Ruby Slippers

Aulus's fist clenched firmly, no longer flexing with anxiety, and a bristle of frustration flared inside him. While the tense sensation in his chest did not relent, the edges of his fear were softened, and he looked at her again.

She was being obtuse on purpose, he thought.

He had seen her pull this act innumerable times before, upon most who wanted something from her, also. But, he could tell it was an imperfect deflection, as he paused, and the heat in his gaze quenched. With typically many appointments and errands abound, Octavia could brush off the lobbyists with her departure. Here she had nothing to run off to do, just oversee her handmaids packing and take breaks in between. He looked at her, methodically numbing himself to what he knew he could expect from her.

"When you leave," he said flatly, watching her fingers pick at her hair, "in three days. I am the better choice." Aulus rose, and walked to a vanity where he had glanced a brush among the clutter. He grabbed it like a dagger, and then, he walked to loom over her. Aulus handed it to her as if it were a blade aimed at her heart. "A brush," he gritted.