Fic: Learning to Dance 2.5 :Interlude
Title: Learning to Dance 2.5 :Interlude
Author: purplerhino
Disclaimer: Not mine. Really. I’m poor. If they were mine, I wouldn’t be. Just sharing the love is all.
Spoilers: Everything.
Rating: R for content. Not for sex. Yet.
Characters/Pairing: Azkadellia, Raw, Jeb Cain (maybe Az/Jeb if you squint, turn your head and do a handstand)
Summary: Azkadellia no longer wore makeup. She didn’t want to show a flawless appearance.
Thanks to my beta readers - erinm_4600, thebigfatman and Khadence
Part One here
Part Two here
Today Marlene- her ladies maid - dropped the tea service and shattered the pot. The tea splashed the hem of Azkadellia’s dark green skirts. Marlene looked at her with such raw terror in her eyes.
Azkadellia sat for an hour, looking into her vanity mirror. She examined every feature, every fine line, but she never met her own eyes. She couldn’t. She was terrified who she’d see staring back at her. What if it wasn’t her?
Now, she examined her face, looking for a sign of the witch; yet, still unable to look at her own eyes. It was irrational, she knew this. Knowing it didn’t stop it. She just couldn’t. It was as if she were physically incapable.
Azkadellia no longer wore makeup. She didn’t want to show a flawless appearance. She knew that under her eyes were occasionally shadowed, and tiny lines of tension formed at the corners of her mouth. She wore demure clothing, partly in shame of how much the witch liked to reveal, partly to keep herself separate.
Occasionally, she would feel like herself. Like Azkadellia. At these times she had no thoughts but for the moment. Usually such times were around her family, especially around her sister.
Little DG’s friends had been a strain, at first. They were always looking, seeking the slightest sign of duplicity or plotting. They looked at her and saw only the witch. But, over the months, they seemed to learn who Azkadellia was. Az. DG must have talked to them, begged them to give her a chance. Az wasn’t a fool, but, these days, their easy acceptance of her was a great help, and they had become her friends, as well. Possibly, her only friends. However, occasionally, she said or did something awkward, or something happened where they would look at her, judging her by her reactions.
It clawed at her, as much as the emptiness inside her mind did. Once, she had no control of her actions, her mind. She was a shadow, with only a monster to talk to. She could only watch in horror at what was done with her body. Over time, she ceased fighting; became numb. It was that, or give over to madness. She had just ceased to care. All that mattered was keeping her own consciousness alive.
DG had changed that; called her out, made her want to fight once more.
She sometimes wondered if she weren’t better off having died with the witch.
People avoided her at the celebration in honor of the heroes of the Eclipse. It was not surprising, but it didn’t stop the hurt. Even DG was swept away to dance with so many, leaving her alone. Glitch and Raw had asked her to dance, taking her out onto the floor several times each. Her father danced with her. And handsome young Jeb, Wyatt Cain’s son, had nervously asked her for a dance. She had almost cried at that, but was so grateful for his kindness, because she knew he had wanted her dead -with such good reason- not three months before. She didn’t even care if it was for her family’s sake, or his father’s. Even if it were duty, as he was now part of the palace guard, it didn’t matter. The simple contact was a wonder.
And then, then she had danced with DG. It was unheard of, two women waltzing together. It was shocking. Her sister had grinned at her and winked. Azkadellia had laughed from the joy of that moment. That single moment.
Yet the maid had one slip and was terrified of Azkadellia. There had to be something of the witch still there to evoke that terror. In the mirror she looked at her lack of makeup; her high-necked gown of dark green cotton. None of it was the witch’s. But, there. The hair. It wasn’t elaborate, just braided back, long and black. SHE had liked the silky blackness, the seduction of flowing locks.
Azkadellia went into the vanity drawer, where her hidden box lay. Her relief, and her punishment. Opening the plain wooden box, she removed the simple dagger, which caught the light on its’ razor edge. With a single flash, she cut off the braid at the base. The short hair, released from the confining braid, fell forward, a bit longer than her chin.
She threw the braid on the floor and reached for a handful of hair. Still too long. Still HERS. She cut, freeing herself with each slice, feeling bits of the witch fall away with her locks.
But, when she was done, an uneven mass of too-short hair left, she still felt her inside.
Azkadellia looked at the hand holding the knife. She’d used it before. She was slowly paying in her own blood for each soul the witch had stolen. Neat rows of scars and scabs lined her thighs and upper arms. But had she really bled red?
She couldn’t remember. Maybe the witch was still inside. The knife flashed again.
She heard pounding on the doors to her rooms. Raw was roaring somewhere far away. Az looked at the bright blood; It was red, not black. Not the ichor the creature had melted into. It washed away the pain inside with the sting of real, physical pain. She sliced again, and again.
The banging on her door became so loud, it seemed to match her heartbeat in her ears.
Then there were arms around her, and she looked up into the mirror to see Raw hugging her from behind, tears streaming down his face.
“Stop. Please stop. It hurts too much. You hurt too much.”
Azkadellia looked down at her arms, the flow of blood mixing with the strands of her butchered hair. “It’s supposed to hurt. I’m supposed to hurt. I’m sorry I hurt you, though.”
Jeb Cain was taking the blade from her hand and barking orders for the physicians, and for someone to get DG. Why?
Then while Raw held her from behind, rocking slightly from side to side, young Jeb returned from her bathroom and pressed a towel to her deepest cut.
“Of all the stupid things to do…”
“Stop. Anger not help. Fear not help. DG help. Az not always think clear anymore,” Raw scolded the younger Cain.
“I’m thinking clearly.” Az laughed. “I’m thinking for myself. Me. All me. I’m me.”
Author: purplerhino
Disclaimer: Not mine. Really. I’m poor. If they were mine, I wouldn’t be. Just sharing the love is all.
Spoilers: Everything.
Rating: R for content. Not for sex. Yet.
Characters/Pairing: Azkadellia, Raw, Jeb Cain (maybe Az/Jeb if you squint, turn your head and do a handstand)
Summary: Azkadellia no longer wore makeup. She didn’t want to show a flawless appearance.
Thanks to my beta readers - erinm_4600, thebigfatman and Khadence
Part One here
Part Two here
Today Marlene- her ladies maid - dropped the tea service and shattered the pot. The tea splashed the hem of Azkadellia’s dark green skirts. Marlene looked at her with such raw terror in her eyes.
Azkadellia sat for an hour, looking into her vanity mirror. She examined every feature, every fine line, but she never met her own eyes. She couldn’t. She was terrified who she’d see staring back at her. What if it wasn’t her?
Now, she examined her face, looking for a sign of the witch; yet, still unable to look at her own eyes. It was irrational, she knew this. Knowing it didn’t stop it. She just couldn’t. It was as if she were physically incapable.
Azkadellia no longer wore makeup. She didn’t want to show a flawless appearance. She knew that under her eyes were occasionally shadowed, and tiny lines of tension formed at the corners of her mouth. She wore demure clothing, partly in shame of how much the witch liked to reveal, partly to keep herself separate.
Occasionally, she would feel like herself. Like Azkadellia. At these times she had no thoughts but for the moment. Usually such times were around her family, especially around her sister.
Little DG’s friends had been a strain, at first. They were always looking, seeking the slightest sign of duplicity or plotting. They looked at her and saw only the witch. But, over the months, they seemed to learn who Azkadellia was. Az. DG must have talked to them, begged them to give her a chance. Az wasn’t a fool, but, these days, their easy acceptance of her was a great help, and they had become her friends, as well. Possibly, her only friends. However, occasionally, she said or did something awkward, or something happened where they would look at her, judging her by her reactions.
It clawed at her, as much as the emptiness inside her mind did. Once, she had no control of her actions, her mind. She was a shadow, with only a monster to talk to. She could only watch in horror at what was done with her body. Over time, she ceased fighting; became numb. It was that, or give over to madness. She had just ceased to care. All that mattered was keeping her own consciousness alive.
DG had changed that; called her out, made her want to fight once more.
She sometimes wondered if she weren’t better off having died with the witch.
People avoided her at the celebration in honor of the heroes of the Eclipse. It was not surprising, but it didn’t stop the hurt. Even DG was swept away to dance with so many, leaving her alone. Glitch and Raw had asked her to dance, taking her out onto the floor several times each. Her father danced with her. And handsome young Jeb, Wyatt Cain’s son, had nervously asked her for a dance. She had almost cried at that, but was so grateful for his kindness, because she knew he had wanted her dead -with such good reason- not three months before. She didn’t even care if it was for her family’s sake, or his father’s. Even if it were duty, as he was now part of the palace guard, it didn’t matter. The simple contact was a wonder.
And then, then she had danced with DG. It was unheard of, two women waltzing together. It was shocking. Her sister had grinned at her and winked. Azkadellia had laughed from the joy of that moment. That single moment.
Yet the maid had one slip and was terrified of Azkadellia. There had to be something of the witch still there to evoke that terror. In the mirror she looked at her lack of makeup; her high-necked gown of dark green cotton. None of it was the witch’s. But, there. The hair. It wasn’t elaborate, just braided back, long and black. SHE had liked the silky blackness, the seduction of flowing locks.
Azkadellia went into the vanity drawer, where her hidden box lay. Her relief, and her punishment. Opening the plain wooden box, she removed the simple dagger, which caught the light on its’ razor edge. With a single flash, she cut off the braid at the base. The short hair, released from the confining braid, fell forward, a bit longer than her chin.
She threw the braid on the floor and reached for a handful of hair. Still too long. Still HERS. She cut, freeing herself with each slice, feeling bits of the witch fall away with her locks.
But, when she was done, an uneven mass of too-short hair left, she still felt her inside.
Azkadellia looked at the hand holding the knife. She’d used it before. She was slowly paying in her own blood for each soul the witch had stolen. Neat rows of scars and scabs lined her thighs and upper arms. But had she really bled red?
She couldn’t remember. Maybe the witch was still inside. The knife flashed again.
She heard pounding on the doors to her rooms. Raw was roaring somewhere far away. Az looked at the bright blood; It was red, not black. Not the ichor the creature had melted into. It washed away the pain inside with the sting of real, physical pain. She sliced again, and again.
The banging on her door became so loud, it seemed to match her heartbeat in her ears.
Then there were arms around her, and she looked up into the mirror to see Raw hugging her from behind, tears streaming down his face.
“Stop. Please stop. It hurts too much. You hurt too much.”
Azkadellia looked down at her arms, the flow of blood mixing with the strands of her butchered hair. “It’s supposed to hurt. I’m supposed to hurt. I’m sorry I hurt you, though.”
Jeb Cain was taking the blade from her hand and barking orders for the physicians, and for someone to get DG. Why?
Then while Raw held her from behind, rocking slightly from side to side, young Jeb returned from her bathroom and pressed a towel to her deepest cut.
“Of all the stupid things to do…”
“Stop. Anger not help. Fear not help. DG help. Az not always think clear anymore,” Raw scolded the younger Cain.
“I’m thinking clearly.” Az laughed. “I’m thinking for myself. Me. All me. I’m me.”