knew what I wanted and I was not afraid to take it.
Well, not entirely afraid. I could not deny that there was something about that russet haired desert woman that left me with strange feelings and confused emotions. I have been thinking of her, often enough, I like to imagine she is wearing that head piece that I picked out for her. I imagine she catches glimpses of herself in the mirror and looks upon that head piece with remembrance, and imagines that I am there beside her. But I fear, not that she looks upon that headpiece in disdain, but that she looks at it and thinks nothing of me at all. Or, worse yet, she has taken that headpiece and placed it in the bottom of her jewelry box and its sits there even now, collecting dust. Each little piece of dust just a reminder that I am nothing more than a speck on her life.
Still.
She invited me to her party. Maybe she does not expect me to be just one speck, but two. I do not normally attend parties where I am not required. But here I am, standing outside the entrance of her home, here I am walking through the gates, and here I am walking through the doors.
I find her at her booth, there is a crowd gathered around, and maybe it speaks to my boldness around her, or my own entitlement, but I skip past the line and I am beside her in a heartbeat. “Truth or dare?” I say when I reach her side. “If you say truth I will ask if you are glad I came,” I say with something of a simper on my lips. “If you say dare—then I will dare you to show me just how glad you are that I’m here.” And that simper grows into a smirk. Steel grey finds her eyes of amber, and I try to hold her there, knowing that in holding a snake in such a way, I am promised to be bit.
i am angry.
i have nothing to say about it.
i am not sorry for the cost.
I
cannot confess to thinking much about Isabella Foster. I tell myself I do not have the time, and as soon as we part in the streets of Terrastella my mind turns back to the party just as easy as it had been pulled away from it. Nevermind, that I and my brother Adonai are the only ones that draft true invitations, and nevermind the ache in my teeth as I sign mine in looping black script and shake the card to dry the ink with a sense of urgency that I think anyone would call uncommon, at least.
Nevermind, also, that by the time she sashays her way through the wrought-iron gates I am several hours into a growing impatience with no distinct name or origin, just an acidic sort of grind in my stomach and a clench in my jaw that has me begging Pilate for perhaps one too many drinks and the rest of my siblings for a reprieve from this saccharine attempt at family bonding we all seem to be trying, tonight.
"Lady Hagar," says a man at the booth. When I turn back to him, I like to think I look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but the strain in my forehead tells me I look quite a bit less happy to see him than I should.
I silently thank Solis that Pilate is not here, to see me ruining this brief moment of his party, and then silently thank him again, that our parents are dead and our mother cannot witness me pulling my face out of a scowl before the man notices.
I look at him. He has big, wet eyes, and seems to be either too inebriated or self-important to care what I think of him. "Yes, I apologize. I was just looking for someone."
"No matter," he says, "truth or dare?"
A girl in our small party nudges my shoulder, laughing. "Hagar never chooses dare, sir. I don't know why you ask."
"Dare." I say, through clenched teeth. They look at me, wide-eyed and stunned into silence--
--and that is when I begin to understand that I can always count on Biz to arrive at exactly the right moment, even if that moment is terribly late. She floats past the line in a flurry of pine-scent and buttermilk yellow to my side and I watch her, trying to decide if I am delighted or angry, offended or amused. I think I fall somewhere in the middle on both counts.
Truth or dare, she asks me, and I grin. "You're late." is all I say to her, before turning to both of my new friends, now looking a little more than irritated, and flash them as bright of a smile as I can. "I must ask you to leave us," I begin, and then, more firmly, "Have another drink." Though they open their mouths to protest, each of them turns and walks toward the kitchen in unison, until they and the line behind them have dispersed.
I turn back to Biz, tuck my chin into my chest, and chuckle once through my nose. "I know you didn't hear our good friend, there, Biz, but I never choose dare-- so, I am glad you came."
I look at her, for a moment--and it is now that I realize I have been waiting for her, this whole time, and I am more surprised still to realize that my impatience has only grown now that she's here. I do not have to wonder if she sees the pendant on my brow, hung just below the loose braid of my mane. I know. "My turn. Truth or dare?"
I huff, it is a mockery of a laugh as it leaves my lips. I want to roll my eyes, but you would as soon see a Foster roll their eyes as a kelpie drown in water. And at the same time, I want to press my face close to hers and tell her that I am here, and never have I wanted to be here, a party, so badly. Yes, I am late, but I am here.
Looking at her is like staring directly into sun, but I cant look away either and my steel eyes are fever bright as her own light reflects back in them. I can feel my own heart beating and I suddenly breathe, as if I had been holding my breath since the last time we spoke and move to her side as she banishes the party goer from her sight. I love her power, her confidence, and I love how it feels to stand next to her and pretend that her power and her confidence is my own by association. “Maybe grab one for your date, if you have one,” I say with a smirk. It sounds dumb coming out of my mouth, but I want to feel like she does, when she speaks to people like that. I want to say grab one for your date, and leave mine alone.
I laugh, it sounds just so ridiculous as my words. “You know I am always happy to help,” I say. My eyes glance at the pendent she wears, the pendent I picked. It is like some sort of victory against her, and I swallow down my pride, knowing it would not last in her presence.
“Well, a Foster never lies, so truth would not be very much fun.” I say and I know what I am doing, I am the snake charmer, but I do not hold any instrument. The basket opens she is there with amber eyes, and she holds the instrument, not I, and sends me into charmed darkness. “Dare.”
his will be fun, I think.
She is thinking very hard, I can tell; not because I know her, because I do not. There is no part of me that watches her with anything more than an almost venomous joy. I am not prying, or reading the lines of her face, or trying very hard at all to transcribe what each twitch of a muscle or dilation of a pupil means in the grand story of Isabella Foster.
I can tell because it is unmistakable, on her face or any other. That is how hard she's thinking, I believe. And I watch her do it. I want to know why, with grabby little hands and less patience than a princess should have, I'm very sure. I want to know why I want, just as badly as I do, to see myself through her eyes, just for a second.
I'm sure it is because of the way she looks at me, like she's drowning. It does not happen as often as I'd like. I am still busy wondering, still busy thinking, myself, when she speaks. My brows raise. I had not expected that from her.
(This must be what Pilate feels like, with his men, and his discernment, and a stack of expectations to which no one ever quite measures up. I smile because I think if he saw this, a Terrastellan noble kicking some poor, foolish man while he was down, he would have been apalled.)
"Goodness," I say. I am smiling. Why am I smiling? "That was quite the statement. Tell me, Biz, do you often make a point of verbally castrating strangers in their own country, or is this a new hobby of yours?" I watch him go. For a moment I am almost sad, though I myself sent him way. The winter air feels cold like it should. It is crisp and stings the inside of my nose when I inhale. I am cold, too. And surprisingly empty.
And then it is gone. I look back at her as kindly as I can, the gold of my eyes warm, but not molten, the soft pink of my muzzle reaching out to touch the off white skin of her shoulder. It is warmer than I am. I think, warmer than I have ever been. She is staring at me, again. I stare back, politely. Composed. As if I am no more than some girl, at a party.
Of course, I am so much more. But it would be rude to say so. "Never! Then I dare you to lie."
My smile grows into a grin.
![[Image: fhOESb6.png]](https://i.imgur.com/fhOESb6.png)
