. Perhaps if I’d told my wife that I treasured her every day, and that I cherished her, rather than assuming she knew, then perhaps she would have stayed with us.”
“You don’t need to make amends.” Butterfly said. “Also, you obviously don’t love me if you could have a wife and a child.”
Rani smiled sadly. “I didn’t love my wife.” He said quietly. “I adored her, she was my best friend and the only person in the world I could trust, and she was beautiful, but I didn’t love her. And I think she knew that.”
Butterfly didn’t know what to say. Rani suddenly advanced on her. Butterfly instinctively backed off, making him look even more hurt as he stood in the doorframe. “I know you don’t want my help now. But if you ever need someone, know you have a loyal friend in me.” And with that he left, allowing guilt, pain and fear all to settle on Butterfly’s heart.
“I’m the victim.” She murmured to the empty room with childlike conviction wavering as she reviewed the whole situation in her head. “You’re not.”
Author: Lady Macbeth
Story: Cracks in the Dawn
Character: Butterfly
Challenge: Dark Chocolate #19, Pomegranate #25, Chocolate Chip Mint #17
Topping: n/A
Summary: "Rani. What are you doing here?"
Butterfly almost made an exclamation of shock as she saw the familiar figure standing in her small cell of a room. She was almost twenty now, meaning she had managed to avoid this man for the last seven years. Butterfly had no idea what could have driven this man, a man who hated her and whom she hated, to come and see her. He looked up as she entered and smiled weakly. Butterfly didn’t return the gesture.
“Rani,” She said, her tone flat and betraying no emotion. “What are you going here?”
“I came to see you.” The man admitted, smiling. Butterfly now understood what Herra had meant in all her letters when she had described that aging had done the boy well. He used to be scrawny and small, with dark hair oily and messed up as he threw fits when the servants or his parents attempted to brush it. Now his slightly darker skin and almost violet eyes made him look attractive and more mature than the twenty-two year old really was. From Herra Butterfly also knew that the man was now studying at the Luian Institution and becoming, in Herra’s words, ‘quite the intellectual’.
Butterfly glared at him, making Rani shift uncomfortably under her stare. After a moment’s silence Butterfly asked the, what seemed to her, surplus question, of “Why?”
Rain flashed her his charming smile. “We spent our childhood together Butterfly; don’t you think that justifies a social visit?”
“You spent most of my living memory bullying me. I don’t think that merits you anything.” Rani looked troubled at Butterfly’s hostile face.
“I want to apologise for what I did in my youth.” He said sincerely. His eyes left little space for disbelief, though Butterfly still eyed him sceptically, remembering the early apologies that she had accepted. She had viewed them with relief and gratitude. That was, until he and Nemi threw her on the ground again and ran off, laughing at her stupidity at falling into their trap and her humiliation. Now Butterfly wasn’t going to make the same mistake.
“What do you really want, Rani?” she asked. “If its money you’re after, I have none, and if it’s a favour, I can’t spare any of those now either. Even if I could, I doubt I would waste my precious time on you though.” Butterfly was surprised; Rani flinched at the insult instead of shooting a worse one back at her. He just looked down at the floor.
“I’ve changed.” The whisper was so quite that Butterfly didn’t hear it the first time the man said it. He repeated himself as she leaned forward in an attempt to hear what he said. “I’ve changed, I really have, Butterfly.”
“What made you change?” She asked mockingly.
“You.” The answer was too frank. Butterfly stared at the man in surprise, hoping dearly that she was misreading the connotations that word had just had.
“What?” She demanded.
“You made me change, Butterfly. After you left, I became apathetic and listless, but I didn’t know why. I stopped playing the Nemi, I stopped caring about Herra and my mother was convinced I had some illness. Mortes’ leading expert medical officials and best healers all diagnosed me with different phantom diseases, though only the cleverest one diagnosed me as love sick. Even I didn’t realise how much I cared about you Butterfly, how much I-”
“Don’t say it.” Butterfly interrupted the taller man before he could utter one more word and her voice was so menacing that there was little doubt of her anger. “Don’t tell me that after all these years of brutal and violent intimidation it was all because you really loved me. You’ll want me to forgive you because you were a victim of your whims and passions. You’ll want me to see that it was really all my fault, because you were a victim.” She spat the last word out in contempt.
“I-”
“But you see, you weren’t the victim.” Butterfly continued on her rant, waving the man’s interruption aside. “I was the victim all along, suffering from your brutal antics.”
“I know.” The man looked shamed. Butterfly scoffed.
“You know?” She demanded. “You know, do you, that you put me through pain? Why, thank you. Thank you very much.” She was becoming sarcastic now as she began pacing, glaring at the man in her room. “I don’t care.” She suddenly decided. “I don’t.”
“About what?” Rani asked cautiously.
“I don’t care. You can love me or hate me. You no longer have anything to do with my life.” He didn’t answer. Surprised by the silence, Butterfly paused. For the first time Butterfly looked at the man, examining him as if he was a stranger rather than assuming that he hadn’t changed in the last seven years.
His face had lines or worry which didn’t look right, even in a twenty-two year old. His hands were calloused and had several cuts and bruises. This surprised Butterfly: she had remembered Rani as a man who didn’t bruise easily. His eyes were accented by purple bruises from lack of sleep below his eyes. His demeanour, if standing tall, gave an aura of insecurity which Butterfly had initially believed had something to do with her. She realised that this aura was not one of a briefly uncomfortable man, but that of a troubled man.
“That wasn’t the only reason you came.” She induced, still angry, but her anger muted by slight worry. “Is everyone alright? Herra is okay, isn’t she? What about Nemi? She didn’t get injured, did she?”
“No.” Rani shook his head sadly, earning him only another glare from Butterfly as she demanded to know why else he would be here. “I’m here because my wife and child died.” Rani admitted.
At first there was the shock of the first part of the sentence: Rani had a wife and child? Herra had mentioned none of this, and her last letter had been some three months ago, so there should have been some mention of this had it been true. The second part was that they were dead. The two members of her adoptive family she didn’t even know about were dead.
“How?” Butterfly asked, the anger having evaporated her voice, though she was careful not to allow any of the sympathy she felt towards Rani to contaminate her tone.
“My wife was killed herself. She took poison, infecting my unborn child with her. She left no note or explanation as to why she did this. I thought we were happy.” The pain that was evident in Rani’s voice, and even more so in his haunted eyes, made Butterfly flinch, though she hid it well from Rani. The fact he had no idea about his wife’s unhappiness probably made the suicide worse. Rani took a deep breath, as if to stabilize himself, and continued. “I thought it best that I learnt to appreciate every day. It could a system of retribution for all the wrongs I have done. They have all come back to haunt me, giving me what I deserved. It’s what the Cricians teach. So I’ve come to make amends.”
“Amends?”
“Yes. I want to apologise and see if there is anything I could do for you, in apology for the crimes I did in my youth. And I also wanted to tell you something I have wanted to tell you for all those years because I have realised that tomorrow is too late. Perhaps if I’d told my wife that I treasured her every day, and that I cherished her, rather than assuming she knew, then perhaps she would have stayed with us.”
“You don’t need to make amends.” Butterfly said. “Also, you obviously don’t love me if you could have a wife and a child.”
Rani smiled sadly. “I didn’t love my wife.” He said quietly. “I adored her, she was my best friend and the only person in the world I could trust, and she was beautiful, but I didn’t love her. And I think she knew that.”
Butterfly didn’t know what to say. Rani suddenly advanced on her. Butterfly instinctively backed off, making him look even more hurt as he stood in the doorframe. “I know you don’t want my help now. But if you ever need someone, know you have a loyal friend in me.” And with that he left, allowing guilt, pain and fear all to settle on Butterfly’s heart.
“I’m the victim.” She murmured to the empty room with childlike conviction wavering as she reviewed the whole situation in her head. “You’re not.”