Fivecount - Chocolate Chip Mint, Sour Apple, Chocolate, Cookies N' Cream, Fudge Ripple
Theme of the week/day/whatever: some big!Asma flangst, some widdle!Asma fluff. Finally something not-depressing.
Author: Thai
Challenge: Chocolate Chip Mint #9 - wispy, Sour Apple #18 - ready or not, here I come, Chocolate #5 - mercy
Rating: PG
Story: blood princess
Timeline: Motherhood arc - just before this piece.
Word Count: 1346
She wasn't sure what made her spare the girl.
Some misplaced sense of guilt, perhaps - though Asma realized now that what she had done was perfectly justified. Perhaps not the wisest course of action, but under the laws that bound Rocs she was free to kill anyone that stood in her way.
This law didn't make her happy. It wasn't even a law - it was the rules of war, and it had to be assumed that any human who defied her wishes was hostile.
But it contented her. She had killed once, and she could kill again if she needed to.
When the girl was brought to her, she was sitting on the throne. Her mother's throne - but as was the custom of the Rocs, she could now take it, while the Rocmother attended to less trivial business than the people who wanted her attention. Now that she'd passed through the rite that no one had told her of, even when she was committing it.
Now that she'd killed.
When the girl was brought to her, Asma was not quite asleep, not quite awake - somewhere in between wakefulness and a doze, she stared into space, thinking. Not about Haytham, who stood beside her throne, her guardian even now; not about Janan, who stood to the other side, still blissfully unaware of anything that might have broken the triangle of them - caretakers and charge.
How oblivious she is, Asma thought, how... stupid, and then the thought fluttered off into the distance and she resumed her somehow disconnected thoughts.
Not even about Astor. Astor the traitor, Astor who'd had the privilege of calling himself the princess' - no, that was thinking about him, and she'd sworn not to. She'd promised herself not to care. Asma banished the traitorous thought.
When the girl was brought to her, Asma was thinking about Oriana.
Had she been Roc, I might have been proud to call her my friend, she found herself thinking, and then She was so young. And then It couldn't have been her fault.
And then, a half-formed ghostly thought; a scrap of mist in the plain of her mind. I'm sor-
The doors flew open, a harsh bang as they met the wall; the thoughts of the golden-haired human girl dissipated. Asma's attention snapped to the commotion at the doors.
Two Rocs lacking their feathers, restraining a human girl with hair the color of copper - the sun streaming through the windows painted it a brilliant and terrifying gold, and for a moment Asma thought, in a seizure of horror and exhilaration - Oriana, Oriana has returned, perhaps he won't hate me now-
Then the struggling group passed into the shade, and Asma's heart fell from her throat into the deepest depths of disappointment.
"Stop," she said, and the single word froze the girl; as if she had been turned into a pliant and commandable statue - a breathing doll, Asma found herself thinking - the Rocs with their human faces forced her towards the throne, pushed her to her knees. This close Asma could see her hair wasn't gold, nor red; it was a strange in-between color reminiscent of fire. She wondered what it would look like, aflame, and then pushed the thought away, repulsed.
She was seized with a desire to see this human girl's face - Oriana, her mind continued to breathe, in a delirious fit of anticipation (and was that fear?), and how would she know it wasn't her until she saw the face, and -
The female Roc spoke. Her words were wavering and uncertain, her mouth forming strange shapes as she struggled to speak. She's so used to her feathers, Asma realized, and she felt a strange rush of pity for the Roc.
Then a deep hate for herself; she shouldn't pity this woman. She should envy her.
"She was wend- wandi- wandering through the gra- gro- grounds," the Roc said haltingly, eyes darting nervously about the room. She was unused to being inside, it seemed, and to be trapped even in the throne room must seem like being caged to her. "Sha- she said she was lu- la- lost and lay- looking for a way out."
The female bent down to wrench something from her tied hands. The girl didn't protest, or struggle, though she twitched; she had begun shaking very slightly, as if cold or afraid. Asma brushed it from her mind; the object the female Roc held up was a knife, edged with a discolored liquid. She regarded it warily.
An assassin.
"We think she was sent to kill you or the Rocmother," the male Roc put in. The female gave him a grateful glance; He is more used to human form, Asma noted, and turned her attention to him. He gave her a long, serious glance and continued, "By the Black Glass."
The name sent a ripple of horrified motion through the room; Janan cried out, a low, animal sound of pain. Haytham went to her, and Asma ignored the sharp pain that went through her at the sight of him embracing his wife.
She had heard of no Black Glass - what could that be?
Apparently the Roc realized he had said something he shouldn't have, and hurried on. "At any rate, princess, we would have killed her on the spot, but she insisted she had to see you. We searched her, took any weapons we found, but she kept on telling us she wanted to see Princess Asma."
The human knew her name.
Asma stood up, and the girl twitched sharply, as if expecting a blow. She's ready for me, Asma thought, wryly, and stepped delicately from the dais.
The Rocs who had discovered the girl moved back quickly as she approached, but the girl herself made no motion to escape. Asma knelt down in front of her, carefully so as not to startle her into running or retaliating.
Oriana, her mind told her, and then, She's wearing Oriana's face.
She couldn't be Oriana. Oriana was dead. It couldn't - she couldn't be -
As cliche as it was, it seemed almost dreamlike when she reached out a hand to touch the girl's face. As if their own accord, her fingers pressed against the girl's chin, tilting her face upward.
Her eyes were closed, and when Asma let out a breath, her eyelids fluttered ever so slightly; as if she were thinking about opening her eyes and had decided not to. Perhaps if Asma had been paying better attention she would have noticed how the girl was breathing - in and out, deep and deliberate breaths. Calming herself.
As it was, Asma was about to brush her off with a short, brutal command to one of the Rocs who had brought her in, when her eyes did open. Snapped open, staring at Asma with a hostile gaze that was filled, no - overflowing with nothing but hate.
She had Oriana's eyes.
And then, Asma noticed what she hadn't before - the girl was smiling.
"Heh. Somehow I thought you'd be prettier."
Faintly, Asma felt her mouth shape words; then, heard them, in her own voice. As if she were on the other end of a tunnel, shouting to herself, all the way down here in the green and angry dark. "Take her to my rooms. Haytham, you and Janan do that. Then return to me. Janan, stay with her. Make sure she is fed and washed as if she is one of our own. I will talk to her later."
Janan had opened her mouth to protest, but simply nodded. Haytham cast her a dark look, unseen by anyone else - it was a private thing, their newfound animosity.
The girl herself didn't move or speak; only smiled. Smiled knowingly and cruelly and all the way out of the throne room, she didn't take Oriana's eyes off of Asma for one moment.
And once free of their spell, all Asma could think was that her mother would be very angry indeed.
Author: Thai
Challenge: Chocolate Chip Mint #1 - shiny, Sour Apple #16 - "what's your problem?"
Rating: G
Story: blood princess
Timeline: Fairhood arc
Word Count: 242
"Did he give you that, then?"
She looked up; Haytham looked back at her, utterly unreadable.
Her fingers tightened around the bauble in her hands; it was round, and blue, and it gleamed in the sunlight with a thousand brilliant colors. Things glittered in the center when the sun sparked off of it.
The man who'd given it to her had told her it came from somewhere special and unpronounceable; Etalee, or maybe Italy. "Yes," she said defiantly. "He did. What's it to you?"
Haytham looked at Asma for a long moment - his eyes were filled with a deep lack of expression, and that scared her.
"Nothing," he said finally. "It's nothing to me."
And as he walked off, Asma wondered not for the first time just what objection he had to Astor at all.
Author: Thai
Challenge: Fudge Ripple #22 - foolishness, Chocolate #2 - jealousy, Sour Apple #19 - see if I care
Rating: PG
Story: blood princess
Timeline: Fairhood arc
Word Count: 636
"So you love him now."
The words hit Asma's heart like a fivesome of daggers, and she flushed, in shame and irritation and an emotion she couldn't put a name to. Haytham's eyes regarded her steadily, still that stormy-sky shade of blue. It was that stare, patient and yet - that patience hid a sort of anger behind it.
It was green, Asma thought, and aloud she said, "What is it to you?"
The words were sharp and rude even to her, and her cheeks burned an even brighter shade of red as Haytham replied, mildly, "You just seem awfully prone to loving, that's all."
More daggers to her heart. These made her flinch, and she twisted to get away from him; but his arms around her waist made escape nigh impossible.
"What? Are you jealous of Astor?" she spat, turning her head to glare at him. "Do you wish that I was yours? Why not make your feelings clear, Haytham? Go on - I'd love to know how damned possessive you are."
"Stay away from him."
"You aren't my owner!"
His grasp only tightened, and the cool fingers brushing against her bare skin served to incite her anger even more. What right had he to criticize Astor? What right had he to claim her when she could not claim him?
"Let go," she said coldly. "Do not touch me. Do not ever touch me again, or you will regret it."
Taken by surprise, the arms unlocked from around her; and as quickly as she could, Asma slid from the bed and began picking up the garments scattered around the room. And the silver-haired man simply remained on the bed, staring at her with an expression - was he puzzled? Could he possibly be confused about why, exactly, she wished him dead?
Ha. He had a wife, this - affair was nothing more than a simple game to him. Whatever this was, it wasn't important to him; humoring a small and needy princess who wanted nothing more than the warmth of someone next to her. If he needed to he would deny it.
His integrity was more important to him than she was. Asma knew that; had known it when she first asked him to stay with her, but now that she was choosing between him and someone else, she wished deeply that she was his.
And she was - but she was only his secret.
"This is entirely your fault," he said, and Asma paused; the sash around her waist, only half-tied, fell to the floor unheeded. "You do not rule the world, princess. You do not rule my heart. It is time to let go of what cannot be yours."
Because he could not keep her, he would abandon her. Like a child abandons their first toy, or a wolf, startled by a hunter, abandons their freshly-killed prey. The thought, however morbid, coaxed a laugh out of Asma, and she continued to dress, still laughing a little. All the while Haytham simply watched her, still with that strange, puzzled expression.
Her hand was on the door when he finally said, "I love you."
And Asma froze. He'd never said that. Those words - those words were reserved for him to whisper to Janan, or for her to tell Haytham in the dark of night, when moonlight painted strange shadows on their skin. It was an unspoken rule between them; they'd never lie to each other in that one subject. Asma had resigned herself to never hearing those words from him.
"I love you," he said again, and the spell seemed to waver - and then break. Asma let out a long, trembling sigh.
"No," she said slowly. "I think I'm just your guilty pleasure."
And the door shut behind her with a final click.
Author: Thai
Challenge: Chocolate Chip Mint #23 - imposing, Cookies 'N Cream #24 - play, Fudge Ripple #8 - annoyance
Rating: G
Story: blood princess
Timeline: Godhood arc
Word Count: 178
She'd been fascinated by mirrors and reflections since she was a little girl; as a child she'd stare, rapt, at her inverted face in the bowl of a spoon. Laugh at the way her features rippled when she tossed a rock into a pond.
Her features changed wonderfully.
She wasn't easily amused; but a few, simple things made her smile. Reflections among them. The way light bounced off of mirrors to dance on walls could hold her attention for hours, and she'd play with Haytham and Janan, chasing small dots of light around the walls of her rooms.
It was fun, for a while, but when she reflected a ray of sunlight directly into her mother's eyes, she was forbidden mirrors. Her mother wasn't angry, exactly - stern and unwavering and not smiling as she collected the small mirrors from around Asma's rooms - but she didn't laugh. Even as the child sulked in a corner, watching her with sullen and teary eyes.
That was the first time that Asma realized that her mother was not a goddess.
Author: Thai
Challenge: Cookies N' Cream #20 - reach, Chocolate Chip Mint #25 - rumpled, Fudge Ripple #25 - affection
Rating: G
Story: blood princess
Timeline: Godhood arc
Word Count: 1108
"Hey."
The small, blue-eyed child blinked and started, retreating around the corner until she could barely see the woman sitting at the dresser. Janan sighed almost too quietly for even herself to hear, and turned, tucking her feet beneath the little stool.
"Asma," she called, in a little sing-song sort of voice. "Asma-dasma, I know you're there. Come on..."
And the small, blue-eyed child stepped out from behind the doorpost, very hesitantly, as if she were worried about being here. Her index knuckle disappeared into her mouth as she looked around, nervously nibbling on the digit.
Janan smiled at the little girl and reached out a hand. Tentatively, the child took it, and the woman pulled her up into her lap.
"Where's Haytham?" she whispered conspiratorially, wrapping her arms around the girl. The little black-haired child looked up at her for a brief moment, then ducked her head. Janan rocked her gently from side to side as she spoke. "Did you ditch that no-good blue-eyed goody-two-shoes?"
That coaxed a light giggle out of the girl, and Janan smiled winningly at her when she looked back up. The child removed her knuckle from her mouth to talk.
"I lef' him with Mama," she said, very quietly, and then returned the comforting digit. But she leaned back against Janan's chest, nestling into the curve of her torso, and the silver-haired woman squeezed her in a gentle hug.
"Well, good," she said, rather briskly. The little girl looked up at her in mild surprise. "We don't need him," Janan explained, leaning forward to pick up a brush from her dresser. "He's a drag and he would laugh at me if he were here, because he wears pants that are too big for him."
Janan was rewarded for her inane nonsense talk by another giggle from the child, and began to run the brush over her dark, baby-soft curls. The little girl tolerated this gentle treatment, making happy little catlike noises every once in a while, until Janan set the brush down and stroked her head.
"But aren't you married?" the little girl whispered, and in the mirror she stared curiously at Janan. The woman smiled back, smoothing a stray curl of hair back from where it had sprung over the child's face.
"Doesn't mean he wears properly sized pants," she said lightly, and caught the barest flash of a smile from the girl in the mirror. "I love the man, but he won't ever let me fix his clothes."
"I dunno," the child said thoughtfully, still in that murmury quiet tone. "His pants look fine to me."
Janan pursed her lips. "I guess you're right," she said slowly. "Well, that means I don't have anything else to tease him about! Why do you do this, you little monster?"
The older woman promptly attacked the little girl with her fingers, eliciting a panicky squeal and giggles that were more hysterical and more heartfelt than those few that Janan had been able to tease out of her. It was only when she was shrieking "Stop! Stooop!" at the top of her voice that the elder relented, laughing to show that there was no harm meant and gathering up the child in her arms.
The little girl gasped for air, still giggling every once in a while, and clutched onto Janan's shoulders. The elder continued to smile at her; absently, she noted that the hair she'd just smoothed back had bounced straight back over the child's face. It had been a while since she had spent any time with her, and what little time she had had been tense and quiet, while the little girl fidgeted and rebuffed any attempts at conversation that Janan had started.
"Your hair is pretty," the little girl's voice said softly, and Janan looked up, startled. The child was twisting a lock of her hair between her fingers, gently enough not to tug, and looked fascinated with it. "It's... all silvery, like Haytham's. Except prettier."
Janan nodded, a miniscule action so her hair wouldn't be pulled, and stroked the child's back with one hand. "I'm a descendant of one of the old Rocs, did you know that?"
"The old Rocs?"
"Yes. In the old days there were a lot of Rocs who had white hair, just like me and Haytham, and when they changed they had white feathers, too. They used to be queens, too, I think... so I'm like your distant cousin. I don't change that much, but my feathers are white too."
"Change." For a moment the little girl was quiet, and then she looked up, blue eyes wide and innocent. "Are you happy with Haytham?"
The suddenly off-topic question took Janan off-guard for just a moment, then she smiled. It was a smile that she only wore when thinking of or around Haytham, and she knew that she looked rather dimwitted when she wore it, but - he made her happy, and -
"I am," she replied. "I'm very, very happy with him."
She felt a small head nod against her shoulder. "Janan?"
"Hm?"
"Do you think I'll be happy like that sometime?"
"Ah, princess." She turned her head and pressed a light, maternal kiss to the child's forehead. "I'm sure you will. Your mother married for love, which is not very common in most human kingdoms, I can assure you, and so will you."
Asma looked up at her, calm and trusting. "And you n' Haytham will be there for me forever, right?"
"Where else do you think we'd be?" Gently, Janan set the girl on the floor besides the bench. "Go back to your rooms, all right? I'll be there in just a moment. We can play. Your mother's meeting someone who's come from the Rocs in England, so she won't be around for a while, but Haytham should be back from his meeting soon."
"All right." Asma gave her a shy little wave, returning the ever-present knuckle to her mouth, and disappeared around the corner. Janan sighed.
It would be a privilege to watch her grow up. The little princess who couldn't change her own feathers, who didn't even know what her guardian had done. Who didn't even know that Janan was to blame for the loss of her brothers and sisters.
Hell, who didn't even know she could have had brothers and sisters at all.
"Janan?" The blue eyes were peering around the corner again, looking questioning. "Are you coming?"
"Yes, you tiny monster," Janan replied, sticking out her tongue at the princess. "I'm coming. And if you don't stop bugging me about it, I will tickle you again, princess or not."
Author: Thai
Challenge: Chocolate Chip Mint #9 - wispy, Sour Apple #18 - ready or not, here I come, Chocolate #5 - mercy
Rating: PG
Story: blood princess
Timeline: Motherhood arc - just before this piece.
Word Count: 1346
She wasn't sure what made her spare the girl.
Some misplaced sense of guilt, perhaps - though Asma realized now that what she had done was perfectly justified. Perhaps not the wisest course of action, but under the laws that bound Rocs she was free to kill anyone that stood in her way.
This law didn't make her happy. It wasn't even a law - it was the rules of war, and it had to be assumed that any human who defied her wishes was hostile.
But it contented her. She had killed once, and she could kill again if she needed to.
When the girl was brought to her, she was sitting on the throne. Her mother's throne - but as was the custom of the Rocs, she could now take it, while the Rocmother attended to less trivial business than the people who wanted her attention. Now that she'd passed through the rite that no one had told her of, even when she was committing it.
Now that she'd killed.
When the girl was brought to her, Asma was not quite asleep, not quite awake - somewhere in between wakefulness and a doze, she stared into space, thinking. Not about Haytham, who stood beside her throne, her guardian even now; not about Janan, who stood to the other side, still blissfully unaware of anything that might have broken the triangle of them - caretakers and charge.
How oblivious she is, Asma thought, how... stupid, and then the thought fluttered off into the distance and she resumed her somehow disconnected thoughts.
Not even about Astor. Astor the traitor, Astor who'd had the privilege of calling himself the princess' - no, that was thinking about him, and she'd sworn not to. She'd promised herself not to care. Asma banished the traitorous thought.
When the girl was brought to her, Asma was thinking about Oriana.
Had she been Roc, I might have been proud to call her my friend, she found herself thinking, and then She was so young. And then It couldn't have been her fault.
And then, a half-formed ghostly thought; a scrap of mist in the plain of her mind. I'm sor-
The doors flew open, a harsh bang as they met the wall; the thoughts of the golden-haired human girl dissipated. Asma's attention snapped to the commotion at the doors.
Two Rocs lacking their feathers, restraining a human girl with hair the color of copper - the sun streaming through the windows painted it a brilliant and terrifying gold, and for a moment Asma thought, in a seizure of horror and exhilaration - Oriana, Oriana has returned, perhaps he won't hate me now-
Then the struggling group passed into the shade, and Asma's heart fell from her throat into the deepest depths of disappointment.
"Stop," she said, and the single word froze the girl; as if she had been turned into a pliant and commandable statue - a breathing doll, Asma found herself thinking - the Rocs with their human faces forced her towards the throne, pushed her to her knees. This close Asma could see her hair wasn't gold, nor red; it was a strange in-between color reminiscent of fire. She wondered what it would look like, aflame, and then pushed the thought away, repulsed.
She was seized with a desire to see this human girl's face - Oriana, her mind continued to breathe, in a delirious fit of anticipation (and was that fear?), and how would she know it wasn't her until she saw the face, and -
The female Roc spoke. Her words were wavering and uncertain, her mouth forming strange shapes as she struggled to speak. She's so used to her feathers, Asma realized, and she felt a strange rush of pity for the Roc.
Then a deep hate for herself; she shouldn't pity this woman. She should envy her.
"She was wend- wandi- wandering through the gra- gro- grounds," the Roc said haltingly, eyes darting nervously about the room. She was unused to being inside, it seemed, and to be trapped even in the throne room must seem like being caged to her. "Sha- she said she was lu- la- lost and lay- looking for a way out."
The female bent down to wrench something from her tied hands. The girl didn't protest, or struggle, though she twitched; she had begun shaking very slightly, as if cold or afraid. Asma brushed it from her mind; the object the female Roc held up was a knife, edged with a discolored liquid. She regarded it warily.
An assassin.
"We think she was sent to kill you or the Rocmother," the male Roc put in. The female gave him a grateful glance; He is more used to human form, Asma noted, and turned her attention to him. He gave her a long, serious glance and continued, "By the Black Glass."
The name sent a ripple of horrified motion through the room; Janan cried out, a low, animal sound of pain. Haytham went to her, and Asma ignored the sharp pain that went through her at the sight of him embracing his wife.
She had heard of no Black Glass - what could that be?
Apparently the Roc realized he had said something he shouldn't have, and hurried on. "At any rate, princess, we would have killed her on the spot, but she insisted she had to see you. We searched her, took any weapons we found, but she kept on telling us she wanted to see Princess Asma."
The human knew her name.
Asma stood up, and the girl twitched sharply, as if expecting a blow. She's ready for me, Asma thought, wryly, and stepped delicately from the dais.
The Rocs who had discovered the girl moved back quickly as she approached, but the girl herself made no motion to escape. Asma knelt down in front of her, carefully so as not to startle her into running or retaliating.
Oriana, her mind told her, and then, She's wearing Oriana's face.
She couldn't be Oriana. Oriana was dead. It couldn't - she couldn't be -
As cliche as it was, it seemed almost dreamlike when she reached out a hand to touch the girl's face. As if their own accord, her fingers pressed against the girl's chin, tilting her face upward.
Her eyes were closed, and when Asma let out a breath, her eyelids fluttered ever so slightly; as if she were thinking about opening her eyes and had decided not to. Perhaps if Asma had been paying better attention she would have noticed how the girl was breathing - in and out, deep and deliberate breaths. Calming herself.
As it was, Asma was about to brush her off with a short, brutal command to one of the Rocs who had brought her in, when her eyes did open. Snapped open, staring at Asma with a hostile gaze that was filled, no - overflowing with nothing but hate.
She had Oriana's eyes.
And then, Asma noticed what she hadn't before - the girl was smiling.
"Heh. Somehow I thought you'd be prettier."
Faintly, Asma felt her mouth shape words; then, heard them, in her own voice. As if she were on the other end of a tunnel, shouting to herself, all the way down here in the green and angry dark. "Take her to my rooms. Haytham, you and Janan do that. Then return to me. Janan, stay with her. Make sure she is fed and washed as if she is one of our own. I will talk to her later."
Janan had opened her mouth to protest, but simply nodded. Haytham cast her a dark look, unseen by anyone else - it was a private thing, their newfound animosity.
The girl herself didn't move or speak; only smiled. Smiled knowingly and cruelly and all the way out of the throne room, she didn't take Oriana's eyes off of Asma for one moment.
And once free of their spell, all Asma could think was that her mother would be very angry indeed.
Author: Thai
Challenge: Chocolate Chip Mint #1 - shiny, Sour Apple #16 - "what's your problem?"
Rating: G
Story: blood princess
Timeline: Fairhood arc
Word Count: 242
"Did he give you that, then?"
She looked up; Haytham looked back at her, utterly unreadable.
Her fingers tightened around the bauble in her hands; it was round, and blue, and it gleamed in the sunlight with a thousand brilliant colors. Things glittered in the center when the sun sparked off of it.
The man who'd given it to her had told her it came from somewhere special and unpronounceable; Etalee, or maybe Italy. "Yes," she said defiantly. "He did. What's it to you?"
Haytham looked at Asma for a long moment - his eyes were filled with a deep lack of expression, and that scared her.
"Nothing," he said finally. "It's nothing to me."
And as he walked off, Asma wondered not for the first time just what objection he had to Astor at all.
Author: Thai
Challenge: Fudge Ripple #22 - foolishness, Chocolate #2 - jealousy, Sour Apple #19 - see if I care
Rating: PG
Story: blood princess
Timeline: Fairhood arc
Word Count: 636
"So you love him now."
The words hit Asma's heart like a fivesome of daggers, and she flushed, in shame and irritation and an emotion she couldn't put a name to. Haytham's eyes regarded her steadily, still that stormy-sky shade of blue. It was that stare, patient and yet - that patience hid a sort of anger behind it.
It was green, Asma thought, and aloud she said, "What is it to you?"
The words were sharp and rude even to her, and her cheeks burned an even brighter shade of red as Haytham replied, mildly, "You just seem awfully prone to loving, that's all."
More daggers to her heart. These made her flinch, and she twisted to get away from him; but his arms around her waist made escape nigh impossible.
"What? Are you jealous of Astor?" she spat, turning her head to glare at him. "Do you wish that I was yours? Why not make your feelings clear, Haytham? Go on - I'd love to know how damned possessive you are."
"Stay away from him."
"You aren't my owner!"
His grasp only tightened, and the cool fingers brushing against her bare skin served to incite her anger even more. What right had he to criticize Astor? What right had he to claim her when she could not claim him?
"Let go," she said coldly. "Do not touch me. Do not ever touch me again, or you will regret it."
Taken by surprise, the arms unlocked from around her; and as quickly as she could, Asma slid from the bed and began picking up the garments scattered around the room. And the silver-haired man simply remained on the bed, staring at her with an expression - was he puzzled? Could he possibly be confused about why, exactly, she wished him dead?
Ha. He had a wife, this - affair was nothing more than a simple game to him. Whatever this was, it wasn't important to him; humoring a small and needy princess who wanted nothing more than the warmth of someone next to her. If he needed to he would deny it.
His integrity was more important to him than she was. Asma knew that; had known it when she first asked him to stay with her, but now that she was choosing between him and someone else, she wished deeply that she was his.
And she was - but she was only his secret.
"This is entirely your fault," he said, and Asma paused; the sash around her waist, only half-tied, fell to the floor unheeded. "You do not rule the world, princess. You do not rule my heart. It is time to let go of what cannot be yours."
Because he could not keep her, he would abandon her. Like a child abandons their first toy, or a wolf, startled by a hunter, abandons their freshly-killed prey. The thought, however morbid, coaxed a laugh out of Asma, and she continued to dress, still laughing a little. All the while Haytham simply watched her, still with that strange, puzzled expression.
Her hand was on the door when he finally said, "I love you."
And Asma froze. He'd never said that. Those words - those words were reserved for him to whisper to Janan, or for her to tell Haytham in the dark of night, when moonlight painted strange shadows on their skin. It was an unspoken rule between them; they'd never lie to each other in that one subject. Asma had resigned herself to never hearing those words from him.
"I love you," he said again, and the spell seemed to waver - and then break. Asma let out a long, trembling sigh.
"No," she said slowly. "I think I'm just your guilty pleasure."
And the door shut behind her with a final click.
Author: Thai
Challenge: Chocolate Chip Mint #23 - imposing, Cookies 'N Cream #24 - play, Fudge Ripple #8 - annoyance
Rating: G
Story: blood princess
Timeline: Godhood arc
Word Count: 178
She'd been fascinated by mirrors and reflections since she was a little girl; as a child she'd stare, rapt, at her inverted face in the bowl of a spoon. Laugh at the way her features rippled when she tossed a rock into a pond.
Her features changed wonderfully.
She wasn't easily amused; but a few, simple things made her smile. Reflections among them. The way light bounced off of mirrors to dance on walls could hold her attention for hours, and she'd play with Haytham and Janan, chasing small dots of light around the walls of her rooms.
It was fun, for a while, but when she reflected a ray of sunlight directly into her mother's eyes, she was forbidden mirrors. Her mother wasn't angry, exactly - stern and unwavering and not smiling as she collected the small mirrors from around Asma's rooms - but she didn't laugh. Even as the child sulked in a corner, watching her with sullen and teary eyes.
That was the first time that Asma realized that her mother was not a goddess.
Author: Thai
Challenge: Cookies N' Cream #20 - reach, Chocolate Chip Mint #25 - rumpled, Fudge Ripple #25 - affection
Rating: G
Story: blood princess
Timeline: Godhood arc
Word Count: 1108
"Hey."
The small, blue-eyed child blinked and started, retreating around the corner until she could barely see the woman sitting at the dresser. Janan sighed almost too quietly for even herself to hear, and turned, tucking her feet beneath the little stool.
"Asma," she called, in a little sing-song sort of voice. "Asma-dasma, I know you're there. Come on..."
And the small, blue-eyed child stepped out from behind the doorpost, very hesitantly, as if she were worried about being here. Her index knuckle disappeared into her mouth as she looked around, nervously nibbling on the digit.
Janan smiled at the little girl and reached out a hand. Tentatively, the child took it, and the woman pulled her up into her lap.
"Where's Haytham?" she whispered conspiratorially, wrapping her arms around the girl. The little black-haired child looked up at her for a brief moment, then ducked her head. Janan rocked her gently from side to side as she spoke. "Did you ditch that no-good blue-eyed goody-two-shoes?"
That coaxed a light giggle out of the girl, and Janan smiled winningly at her when she looked back up. The child removed her knuckle from her mouth to talk.
"I lef' him with Mama," she said, very quietly, and then returned the comforting digit. But she leaned back against Janan's chest, nestling into the curve of her torso, and the silver-haired woman squeezed her in a gentle hug.
"Well, good," she said, rather briskly. The little girl looked up at her in mild surprise. "We don't need him," Janan explained, leaning forward to pick up a brush from her dresser. "He's a drag and he would laugh at me if he were here, because he wears pants that are too big for him."
Janan was rewarded for her inane nonsense talk by another giggle from the child, and began to run the brush over her dark, baby-soft curls. The little girl tolerated this gentle treatment, making happy little catlike noises every once in a while, until Janan set the brush down and stroked her head.
"But aren't you married?" the little girl whispered, and in the mirror she stared curiously at Janan. The woman smiled back, smoothing a stray curl of hair back from where it had sprung over the child's face.
"Doesn't mean he wears properly sized pants," she said lightly, and caught the barest flash of a smile from the girl in the mirror. "I love the man, but he won't ever let me fix his clothes."
"I dunno," the child said thoughtfully, still in that murmury quiet tone. "His pants look fine to me."
Janan pursed her lips. "I guess you're right," she said slowly. "Well, that means I don't have anything else to tease him about! Why do you do this, you little monster?"
The older woman promptly attacked the little girl with her fingers, eliciting a panicky squeal and giggles that were more hysterical and more heartfelt than those few that Janan had been able to tease out of her. It was only when she was shrieking "Stop! Stooop!" at the top of her voice that the elder relented, laughing to show that there was no harm meant and gathering up the child in her arms.
The little girl gasped for air, still giggling every once in a while, and clutched onto Janan's shoulders. The elder continued to smile at her; absently, she noted that the hair she'd just smoothed back had bounced straight back over the child's face. It had been a while since she had spent any time with her, and what little time she had had been tense and quiet, while the little girl fidgeted and rebuffed any attempts at conversation that Janan had started.
"Your hair is pretty," the little girl's voice said softly, and Janan looked up, startled. The child was twisting a lock of her hair between her fingers, gently enough not to tug, and looked fascinated with it. "It's... all silvery, like Haytham's. Except prettier."
Janan nodded, a miniscule action so her hair wouldn't be pulled, and stroked the child's back with one hand. "I'm a descendant of one of the old Rocs, did you know that?"
"The old Rocs?"
"Yes. In the old days there were a lot of Rocs who had white hair, just like me and Haytham, and when they changed they had white feathers, too. They used to be queens, too, I think... so I'm like your distant cousin. I don't change that much, but my feathers are white too."
"Change." For a moment the little girl was quiet, and then she looked up, blue eyes wide and innocent. "Are you happy with Haytham?"
The suddenly off-topic question took Janan off-guard for just a moment, then she smiled. It was a smile that she only wore when thinking of or around Haytham, and she knew that she looked rather dimwitted when she wore it, but - he made her happy, and -
"I am," she replied. "I'm very, very happy with him."
She felt a small head nod against her shoulder. "Janan?"
"Hm?"
"Do you think I'll be happy like that sometime?"
"Ah, princess." She turned her head and pressed a light, maternal kiss to the child's forehead. "I'm sure you will. Your mother married for love, which is not very common in most human kingdoms, I can assure you, and so will you."
Asma looked up at her, calm and trusting. "And you n' Haytham will be there for me forever, right?"
"Where else do you think we'd be?" Gently, Janan set the girl on the floor besides the bench. "Go back to your rooms, all right? I'll be there in just a moment. We can play. Your mother's meeting someone who's come from the Rocs in England, so she won't be around for a while, but Haytham should be back from his meeting soon."
"All right." Asma gave her a shy little wave, returning the ever-present knuckle to her mouth, and disappeared around the corner. Janan sighed.
It would be a privilege to watch her grow up. The little princess who couldn't change her own feathers, who didn't even know what her guardian had done. Who didn't even know that Janan was to blame for the loss of her brothers and sisters.
Hell, who didn't even know she could have had brothers and sisters at all.
"Janan?" The blue eyes were peering around the corner again, looking questioning. "Are you coming?"
"Yes, you tiny monster," Janan replied, sticking out her tongue at the princess. "I'm coming. And if you don't stop bugging me about it, I will tickle you again, princess or not."