It was tiring, all the pretending she did. To always, always play the lady, when it would be so much easier, feel so much better to be the monster. To constantly appear just a step ahead when she was truly a step behind. It was exhausting work, but Anandi was addicted to the thrill of it. Here she could be anyone, do anything. It was all so easy. She faked it all well enough that in this strange new world she not only survived, she flourished.
And she was only just getting started.
She was tired, but it didn’t show. She was lonely too, and this she revealed from time to time-- but only enough to soften strangers, invite sympathy. In this way she was able to suggest the outline of what she wanted them to see-- I’m just like you. I get lonely too. But she let them fill it in, color her with beauty, mystery, danger, whatever they wanted her to be. Hers was a carefully maintained enigma.
As she stands in the doorway and looks too long at the queen, she can only wonder at what secrets the other woman hides. In her heart, in her wings. She teases Anandi first with a humorless, toothless smile, then with the brief flash of teeth. There is a mystery hiding behind the soft flesh of her lips. Anandi’s heart races at the thought of revealing it.
“As you wish,” she says with a graceful curtsy (she had no right to be so graceful, doing such strange maneuvers on such unfamiliar legs, but she had practiced the gesture long and hard) and then she is invited inside.
Anandi slips into the room, fitting neatly in the small space she was given. The two women are close now, close enough that for a moment, desire --for what exactly? A kiss or a nibble? A fight or a feast?-- turns her vision crimson. But she blinks (slowly, drunkenly, not particularly wanting the feeling to fade but knowing it must, the show must go on) and the world is in perfect clarity once again. Marisol’s cutting grey eyes are an anchor and an (unknowing) invitation.
“I am curious to hear what you think we have to talk about.” She says it like they are enemies at war. She is wise, to not trust her emissary, and Anandi thinks she might love her a little bit for it. The princess despised idiots, and there were quite a lot of them in this world. It would be far more interesting to rub shoulders with a woman of intellect.
She garnered Mari would not appreciate the intricacies of small talk and relationship building, so she jumps right into it. “I would like to discuss your expectations of me. Where you would have me. The image you would like me to represent when in public and abroad. The extent of my authority.” She pauses to search Marisol’s eyes for a reaction. Then she lowers her voice and leans in cheek to cheek, close enough to feel the warmth of the sovereign's skin in the scant air between them. “And, there is a… personal matter, as well.” She turns her head, eyes the open doorway behind her pointedly. They would have to close it. All in due time.
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
And she was only just getting started.
She was tired, but it didn’t show. She was lonely too, and this she revealed from time to time-- but only enough to soften strangers, invite sympathy. In this way she was able to suggest the outline of what she wanted them to see-- I’m just like you. I get lonely too. But she let them fill it in, color her with beauty, mystery, danger, whatever they wanted her to be. Hers was a carefully maintained enigma.
As she stands in the doorway and looks too long at the queen, she can only wonder at what secrets the other woman hides. In her heart, in her wings. She teases Anandi first with a humorless, toothless smile, then with the brief flash of teeth. There is a mystery hiding behind the soft flesh of her lips. Anandi’s heart races at the thought of revealing it.
“As you wish,” she says with a graceful curtsy (she had no right to be so graceful, doing such strange maneuvers on such unfamiliar legs, but she had practiced the gesture long and hard) and then she is invited inside.
Anandi slips into the room, fitting neatly in the small space she was given. The two women are close now, close enough that for a moment, desire --for what exactly? A kiss or a nibble? A fight or a feast?-- turns her vision crimson. But she blinks (slowly, drunkenly, not particularly wanting the feeling to fade but knowing it must, the show must go on) and the world is in perfect clarity once again. Marisol’s cutting grey eyes are an anchor and an (unknowing) invitation.
“I am curious to hear what you think we have to talk about.” She says it like they are enemies at war. She is wise, to not trust her emissary, and Anandi thinks she might love her a little bit for it. The princess despised idiots, and there were quite a lot of them in this world. It would be far more interesting to rub shoulders with a woman of intellect.
She garnered Mari would not appreciate the intricacies of small talk and relationship building, so she jumps right into it. “I would like to discuss your expectations of me. Where you would have me. The image you would like me to represent when in public and abroad. The extent of my authority.” She pauses to search Marisol’s eyes for a reaction. Then she lowers her voice and leans in cheek to cheek, close enough to feel the warmth of the sovereign's skin in the scant air between them. “And, there is a… personal matter, as well.” She turns her head, eyes the open doorway behind her pointedly. They would have to close it. All in due time.
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
☾
