BEXLEY BRIAR
When Seraphina speaks again, in the same cool, even tone as always, expressing what as much muted support as Bexley could ever ask for, she thinks that must be it. Every interaction she’s had with the Sovereign has been brusque and business like, finished with exactness and done away with as soon as it outlived its use. She’s come to associate the silver with clipped words and conversations. It is because of this - their past experiences coming to mind like bubbles on the surface on a pond - that Bexley dips her head after those words and turns to exit through the arching doorway, expecting nothing more. Satisfaction glimmers quietly in her chest.
But then the silence is broken. The Sovereign’s voice reachers her again, floating silver through the air. Bexley pauses mid-step. Unsure, blinking in quiet surprise, she realigns herself to face Seraphina completely, and for a moment thinks about where to even start.
The tale of the Briars is as long as it is grisly, as Bex knows it by heart, could repeat it word for word as her mother told it to her, even, but she gets the nagging sense that Seraphina might not want to know everything she does, that her question comes from a place of forced politeness rather than real interest.
Still - when it comes to someone as stoic as the silver, Bexley will take what she can get.
She blows out a cool exhale, as if in thought, before speaking. The sun makes its own white halo behind Seraphina’s head. Horrible. But Bexley's voice is warm, affectionate, even, in its absent-minded casualness. Not to me, of course - never horrible to me - but still ruthless. So you see where I get it from. Bex flashes her a caustic smile. My grandparents were gods, or something like that, and they made their own corner of the world to rule. The place itself was - is - beautiful, completely green, all untouched. It worked, the monarchy, until it didn’t -
Bexley lifts her chin, showing off the sparkle of that tight gold chain. And most of us died in the revolt that followed. My brother was the first. I escaped - slippery, I guess - for a moment she lapses into painful silence, salt building in the curve of her throat, eyes flickering to the sandstone as she attempts to regain herself.
And she does, with relative quickness.
I don’t know if that’s what you wanted to hear. I had two cousins - that’s easier to swallow.
But then the silence is broken. The Sovereign’s voice reachers her again, floating silver through the air. Bexley pauses mid-step. Unsure, blinking in quiet surprise, she realigns herself to face Seraphina completely, and for a moment thinks about where to even start.
The tale of the Briars is as long as it is grisly, as Bex knows it by heart, could repeat it word for word as her mother told it to her, even, but she gets the nagging sense that Seraphina might not want to know everything she does, that her question comes from a place of forced politeness rather than real interest.
Still - when it comes to someone as stoic as the silver, Bexley will take what she can get.
She blows out a cool exhale, as if in thought, before speaking. The sun makes its own white halo behind Seraphina’s head. Horrible. But Bexley's voice is warm, affectionate, even, in its absent-minded casualness. Not to me, of course - never horrible to me - but still ruthless. So you see where I get it from. Bex flashes her a caustic smile. My grandparents were gods, or something like that, and they made their own corner of the world to rule. The place itself was - is - beautiful, completely green, all untouched. It worked, the monarchy, until it didn’t -
Bexley lifts her chin, showing off the sparkle of that tight gold chain. And most of us died in the revolt that followed. My brother was the first. I escaped - slippery, I guess - for a moment she lapses into painful silence, salt building in the curve of her throat, eyes flickering to the sandstone as she attempts to regain herself.
And she does, with relative quickness.
I don’t know if that’s what you wanted to hear. I had two cousins - that’s easier to swallow.
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