b e x l e y
the merry girl who became lot's bride, the happy woman who loved her wicked city;
T
Minya’s laugh is a beautiful thing, beautiful as any other part of her, but makes Bexley’s skin crawl. Her proud heart howls and protests—I’m right, I’m right. And she is, she must be, but now the knowledge is slipping away from her and with every passing second Bexley finds herself more and more irked by Minya’s disregard. Foolish girl! She is nothing more than a harlot, this woman with her bright hair and brighter eyes, and when Bexley remembers the sight of the white-flashing tattoo inside her thigh, she has to smile. A knowing, self-satisfied kind of smile.
Company call girl. What a mouth, especially on someone like that. What a mouth on anyone who has the gall to dismiss Solterra’s golden girl. (She will never stop thinking of herself that way. That will always be her title—Solterra’s girl. It is one of few things they can never take away from her.)
The distance between them closes yet again, the infinite rope folding in half. Bexley does not move. Does not acknowledge her with a long blink or even the flick of one ear. When Minya reaches out, something like amusement sparkles dark and derogatory in her blue eyes; if any kind of shiver erupts from the touch of lips against her ear, it’s impossible well-hidden in the placid expression on her face and the easy slope of her shoulders.
What makes you think you are all of those things?
Bexley might’ve snarled if she were feeling less patient. Gone for the fight, gods know she needs one. Could have snapped: I know, because I am God. Instead she lets the acid anger that bubbles from her stomach flow through her and surface only in the sharp, derogatory curve of her smile. Graceful as a wing-sweep, she pulls her head away from the girl’s touch, and the air there sizzles anew.
“It amuses me,” she says, though the rich, dark tone in her voice implies that it doesn’t amuse her at all—“That you think I am the one with something to prove. That you think your stupid question deserves the time it would take me to respond. Or that you are special enough to warrant my attention.” Her grin deepens until it could be a shark’s, made ever-brighter by the flames that move around them. “Say hi to August for me.”
With an delicate bump of her hip against Minya’s she disappears into the crowd.
@Minya | "speaks" | notes: <3
