When I awoke, I was half expecting someone to be by my side. But I was alone and staring at the stupid bed canopy. I scowled as I sat up and rubbed away the sleepiness from my eyes. I would have to do something about it soon, I was growing tired of the obnoxious color rather quickly. Either it would get replaced first, or I would go to the Academy and leave the accursed color behind.
My joints popped as I stretched. Sleeping that long made my joints stiff, so I continued my stretches after getting up off the bed, bending over to hold my ankles.
When my body was feeling pleasurably loose and warmed up, I pulled the cord to call for Yiranna as I sat. The quick exercise helped to wake my mind and prepare me for what I had planned for today.
Yiranna brought in breakfast and I noted that there was no porridge today, which I appreciated.
“Good morning, milady,” Yiranna said as she entered. “Would you like me to do your hair while you eat?”
“Nothing too elaborate for today,” I said, standing and reasonably sure I wouldn’t fall while I walked, “I don’t plan to do much.”
Yiranna continued with her exaggerated movements as I ate, her touches soft even as she struggled with my curls and the knots that had formed while I slept. She kept up a steady chatter about the gossip she had heard while I was ill, her words filling the silence nicely. I didn’t contribute much, too focused on de-stringing my orange to think about talking. Oranges truly were annoying with their stringy things—note to self, figure out the proper name for the stringy things because it was annoying to refer to them as such—why couldn’t they just be nice like apples? Apples had cores and their seeds could be poisonous if consumed in large quantities, yes, but it wasn’t such a hassle to eat them! They were a much more respectable fruit.
Yiranna chuckled and I realized I had said the last part of my thoughts out loud, a bad habit I had developed in prison when there was no one else around to speak to. I was just glad that I had spoken Vasterian so that Yiranna wouldn’t get suspicious of me mumbling in forgein languages.
“Er—carry on,” I said with as much dignity I could muster with the offending fruit in my hand.
“Of course, milady.”
She did little to hide her smile but I let her have this. I would prove myself to be a dignified lady one day, and this was her one embarrassing story she may have to show others that I was not always infallible. I studiously ignored the memories of the many other potential stories she could tell instead, and ate the blasted orange and its stringy bits.
Yiranna finished my hair quickly after that, a simple hairstyle held up by several hair pins, and then laid a few simple dresses.
“Do you know if my father is busy today?” I asked, wiping off the fruit juice on a napkin and standing. Yiranna helped me into a soft green dress with half sleeves.
“I’m not sure,” Yiranna said, tightening the lacing in the back so the material didn’t bunch up awkwardly. “Would you like me to find out?”
I nodded and smoothed out my skirt, marveling at the way the fabric felt up my fingers. Yiranna found a pair of gloves that would compliment the dress and then left. I spent a few more moments enjoying the softness before putting on my gloves, the lightly colored gloves sliding on smoothly and familiarly. It was like I had been missing something until now, and I almost felt whole again.
One last thing was needed and then I would feel ready to tackle the world. I opened my dresser drawer and pulled it out, enjoying the weight of it in my hand. The fan snapped open with a crisp crack and I fanned myself for a moment, enjoying the breeze rustling my hair. It closed smoothly and I caught myself just staring at it, smiling like an idiot. Fans were something I had only just got interested in, in this time, though I had always enjoyed the way you could hide your expression behind them when your social mask failed. By the time I had gone to the Academy, my fans were an extension of myself, giving me a constant barrier between the world and me when I needed it. I had tailored my dresses to include a loop to hook my fans on when I had to dance or my hands were preoccupied.
I frowned and made a note to start commissioning my dresses with that loop. I planned to always have a fan on me, so that was very much needed.
A knock, then, “Jacqueline, I’m coming in.”
I arched an eyebrow at Father just barging in. “And what if I was in the middle of getting dressed?”
Father’s eyebrow was equally arched, though his was mocking. “Yiranna informed me she had already helped you dress.”
I allowed myself to be improper and rolled my eyes. Father chuckled and walked closer, plucking off lint from my shoulder.
“What is it you needed, dear?” Father asked.
“I have a list of things, actually,” I said, retrieving the paper from the night before. He read it quietly, though his eyes widened as he got farther down the list. When Father looked up, I interrupted whatever he was about to say and said, “Also, if it would be possible, I would appreciate my clothing being altered so that I may clip my fans to my waist. Holding them constantly isn’t feasible, additionally with this, I will be less likely to misplace them.”
Father looked a little taken aback at my sudden request, but after a moment he nodded.
“That sounds feasible, though it likely would take at least a week and a half to do,” Father said, then glanced at the list in his hand. “These on the other hand—Lynne, some of these books I don’t even recognize. How did you even hear of them?”
Drat, I had hoped he would blindly say yes because of guilt and love. It appeared that he would not be so easily swayed.
“Well,” I started, mind racing to find a good explanation, “I have always been interested in academia and many of these books I found being referenced in other texts I had read.” A calculated lie but one that he wouldn’t call me out on because Father, for all of his redeeming qualities, did not like to read, especially the books that lectured on the unintended social and economic consequences laws sometimes had. A fascinating read, really, one that I found hard to put down. But, I digressed, Father would not know that some of these books I should not know of.
He squinted at the list. “An In-Depth Examination of the Use of Music in Morian Religious Ceremonies. Jacqueline, what on earth makes you want to read this book? Do you even know much about Morian religious ceremonies?”
Perhaps I was a little too confident in him not questioning me.
“I want to read it because it sounds interesting,” I said, fighting the urge to blush because it was frankly annoying due to the fact there was no way to make it disappear once it appeared. “I haven’t been able to read much on the Mori Plains, and I thought this would help to bolster my knowledge of them.”
Father still looked incredulous. I shifted uncomfortably, fingers tapping and flexing against my fan.
“If you don’t want to get me them, I’ll just ask my tutor,” I said, definitely not pouting, nope, no siree, no pouting to be found in this room. Pouting was so undignified. I was sulking, thank you very much.
Father sighed and ran a hand through his hair, leaving it in its natural artfully disheveled look that irked Mister Aaron to no end.
“I’ll get them for you,” Father said, sending me a look when I brightened, “after I verify with your tutor that you’ll be able to understand these.”
I nodded, not able to keep the satisfaction off my face. That would be something I would have to work on. Keeping my emotions under lock and key was important in the political sphere and anyone who showed weakness was dead meat.
“Can we ask now?” I asked, stepping forward to tug on one of his sleeves, blinking my eyes up at him in what I hoped was a cute manner. Based on the sigh and the nod, I think it worked.
“You’re lucky Mister Crevier stopped by to check on your condition,” Father said as we walked through the halls. If I stayed a half step too close to him, well he didn’t say anything about it so I figured I was fine. We were greeted as we walked, several of the staff telling me how glad they were that I was feeling better. I smiled and nodded in thanks, though part of me wanted to escape back to my room to get away from the weight of all their gazes.
Our destination was Father’s office. Mister Crevier was sitting in the chair next to Father’s desk, idly flipping through a book. Upon our arrival, he looked up and saw me and his smile was so wide and relieved that it took me aback. I knew he enjoyed having me as a student and I liked him as a teacher, but I didn’t think that extended much past the classroom.
Mister Crevier stood, closing his book.
“Miss Jacqueline, it is good to see you well,” Mister Crevier said, his smile not cooling but dialing back in intensity.
“Thank you for your worry, Mister Crevier,” I said demurely.
Father cleared his throat and stepped forward, handing Mister Crevier the paper. “Jacqueline has requested these books, and I wanted you to check that she would be able to handle them.”
Mister Crevier hummed, his eyes skimming over the words. I don’t know what made him pause and give me a significant look, but that only stopped him for a moment. He looked at me again, his gaze searching. Then Mister Crevier grinned.
“I see that you finally have decided to listen to my advice Miss Jacqueline,” Mister Crevier said. “How soon do you plan on applying to the Academy?”
Father recoiled slightly in surprise, then frowned in my direction. I kept my gaze squarely on Mister Crevier.
“I would like to apply during the next exam period,” I said, making both men look at me in surprise.
“So soon?” Mister Crevier said.
“I no longer care about preserving someone else’s ego at the cost of my education,” I said, keeping my voice even.
The main reason I had never truly considered applying early to the Academy was that the Traitor was a year older than me. If I applied the same year he did, it would surely cause him embarrassment. I had wished to spare him that and applied at the normal time like the rest of my ‘friends.’ But I no longer cared about their pride.
I will leave them in the dust. They will see my success and feel nothing but envy because they will never begin to compare to me.
Perhaps this was a form of petty revenge, but it left me with a dark feeling of satisfaction when I thought of it.
Mister Crevier made a thoughtful noise and opened his mouth, only to be cut off by Father.
“Jacqueline, how long have you wanted to apply early?” His voice was not quite soft but there was an underlying tone of hurt.
I swallowed and couldn’t bring myself to look at Father. “I’ve been thinking about it for… a long while. Mister Crevier has been telling me to consider it for months now.”
Now Father’s gaze was turned to Mister Crevier and I could breathe easier.
“Please don’t give me that look, Duke,” Mister Crevier said, his voice light as always. “If I had thought Miss Jacqueline was finally thinking of applying early, I would have informed you. Before this, she had always said no. But, based on this list, Miss Jacqueline has been thinking of this for a long time. These titles aren’t known by casual students.” Mister Crevier glanced at me and it was full of pride. He straightened and looked Father square in the eye.
“I fully believe that Miss Jacqueline will be able to pass the entrance exam,” Mister Crevier said. “As soon as I can, I will write my letter of recommendation for her.”
Father looked conflicted, looking between Mister Crevier and I with a frown.
“I see. This…” Father looked at me again and I hoped I was projecting youthful innocence and hope. It was silent for a long moment, with both Mister Crevier and I waiting for Father to wrap his head around the idea.
“I’ll have to think about it,” he finally said, his gaze dark and serious. “Milo, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to have a talk with my daughter now.”
Mister Crevier only hesitated a moment before nodding. He said his goodbyes with a quick bow.
Father stared at me some more, then bid me to sit. He didn’t make any moves of his own, which was not a good sign. Sitting put me at a disadvantage, being lower and having to look up at Father when he spoke. But there was nothing I could do about it, so I sat.
“Jacqueline,” Father said once I was settled, “why do you wish to go to the Academy?”
I swallowed. This was the hard part. Believe it or not, I was not the best at getting people on my side in arguments. My favored approach to winning arguments was to beat my conversation partner down with my intelligence and laugh as they struggled. That would not do for this argument.
“Because I wish to learn.”
“You could learn well at home, Mister Crevier is well regarded by his peers for his intellect.”
“He is,” I admitted, “but he can only cover so much. His main academic focus is on Vasterian literature and architecture, but I find myself wanting… to learn other things.”
Father picked up the list. “Like The Ahgrán Tragedy: Motifs, Themes, and Characterization.”
“Yes.” I did not fidget when he looked at me.
“Why?”
“I may not be able to create my own art, but I want to understand what makes good art good and what I should be looking for when I consume it so that I may understand what is of quality.”
Father put the list down.
“There is no possible way for you to see an Ahgrán play,” he said plainly. “It’s a month’s journey to even get there, it’s near impossible to secure tickets, and, most importantly, you don’t even speak the language.”
My traitorous eyebrow twitched and Father, with his intense scrutiny, caught it. His frown was deep and he leaned forward.
“Jacqueline, don’t tell me you’ve learned Auldan.”
I did as he said and did not tell him that but he did not look satisfied.
“Jacqueline.”
I rubbed my thumb over my hand as I spoke. “I would not say that I am fluent, but…” I shifted in my seat. “I have been studying Auldan, learning from books. My pronunciation is likely off—“ a lie, I had practiced in my first life, worked and worked until my lips felt like they would fall off from the way the words twisted in my mouth “—but I would be able to speak in basic, if butchered, terms.”
Father said nothing, eyes locked on me with an expression of deep confusion on his face. The silence hung heavy in the air. Was he… waiting for me to prove it?
I cleared my throat, remembering the practice sessions I had with a lady from Ahgrá and let the language settle in my mouth.
“Hello,” I said, making sure to not make the consonants too hard or soft. Father twitched violently. “My name is Jacqueline. I am not good with words but forgive my mouth for its failure.”
I folded my hands in my lap and waited for Father to respond. Either he would believe me or he wouldn’t, I didn’t think he knew any of the Ahgrán language so he’d be guessing if I said things correctly.
He didn’t say anything but I was keeping my mouth shut this time. It was his move, to choose how to respond and decide how this conversation would go.
Finally, after what felt like an unreasonable amount of silence, really Father, please be quicker next time, he gathered his wits and spoke.
“I see that you… truly mean to learn all that you can,” Father said, his grip on the paper a little too tight, “I had just thought—perhaps foolishly so—that you may be allowed to just be a, a—child a little while longer.”
He stepped forward and put a hand on my shoulder, making me flinch.
“Once you get into the Academy, especially so young,” he said as if it was a guaranteed thing and I appreciated his confidence, “the world will have its eyes on you. Life—life will be more difficult for you, and I will not always be allowed to help you face your challenges, do you understand?”
“Yes, Father.”
His hands moved to cup my face as he looked down on me, eyes searching for something in my expression. He did not find it and instead leaned forward to kiss my forehead.
“The world is harsh, my love, I had only wished to shield you from it for just a little while more.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Forgive this father for being so protective.”
“Of course,” I said, smiling as I stood and grabbed his hand. “You do this out of love, I know, and I forgive you.”
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Something lifted from Father’s shoulders. “What a dutiful and kind daughter I have, what a blessing you are.”
I laughed a little and smirked at his silent request to let him in on the joke.
“Perhaps not so kind when idiots stand in my way,” I said, just a little meanly. Father laughed and placed a hand on my head, only ruining my hair a little.
“I wouldn’t expect anything else.”
A yawn escaped me suddenly and I covered my mouth, surprised. I didn’t feel sleepy at all. Father just laughed a little more.
“It appears all this talking of learning has tired you out,” Father said. “I’ll call for Yiranna and have her take you back to your room, alright? It wouldn’t do to have you exhausted come testing time. Rest well, Lynne.”
I got back to my room rather quickly, wolfing down a small lunch of bread and cheese Yiranna insisted I ate before sleeping again. I thanked her even as I told her this would just be a small nap this time and I planned on being up for dinner.
“Sure, milady,” Yiranna said, voice benevolent as she allowed my claim to go uncontested. I hugged my pillow close and curled under the blankets, ignoring her laughter. Rude, how very rude. I would definitely be awake, just to prove her wrong. My eyelids grew heavy and sleep took me once more.
-,-
It was not a dream but a memory that wrapped around my mind like a moldy and moth-eaten coat, entirely unpleasant and sending uncomfortable goosebumps over my skin.
I was in a cathedral, looking up at the stained glass that went up, up, up to the ceiling. The birth of our kingdom was etched into the glass, God's gentle hand resting upon the first and most divine of our kings. The king knelt, head bowed reverently, religiously, as he accepted the burden of ruling. God’s face was obscured, more of an impression of an expression than anything, but in that empty face, there was judgment. Judged to be enough or judged to be wanting, it was up to the one praying to decide as they knelt before the glass, like our king did before God so long ago.
Sunlight filtered in, its golden color tinted and then tainted by the colored glass of the dawn’s rise, turning red as it hit my clasped hands. I was kneeling, as was custom in the cathedral, and my knees were starting to grow sore as I stared up at the blinding light, hoping to find some sort of explanation, or, miraculously, salvation for what I had done.
I was seven and praying to God for absolution, to explain why I had done what I had done, to tell them that I wouldn’t do it again, to promise that I would be devout for always. In my heart of hearts, I begged for forgiveness.
My mouth was dry and my eyes suspiciously wet as I stared up at our faceless God, hoping that they saw good in me still and that the blood had not stained my ledger for good.
I blinked then, as the light shined brighter, turning my vision completely red.
Then, my limbs felt heavier and I was taller suddenly, my eyes now above the back of the pews.
What? This was not how it had gone. I was supposed to be found crying by a priest and praised for my devotion before he kindly, but firmly, returned me to my father.
I blinked again and when I looked down, I was older.
With a sharp breath, I realized I was older than I had been when I went to sleep. My body was the one I had when I was twenty, full of lean muscles and smooth scars.
“Ah, you’re awake we see.”
I jerked my head up, scanning the pews for the person my mind dreamt up to torture me. There was no one, and then there was a chuckle.
It was deep, and simultaneously sent chills down my spine and a warmth spreading in my chest. It was terrifying and comforting, a sound I never wanted to hear again and wanted to be the only thing I heard for the rest of my life.
“Don’t be confused, our little lily of the valley, we know you are smarter than that.”
The voice was like the rumble of a waterfall, deafening and wondrous and so very hard to listen to.
Shaking, I looked back towards the blinding light, at the glass where my God was depicted.
The figure of God had shifted, no longer touching the king. Instead, They faced me, and, as much as a faceless figure could look down into my soul, They looked at me. The set of Their shoulders implied amusement, though Their face was still impassive with judgement.
“Clear your face of confusion, rose of crimson blood, it does not fit your features, we think,” They said, and it was so strange to hear the divine voice that made me want to scream in agony and joy while the glass God’s face didn’t move.
“Is—is this real?” I whispered, taking a step forward, eyes locked on the glass, scarcely daring to breathe.
“We wouldn’t taunt you so,” They said, body shifting in a way that implied irritation, “and give you something that you will not be able to hold onto. We think that would be… a waste.”
My throat went dry and my chest heaved unsteadily. This… What was this?
“Why are You here?” I breathed, blinking away tears as the light brightened even more, enveloping me with both warmth and coldness, wrapping around my throat in a chokehold as it stroked my cheek tenderly.
The glass shifted and God stepped in front of the king, obscuring him from view.
“We think you know why, this world’s beaten marigold.”
“You brought me back,” I whispered, wiping away the tears that had frozen on my cheek and tugged at my skin painfully as my too warm fingertips touched them, “but why?”
“You called out to us,” They said, shrugging, though it was only a mere shrug in the way that a tiger would be called a mere cat, it was a basic way to describe the motion but lacking so much of the nuance, but I had no better words to tell you of what I saw. This was God and all They did was beyond imagination.
“What?” I said, trying to remember praying to God before I died.
Their hand came up to tap at Their blurry face, once, the movement graceful and deadly. “You asked us to freeze the princling’s face so that the world could see him for what he truly was.”
“What?” The word escaped me incredulously, trying to wrap my head around this. I—I hadn’t prayed, it was simply a passing petty thought.
“We hear all, tiny and bruised poppy,” They said, and knelt, sending ripples across the new sky and making the light flicker and waver before steadying once more, “and the words you hid deep within your heart intrigued us.”
“I—I’m honored,” I stuttered, unable to come to terms with the fact that God was kneeling before me instead of me kneeling before them.
Their head tilted and I flinched at the sudden and warm anger that rippled across Their body and into the room.
“We were surprised to see what was happening,” They said, crossing Their hands in a sharp movement of disapproval and reprimand, and the only reason I did not cry again was that it wasn’t directed towards me, “your ending was not to be that, red dahlia, we hope you understand that we had a much different plan for you.”
I tried to swallow to wet my throat and speak. It was hard to breathe, my breath coming in quickly and shallowly, making my vision dance.
“What was your plan?” I managed to choke out.
They tilted their head in decidingly pitiful motion and waved Their hand in a casual motion, and my vision and breathing turned steady with that simple movement. Warmth grew in my chest, too warm in my throat, but it chased away the chill of the light.
“We were so sad to see your ending,” They said and I was filled with a rush of affection for my long-neglected God, glad to know at least once person felt something other than joy at my death, especially since it was God, the very being who had created us all, “you were meant for more, much more than being relegated to becoming ash on the wind. We were very angry, you see, that this had happened. And then—” They tilted Their head to look more directly at me, and the judgement that had been hovering on Their face the entire time turned approving, somehow. “—you had such an interesting declaration. You wished to live with no regrets. Tell us, our sweet alyssum, do you know how many people who think like you when they meet their unjustified end?”
That tiny acknowledgement that my death was unjust was enough to send me to my knees, with tearing overflowing.
“Th—there has to be thousands, surely,” I whispered.
They laughed again and it was both gentle bells and ringing steel in my ears.
“You have such optimistic thoughts,” They said, Their hands coming together, loosely linking Their fingers together almost casually, “but no. We have only encountered few like you before, so twisted with anger and love swirling up inside of you like twin flames as you stared at your betrayers, screaming that you will live again, live again with no regrets.”
The implication of that—
“—there were more, like me?”
The movement of Their head felt both benevolent and patronizing.
“Your type is always the most interesting to us,” They said. “You always take hold of your life with your tiny hands and shape it forcefully into what you desire.”
“Were there others like me?” I asked again, needing to know.
“Did we not just make that clear?”
There was an inherent reprimand with that statement and I took a moment to think about what They had said. They spoke with authority and like They had seen this at least a few times before, so, yes, there had been others like me who had been blessed by God and allowed to live once more.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, biting my lips and lowering my eyes, and hoping They did not grow angry with me.
There was a loud and ringing silence in the cathedral. Then, They sighed.
“There is no need to be sorry, my small currant, we do not mean to sadden you. It is… hard to remember for us that you cannot hear our thoughts as we hear yours.”
It wasn’t an apology but—but it was close enough that it had me shaking. Getting an almost apology from God was—was like breathing in that first gasp of air after you were drowned, filling me with desperate relief.
“I understand.” I chewed on my lip before realizing I had never received an answer to my question from earlier, though that seemed to be so far away now. “What was your original plan for me?”
They were silent for a moment, Their fingers tapping Their thigh for a moment.
“We had many plans for you, our dear lavender, you were supposed to bloom in a way that none would dare to look away in fear that they would miss a moment of your beauty and excellence.” I went red at Their words, that sounded… preposterous and unrealistic. “Not preposterous, we assure you, you would have been the centerpiece of our garden, our little queen ruling over this country and bringing it to greater heights that anyone had dared to imagine it could reach.”
My face drained of color, my body comprehending Their words before my mind could.
“I was meant to rule?”
It seemed impossible. The only way that I would have become part of the royal family was if I had married the Stranger, and even then I would only be the queen-consort, not the de facto ruler.
“There are other ways to become a ruler, but we don’t think that you would like us to tell you the details.”
They were right, as God tended to be. But I had a question that burned on the tip of my tongue, begging to be asked.
“What happened to change Your plans?”
The set of their shoulders turned irritated.
“Our plans were made long ago,” They said, “but we believe that the thing that had changed when we were not paying attention is that you were not born first, wonderful milkvetch. And…”
They paused and I felt like I was being scrutinized, every inch of skin and pore being evaluated to be judged for my worth.
“You did not let yourself love.”
I stilled.
Was God… Was God implying that love would have solved all my fucking problems? That such an intangible and fickle thing would have saved me from being burned alive?
“No.”
God’s voice was final and cut off my bitter thoughts before they could grow too twisted. The judgement was neutral again and I felt a deep pang at losing Their approval.
“We do not think you could have saved yourself,” They said, Their voice blank, “we simply noticed what had changed from our plan.”
I nodded and kept my thoughts out of my mind. I could agonize over Their words later.
“You are unhappy with us. We understand. Hearing of what should have been is hard when you have experienced what it was, but now we have a question for you, our kind volkamenia.” I straightened and waited for Their question. “What do you plan to do with this life? Will you follow our plan?”
“No,” the word stumbled out of my mouth before I could realize I was speaking. I should have thought about—what if They were angry I had not considered their gift—I’m so stupid, I should be better than this—
“Your thoughts are so loud. We asked for the truth and you gave it to us. We only want to know why.”
It was the hardest thing I had ever done, gathering up the courage to look Them in the face and speak.
“I will not be Vasteria’s queen,” I said, my voice wavering between confident and terrified. “I—I refuse. I owe the crown nothing and I want nothing to do with As—” I bit my tongue, swallowing down his name before it could dirty both my mouth and God’s ears. “I want nothing to do with the Stranger and his ilk. I just want to learn in peace.”
The weight of Their gaze was like a gentle caress and oppressing weight that threatened to crush my chest.
“We see and understand your wishes,” They said. “Your path is now your own, so we hope that you live with no regrets.”
The edges of my vision started to blur and the light streaming through the glass intensified to a point I had to avert my eyes or be blinded. There was a loud shattering of glass and then something impossibly burning and freezing rested upon my head. It was the right shape for a hand, four fingers and a thumb connected to a palm, but what was touching me felt nothing like skin, more like an immense impression of power pressing against my soul.
“Sleep well, She Who Supplants Her Fate,” They said, their voice fading to a gentle whisper as my limbs grew heavy and dragged me to the ground. “We hope you may be happy in this life, our lovely cinquefoil.”
Something brushed against my eyes, sending electric sparks up and down my body. “We forgave you long ago.”
---
I woke with a gasp, my sweat soaked nightgown sticking to my skin unpleasantly. Bile rose up my throat and I barely got to the trash can near my bed in time, vomiting violently. My throat burned and my teeth were covered in an acidic film as I gagged again, trying to think about that unfathomable presence that had nearly melted my brain.
I drew in a ragged breath, then spit again, trying to get the taste of vomit out of my mouth. I groped in the drawer next to me, and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping my mouth, then my tongue, nearly gagging again as I scraped at the back of my tongue.
My eyes hurt, in the aching way they did when I had a migraine, a deep pain that I couldn’t rub away or lessen. Water, I needed water. I didn’t want to try standing, too afraid the pain would pulse and increase at the change in level. I dragged the stupid can with me in case I vomited again, and made my slow way towards my desk since I think Yirana had left a pitcher of water there last night.
Shaking, I pulled myself up with the chair, debating if I should try to find a cup or just drink straight from the pitcher. It was bad manners and would contaminate all the water, but I didn’t know if I could wait long enough to find a cup.
I looked at myself in the mirror, a natural thing to do when faced with your own reflection. I had only planned to glance and see how disheveled I looked, but once I locked eyes with my own reflection, I froze.
My eyes were brown with flecks of darkness that were frequently called red when they caught the light.
My eyes, the very same eyes I was staring into currently, had fully red irises and my pupils were a startling white.
I screamed, I couldn’t help it, and the pain in my eyes burst like a supernova. I clutched my head and whimpered, and let myself feel hatred for God in that moment. Why, why had They done this? It could only be Them, from that last moment where They touched me.
How would I explain this to my father?
I groaned at that thought. There was no explaining this, it was even more absurd than coming back to life.
My door burst open, and the Traitor stood there, panting.
“Jacqueline, what’s wrong?” he asked, coming near me.
No, no, no, I couldn’t deal with this right now.
“Nothing,” I whispered, not able to look directly at him, keeping my eyes down.
“You were screaming,” he said, then paused, sniffing. “Did… did you throw up?”
“No,” I lied even though the scent of vomit was clear. “Go away, I’m fine.”
The Traitor took a step forward, coming fully into the light. In the back of my mind, I realized that I had woken up just as the sun rose, the light filtering in through my windows.
His clothes were rumpled, looking like he had hastily thrown them on. Lucas was always the one who had soothed me after my nightmares, always the one who was the first in my room after I started to scream. The Traitor took another step forward, hands raised in the way you did when approaching a wild animal. I choked down a laugh. Yes, that’s what I was. A dangerous and unhinged, undoubtedly wild animal you approached with caution.
“Hey,” he said, voice soft in a way that hurt so, so much, hitting me straight in the heart because he sounded like my brother again, “what’s wrong? You can tell me about your dream, I won’t tell anyone else.”
“Go away,” I whispered, wanting to tear away his mask of love and see the truth behind his lies, “just go away.”
He knelt about five feet from me. “Can you look at me, Lynne?”
I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. “Go away.”
“I want to help you.”
Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies, LIES, LIES, LIES, LIES, LIES, LIES, LIES. ALL HE DOES IS LIE TO ME, DOES HE THINK THAT I’M SO STUPID?
“Go away!” I screamed, the sound tearing through my raw throat. “Just go away from me!”
He recoiled, mouth falling open, staring at me with those fucking lying eyes that pretended they were hurt by my words.
“Jacqueline—”
“Go away!” I yelled in Insolarian. If he couldn’t understand basic Vasterian, I’d just cycle through all the languages I knew until he got the point and left my sight.
“Go away!” Meisan.
“Go away!” Juxian.
“Go away!” Bashrian.
“Go away!” Auldan.
“Go away!” Hangaise.
“Go—”
Someone touched me and I lashed out, not wanting anyone near me. “Don’t you dare touch me—”
“I want to help!”
“Help me by getting out of my sight,” I snarled, snatching my arm back from the Traitor, and making the mistake of looking him in the eyes.
There was fear there and hurt, and I wanted to crush them in their sockets, a bout of violence racing through me. But I held back, and just pushed him. He went sprawling, never looking away from me.
“Go. Away.”
I never got to see if he would have listened because Father burst in at that moment, and my head went dizzy with pain.
I swayed, eyes fluttering as the pain increased, and I forgot how to breathe.
I tilted, the ground rushing towards my face before desperate hands caught me, just before my nose grew acquainted with the floor again.
The Traitor was crying as I lost consciousness, curling me into his arms.
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