Like a Tiny Bug Who's Wings Have Been Cut

It was confusing, unsettling even, to see him like this—her supposed enemy, yet her reluctant protector.

Her mind raced, filled with questions that gnawed at her. The curse, the blood feud, the inexplicable connection between them—it all felt like a tangled web she couldn’t unravel. Malik's presence was a constant reminder of her fragility, yet she sensed there was more to his actions than mere duty or amusement. She could sense the conflict in him, a struggle mirrored in her own heart as he handed her the glass.

As he spoke, she’d sip, catching the pain in his voice, the hesitation, the way he carefully chose his words. It struck her immediately that he was hiding something, shielding her from a truth too harsh to bear. The frustration of being kept in the dark boiled within her, and she couldn't help but voice her doubts, her fears. What’s stopping you now? voice barely a whisper but clear.

The mention of the blood curse sent a chill down her spine. The idea that their families had intertwined their fates so deeply, that she was part of some ancient, dark pact—it was almost too much to process. Curse? What curse? Eyes narrowing unsure whether to believe him or scoff, brushing aside his claim her House would delve so low.

Malik’s promise to tell her everything, to share the full truth next time, left her with a strange mix of dread, anticipation and frustration. She wanted to know, needed to know, yet feared what those answers might reveal about her life and her future. I was told stories that the Vrai were liars, bloodthirsty animals, and an enemy of our house for ages because your family butchered us into almost annihilation before. My brothers used to tell them to scare me into not leaving the estate, but it didn’t matter, I couldn’t ever go far without fainting.

When he leaned in and kissed the top of her head, a gesture so gentle and unexpected, it made her heart ache. There was a sincerity in his actions, a promise she felt she could hold him to despite the shadows that surrounded them. Could she take him at his word? The conflict in her heart pulled her in all directions, all from such a simple act of affection, something denied to the dancer since arriving here.

The faint remnants of Malik's touch lingered on her skin, a strange comfort amid the turmoil within her. As she looked at him, she saw not just an enemy, but a fellow prisoner of their shared fate, someone who might be the key to unlocking the mystery of her life. She pitied him in a way. She vowed though, to maintain a heavy guard, the mantra of her brothers, ”never trust a Vrai”, continued to toll as a warning bell in the back of her mind. Forgive me, if I have little faith in your word, Lord Vrai, but I will agree to listen when you decide to plead your case.

@Malik Vrai

Now? He raised a brow as he watched her, the frown on his face seemingly permanently etched there. Now? He wondered, to himself, if he actually knew the truth of it on his own. No, he'd never allowed himself the luxury to ponder what had stayed his hand. Perhaps, maybe, it was some sort of misguided loyalty to Malachai that stayed his hand. He had expressed in the past that he would kill the woman if it came down to it, before he let himself be killed, just to end it, but even now, Malik couldn't be honest when it came to the reason why he didn't.

Maybe it was hope.

Hope that they'd figure out a way to beat the curse, that there was a way to stop the both of them dying a horrible, painful death. Would she try and kill herself, like he had, to prevent having to go through the torment of the curse slowly taking over the last cognizant moment he had, left with just thirst and need. How their ancestors had twisted the magic through their very blood, and that's what caused their twinned thirst.

Better to bend the truth a little, for something he couldn't even admit to himself yet. I've been ordered not to.

Better that she be a little bit frightened of him still so that when the time came it was easier for them both. She could die hating him, as long as he saved her from the same fate as his father. He could see the disbelief on her face, as she told him of the stories her family told. Sounds like a feuding set of families, doesn't it? Neither wrong in a generations long fight, both painting the other to be the villain?

He stopped himself from standing, a hand on a knee as he looked back over to her, the corner of his mouth barely raised as he searched her face. I'm not a liar. It was as simple as that. He wasn't, not to her. And he gave her an exasperated look as he shook his head. In any case, I suppose I should let you be to your name day celebrations, probably have gifts, and.. places to go. He resumed standing. He was certain the pendant he had fashioned for her had been delivered by this point, which if she went ahead and watched it tonight, she would known the whole truth, his memory of that night.

He hated the memory, every bit of it, and he had been all to happy to put it down on a memory crystal to be rid of it. With it recorded, he didn't have to remember it himself any longer -- he was free to be rid of it.

Of storming the Salvo home, of finding her family gathered around her, with little silver knives, and she, so innocent, so pure in a white dress, sat there, happy that she was offered a party, on her name day, of all days. Of her family killing several of his in that first skirmish, of finding out she was just a child still, and the Salvo blood too much for his father, the Elder Vrai's battle with the curse lost in a moment.

Of how he had shoved her into the wardrobe, and bodily put himself between her and his own father. His father who was hunting the girl in the white dress with a hunger that wouldn't be sated -- the elder Vrai had been rabid in need, frothing at the mouth, eyes bloodshot and unblinking. The man hadn't even held on to his weapons, he had reverted to tooth and nail at that point.

How he had raised his swords and struck quick and true, one in the neck, one in the heart, making them both orphans in that moment.

Of how he had sat, his back to the wardrobe door, keeping her locked in it, while he cradled his father's body.

The crystal itself was made into a beautiful pendant, a dragon and phoenix wrapped around the point, in battle with one another. It had cost him nearly the rest of his own personal fortune, but it was worth it to him, to safeguard the truth, and to hand it over to her for when she was ready to face it. Malik only hoped he was still alive to see it. Maybe then their war would be done.

He doubted she would figure out what it was in one night. And if she did, he would be there, her little Spook, to bat it away for another time. Until it was forgotten for a little while at least. He smoothed his robes down and went to the door, happy that the pillows were enough to prop her up properly. Don't get too drunk, I'd hate to hear stories from Dorothy about you puking in the carriage.

She found herself matching his look, quizzical and deepening lines of frustration for his uncertainty and following answer. Halfway through a sip she snorted, droplets spluttered across her training garb. The truth was conveniently evaded despite his answer held an air of truth to it. No charge had been brought to her by the Eyes or by anyone else to warrant her head.

So. I am still just a mere Doll. her voice, faintly above a whisper. Forever in a glass house, able to peer out and wonder but never allowed to venture far from. Would she remain here, in the Archon’s estate forever, forbidden to chase the dream of furthering her dancing? Forever living by someone else’s whim? No. Despite what attempts he made to frighten her, Seraphine pulled together her courage, unsteady as it was. He was all too close and yet too far away, both comforting and repulsive, engaged in a dance that was spinning… it made her almost dizzy.

Confused by the inner conflict, Saffy ignored his question regarding their families feud. Her shifting gaze only returned to meet his as he professed himself not to be a liar. Against every charge that she could lay against him, Saffy couldn’t argue it… or could she, a smirk flashing. Her head leaned forwards, retreating back into her nest of cushions. Not right now, no. The slight amusement vanished as he reminded her of the day, however.

Unsure if he meant it in a way to hurt her, Seraphine schooled her face, unwilling to let him have the satisfaction. Celebrations, really? No. She couldn’t stomach it, mind haunted by flashes of mismatched scenes and blood… so much blood. Saffy’s tongue darted across her lower lip before rolling against the upper plump skin, sensation was beginning to return to her legs, but she made no move to acknowledge it. She rather focused, uneasily, the gnawing ache of his distance, narrowed gaze following him closely.

Yet again, his words, tone and fading presence bewildered her. The concern, while backhanded, irked her enough to retort as he left, scowling at his retreating back. Yeah. Well. Tell your girlfriend to quit spying on me. Which was frankly ridiculous, but she had to say something and once sure she was alone Saffy sank back into the cushions with a quiet huff. Ass.


~Fin

@Malik Vrai