THIS IS A POEM FOR MONSTER GIRLS WHO HAVE NO STARS IN THEIR SKIN, ONLY FIRE AND IRON AND SCALES
Boudika has never learned the art of “making friends.”
The academy had practically assigned friendships. They were not forced; no, they grew more naturally than anything she had ever known, borne of shared suffering and brotherhood. There had been no awkwardness involved, no hesitation. It was simply that they had to rely upon one another, and their names stream through her mind quick and like a current, one after the other VercingtorixCianAnaanMiachDagda and with the stream comes memory after memory of laughter, and toil, and tragedy. All of it is broken off as she faces an open door and expression of genuine surprise. Whatever doubts she had, or hesitations, cannot be acknowledged now—there is no turning back.
Boudika cannot help herself. It is a deeply seated insecurity that has her scouring his face for disappointment, or disapproval. Perhaps he hadn’t really intended for her to find him—she begins to wonder if it was all a mistake.
Then, the surprise gives way to a smile. It is as bright as she remembers and his expression stills her nerves.
When did you become so unconfident? she wonders, as she enters his room. Boudika assesses it, briefly, and finds it satisfactorily utilitarian. It reminds her of her own room, in some ways. She smiles, but it is a surprised expression; she is taken aback by his compliment, and it takes her longer than she would have liked to respond. The chestnut mare finally, awkwardly, settles on: “Thank you.” Boudika does not believe it, however; the gold he wears is natural and unassuming. She might have returned the compliment, if she had only known what to say—she moves her mouth as if to speak, decides against it, and transitions into something less awkward. Her eyes roam his quarters once more, and the time they settle on the sabre, taking note of the interesting arrangement of sea ornaments. Boudika chooses not to comment on it immediately, but her eyes linger.
They return to him after a long moment. Things got… Well, you know. Were they not still that way? There is something quiet between them, nearly strained, and she wonders. Was it the discontent of Denocte that he spoke of? Their Queen and her dragon, crying for blood? Raum in the desert? Or was it something even more strange?Perhaps, even, the bridge to the center of the ocean, and the island where time did not seem to exist, and all manner of strange things inhabited the suggestion of reality. After a moment she remembers the collapse, the twisting snake and the relic so close, nearly in reach… Almost there. But not close enough.
“I do know.” And she smiles again, rousing herself from her thoughts. For the first time, the expression truly reaches her eyes, and she answers, “What would you prefer? A spar or a dance?” There is something mischievous that crosses her face and she gestures with her chin toward the sabre. “I like your decor.”
FOR THE GIRLS WHO WALKED ALONE INTO FORESTS AND INTO NIGHTS, DEEP AND DARK AND ENDLESS, IN THEIR EVERLASTING LONELINESS
@August
Boudika has never learned the art of “making friends.”
The academy had practically assigned friendships. They were not forced; no, they grew more naturally than anything she had ever known, borne of shared suffering and brotherhood. There had been no awkwardness involved, no hesitation. It was simply that they had to rely upon one another, and their names stream through her mind quick and like a current, one after the other VercingtorixCianAnaanMiachDagda and with the stream comes memory after memory of laughter, and toil, and tragedy. All of it is broken off as she faces an open door and expression of genuine surprise. Whatever doubts she had, or hesitations, cannot be acknowledged now—there is no turning back.
Boudika cannot help herself. It is a deeply seated insecurity that has her scouring his face for disappointment, or disapproval. Perhaps he hadn’t really intended for her to find him—she begins to wonder if it was all a mistake.
Then, the surprise gives way to a smile. It is as bright as she remembers and his expression stills her nerves.
When did you become so unconfident? she wonders, as she enters his room. Boudika assesses it, briefly, and finds it satisfactorily utilitarian. It reminds her of her own room, in some ways. She smiles, but it is a surprised expression; she is taken aback by his compliment, and it takes her longer than she would have liked to respond. The chestnut mare finally, awkwardly, settles on: “Thank you.” Boudika does not believe it, however; the gold he wears is natural and unassuming. She might have returned the compliment, if she had only known what to say—she moves her mouth as if to speak, decides against it, and transitions into something less awkward. Her eyes roam his quarters once more, and the time they settle on the sabre, taking note of the interesting arrangement of sea ornaments. Boudika chooses not to comment on it immediately, but her eyes linger.
They return to him after a long moment. Things got… Well, you know. Were they not still that way? There is something quiet between them, nearly strained, and she wonders. Was it the discontent of Denocte that he spoke of? Their Queen and her dragon, crying for blood? Raum in the desert? Or was it something even more strange?Perhaps, even, the bridge to the center of the ocean, and the island where time did not seem to exist, and all manner of strange things inhabited the suggestion of reality. After a moment she remembers the collapse, the twisting snake and the relic so close, nearly in reach… Almost there. But not close enough.
“I do know.” And she smiles again, rousing herself from her thoughts. For the first time, the expression truly reaches her eyes, and she answers, “What would you prefer? A spar or a dance?” There is something mischievous that crosses her face and she gestures with her chin toward the sabre. “I like your decor.”
FOR THE GIRLS WHO WALKED ALONE INTO FORESTS AND INTO NIGHTS, DEEP AND DARK AND ENDLESS, IN THEIR EVERLASTING LONELINESS
@August
