Emma stood in the hallway, her hair slightly damp and twined into a loose braid running down her back, wearing a different white dress, this one square-necked, long sleeved, and very slightly less form-fitting. She instantly dropped to her knees, then pressed her hands and face to the ground. "I'm truly sorry, Mister Storm," she said, taking the time to fully enunciate every syllable. "Please, I've no greater desire presently than to beg your forgiveness, though I've no right to do so."
Tim looked down at her for a while, not particularly looking at anything, but just to see how long she'd maintain her position, barefoot and face down against the stone floor at the edge of the carpet running down the hallway's center. As the seconds stretched into minutes, she remained nearly motionless save for her breathing. He nudged her shoulder a little with his foot, but she resisted and remained stubbornly in place. "Why should I believe anything you say?" he said after he'd waited a little over five minutes.
"You've no reason to do so," she said, her voice muffled as she spoke into the floor.
"You're not really helping your case," he said with a grimace. Still, I'm not sure I can imagine her groveling like this if she wasn't sincere. Pride's the one thing I know for sure she's got a lot of. "You can stand up if we're going to talk."
"I've no other means by which to demonstrate my resolve," she responded, continuing to remain in place.
"And if I tell you to stand up?" he challenged.
"I've no intention to offer myself as a slave," she said, sounding the slightest bit annoyed. "I'll remain here either until you've closed your door to me or until you've granted me forgiveness."
"Right," he said slowly as he worked through the situation. "So… What you really want is a do-over. A fresh start."
"I've no right to request such a thing after how I've behaved with regards to you," she said, shaking her head a little.
"But that's what you want, isn't it?" he persisted.
"I'd… I'd not decline such an offer," she said.
"Why, exactly?" he asked next.
"I've no desire to tell some manner of story in an attempt to garner sympathy," she replied. "You've my most sincere apology, Mister Storm. There's no other individual, living or dead, mortal or deity to whom I've ever lowered myself in this manner, and I'd not expect there to be a second."
Tim took a deep breath while he thought it over. Well, she's certainly got the part down. I assume she's recovered now if she's here like this, since I can't imagine she'd have a change of heart for any other reason. I can appreciate the no-bullshit attitude too instead of trying to tell me some sob story, but I'm not really that happy about her trying to kill me. Then again, she almost got killed the second time, and that would've been my fault. Ish. Obviously I couldn't have known that was going to happen.
He warred with himself for a few minutes, but ultimately, it was one thought that made the decision for him. Fuck, I'll probably spend the rest of my life thinking about that creepy neutral expression of hers. I can't get it out of my head. "Alright, have it your way," he said with a sigh. "What now?"
Emma stood up with remarkable grace, then bowed deeply. "Thank you, Mister Storm," she said, once more carefully enunciating each word. She held the posture for a moment before returning upright. Her face was no longer the expressionless mask that she'd been wearing, instead showing traces of confusion. "As for now, I'd no expectation of this outcome, so it seems you've the upper hand. Perhaps we might speak for a time, assuming you've no pressing matters? I've a considerable while until my upcoming match, and I'd wager we've some matters which bear discussing."
"Well," Tim said, continuing to watch her not-quite-expressionless face while remaining unaffected her eleven-out-of-ten beauty, "I don't mind talking if you're going to actually be honest for a change."
"I'll make no promises on the matter, but I've no immediate cause to speak falsehoods to you," she said, her lips curving up into a small, playful smile.
"So this is the real you, huh?" Tim said as he turned to walk back into his room, leaving the door open in case she decided to follow.
"Perhaps," she said. The door shut quietly. "Or… Perhaps the best way to describe it would be to compare it to wearing a mask for so long that I've lost track of whether I've still got it on," she continued.
Tim sat down in the armchair this time, but Emma had stopped near the door. She shuffled her bare feet on the carpet and began to giggle. "Oh my, this feels…" She lapsed into further giggling with one hand over her mouth as she stared down at her wiggling toes. "How remarkable," she said after a few seconds, her mouth remaining open and eyes wide as she looked down at the floor. Shortly thereafter, she shuffled the rest of the way across the room and took the sofa across from him, curling her legs up behind herself as she leaned one arm on the raised end. "Your carpet's quite a lot…fuzzier than mine," she said with a pleased smile. She frowned, then looked down at her hand and rubbed it on the arm of the sofa. "Ooh, and this is an intriguing texture as well!"
"You're…better, then," he said, fighting to restrain a grin at how amazed she was with the feel of a sofa. That's unexpectedly wholesome.
"Truly I can never apologize nor thank you sufficiently for what you've done, Mister Storm," she said, inclining her head. "I'd long since forgotten how marvelous it feels simply to be alive." Her fingers pinched the end of the sofa, and she continued slowly working the fabric back and forth.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
"You mean you weren't born like that?" he asked.
"My…state was the product of an alchemical concoction I imbibed nearly two decades ago," she said, her fingers halting their exploration of the sofa. "I recall vividly the sensation of the sun upon my face during a certain summer day prior to that, but otherwise it's all rather new and exciting for me."
She leaned on her elbow and slotted the fingers from each hand together, moving them back and forth slowly. "My first curiosity, upon returning to my quarters and verifying that my spine and leg were quite all right—thank you for that as well, by the way, as I'd heard some fragments of your vociferous altercation in which you advocated strongly for the act of not killing me—was to experience the heated spray bath." She closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath, her lips curving into a wider smile. "I'm certain I've never felt anything so wondrous."
Yeah, that was…maybe just luck that I stumbled onto something that ended up with her living. "You mean a shower?" he said as he shifted his thoughts. Thinking on it, I can't even imagine how good a shower would feel after not being able to feel anything at all for twenty years.
"Is that how it's known on your world?" she asked, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow as her hands stilled. "Shower. Certainly it's a fitting name."
They sat in silence for a time, looking across the table at each other.
She's not exactly an entirely different person, but she's definitely—
"You've more questions for me," she said with a four-out-of-ten smirk. "It's clear to me in your gaze. Ask them, Mister Storm." She pulled her braid around over her shoulder and began to undo it.
"Am I really that obvious?" He frowned.
Her smirk became an eight-out-of-ten. "Perhaps not compared to some, but I've considerable experience in reading the gazes of men. Suffice to say, your every intent is open to me as though written in stone." She frowned, then turned her head and reached behind herself to stroke the carpeted wall. "Why's there carpet upon your walls?" she asked, looking nine-out-of-ten bewildered.
Tim's mental brows drew down over his face, but he just shrugged, ignoring what was really only a one-out-of-ten kind of weirdness considering everything else that was going on. That sounds very…not wholesome.
"I suppose there's no accounting for a deity's sensibilities regarding decoration," she said, returning to the process of re-braiding her hair more tightly. A small smile played over her lips again. "Go on then. Ask the question to which you've desired an answer. Why…"
Can she really read my mind? There… No, she was just fucking with me. "Why did you go through with that whole thing before?" he asked. "You know, the part that ended with you almost killing me last time you were here."
Emma's hands stopped briefly, and she stroked the braided portion of her hair, running her fingertips slowly back and forth over it. "Do you believe that an individual is born as they will always be, or do you believe that one is molded, shaped into their eventual form?"
"Uh, you mean like nature versus nurture?" he said as he adjusted to the non sequitur.
Her expression changed to one of surprise, and she grinned. "Ooh, I do like how concisely you've stated it. A phrase from your homeland, I'd wager? Yes, that's the crux of the matter indeed. I believe we've the chance to shape ourselves as we wish, to nurture who it is we'll become, as you've so eloquently put it. However," she continued, looking down at her hair and inclining her head, "by that same thought, it's also the case that we may also be shaped by our surroundings. If our surroundings are the stronger force when compared to our selves, naturally we'll be molded into a form necessitated by what surrounds us."
She looked back up at him with her eyebrows raised and no trace of a smile evident in an expression that was around a six-point-eight in earnestness. "Now then, Mister Storm, do you believe I've shaped myself, or do you believe I've been shaped by my surroundings?"
"I'm…guessing the latter," he said after a moment. This isn't the way I expected our talk to go.
"Right you are," she said with a small sigh. "Continuing onward towards your answer, I've acquired a rather specific number of skills in the course of my upbringing as a royal princess and heir to a throne of—well, it's certainly no kingdom over which I'd wish to…" She frowned and looked down at her legs. "How strange. It feels as though something's begun…"
Her frown deepened. "Well, I'm not quite certain how to describe it, if I'm to be perfectly honest. It's most certainly a discomforting sensation, however. As though my foot…" She uncoiled her legs from beneath herself to lay them lengthwise across the sofa and folded herself nearly in half to begin rubbing one of her feet. "Ooh, and now it's gotten worse!"
"Did your foot fall asleep?" Tim asked, starting to chuckle. "Feels like pins and needles now?"
"Yes, perhaps another exceedingly apt description if I were to use my imagination, Mister Storm," she said, continuing to vigorously rub at her foot. "Is this truly an indignity I'll be suffering with regularity? And I'll thank you not to laugh at my plight."
Her words only made him laugh harder. "No promises," he said between laughs as he watched her scowl at her foot.
"How absolutely fucking dreadful," she said as she sat back up, now sitting with her legs stretched out across the sofa with her back against the armrest and rotating the errant foot continually while wiggling her toes. She plucked at her dress, adjusting it to more fully cover her legs. "Perhaps… No, that shower was quite nice," she muttered.
She's funnier than I expected too, though not intentionally, I don't think. He calmed himself again, though he continued chuckling sporadically for a while.
Emma gave him a patronizing look matched with a hint of a smile. "If you've finished taking your pleasure in my pins and needles, we'll resume our journey towards your answer. As I've said, I've been raised in the court of a kingdom. To that end, certain skills become increasingly valuable for a lady to have if she wishes to remain on top in such a place, as it were. One of those skills is the ability to construct alliances in order to remove…obstacles which might otherwise topple her."
She resumed the process of braiding her hair, looking down at it while she worked. "And now we've reached the summit of our journey, Mister Storm. I'd found myself in a strange, unfamiliar place, and my only acquaintance was our dear Volcatia Scipio, the Lightning Scorpion of Onyxfell, for whom I hold a particular dislike, as I've mentioned during our previous encounter. She was an obstacle I sought to remove, and you, strong as you are by your own admissions, were to be my ally in that endeavor once I'd successfully pried you out from between her legs."
"Huh," he said.