It is one of those precious last days of fall, and a cold wind blows from the south with the promise of colder winds to follow. Lanterns line the streets of Terrastella, their glow warm but weak against the indigo night. It does not feel like home to the newly promoted emissary. Surely it never really will. It does not even feel like her body as she walks (walks!) step by step up the terraced stairs to the inner court, tail swinging lazily at her hocks.
Eventually, she makes her way to the study. Lit with a flickering orange light-- candles of all sizes, on every shelf and table and windowsill, scented of honey and oats. The large window is cracked just enough to let the smoke out and the sea air in.
Anandi comes to her queen with the sea still dripping from her salt-tangled mane. It is impossible to tell if she even feels the chill at all. Her poise suggests that if you touched her (and oh, don’t you want to touch her) she would either be icy cold or burning hot. Her eyes dare you to try, or else they invite-- look too hard and it all blurs together: the question, the answer, the challenge, want, need.
She stands in the doorframe, casting a long shadow behind her. “Sovereign Marisol.” Their eyes meet and there’s that ocean again, sweet and dark and deep between them. A calling. A yearning. Anandi holds her sovereign’s gaze a second too long, a shade too intense. It borders on inappropriate.
The emissary dips her head and lowers her gaze with a demure flutter of dark lashes. “Or do you prefer Commander?” A sly smile. Anandi’s heart races a little faster. “Or… perhaps there is something else you would like me to call you?”
Queen, do you want to hear me say queen? How I would savor that word like a cherry rolled around the tongue; split, seeded, red and fleshy. I’ll say it so sweetly to you, you'll think it is yours. It is my word, Marisol, but I will gift it to you. For now. You can never say I was not benevolent.
"We have much to talk about." She raises her eyes, tilts her head gently in question. Waiting so politely to be invited in to the study.
A N A N D I
out of my flesh that hungers / and my mouth that knows
comes the shape I am seeking / for reason
Eventually, she makes her way to the study. Lit with a flickering orange light-- candles of all sizes, on every shelf and table and windowsill, scented of honey and oats. The large window is cracked just enough to let the smoke out and the sea air in.
Anandi comes to her queen with the sea still dripping from her salt-tangled mane. It is impossible to tell if she even feels the chill at all. Her poise suggests that if you touched her (and oh, don’t you want to touch her) she would either be icy cold or burning hot. Her eyes dare you to try, or else they invite-- look too hard and it all blurs together: the question, the answer, the challenge, want, need.
She stands in the doorframe, casting a long shadow behind her. “Sovereign Marisol.” Their eyes meet and there’s that ocean again, sweet and dark and deep between them. A calling. A yearning. Anandi holds her sovereign’s gaze a second too long, a shade too intense. It borders on inappropriate.
The emissary dips her head and lowers her gaze with a demure flutter of dark lashes. “Or do you prefer Commander?” A sly smile. Anandi’s heart races a little faster. “Or… perhaps there is something else you would like me to call you?”
Queen, do you want to hear me say queen? How I would savor that word like a cherry rolled around the tongue; split, seeded, red and fleshy. I’ll say it so sweetly to you, you'll think it is yours. It is my word, Marisol, but I will gift it to you. For now. You can never say I was not benevolent.
"We have much to talk about." She raises her eyes, tilts her head gently in question. Waiting so politely to be invited in to the study.
out of my flesh that hungers / and my mouth that knows
comes the shape I am seeking / for reason
@
some say the loving and the devouring are all the same thing
☾
