☼ RUTH OF HOUSE IESHAN ☼רות
"I heard the incessant dissolving of silk— / I felt my heart growing so old in real time. / Her heart must be ash where her body lies burned. / What hope lets your hands rake the cold in real time? / Now Friend, the Belovèd has stolen your words— / Read slowly: The plot will unfold in real time."
"I heard the incessant dissolving of silk— / I felt my heart growing so old in real time. / Her heart must be ash where her body lies burned. / What hope lets your hands rake the cold in real time? / Now Friend, the Belovèd has stolen your words— / Read slowly: The plot will unfold in real time."
Save for the desert blooms braided into my hair – a shock of pastel pink against the ink-black and brown, more unsightly than I would like to admit (but sweetly-scented) -, I have not bothered to prepare for the party at all.
(The flowers themselves only came with some insistence. In the winter, the blooms that are common in summer and spring are considerably more expensive. I thought that they would better-suit my sisters the moment that I saw them, but they had already been prepared – and I felt some small, prickling desire for recognition as an Ieshan, or a noble at least. I had hoped that they would be yellow, which would, at least, be tolerable, but they came out as pink as the sunrise blush; and, even as he braided them into my mane, Ishak had struggled to keep a straight face, and admitted, in the end, that they did not suit me at all.)
I have very little interest in my brother’s parties, illustrious and exciting though they may be. I lack my siblings’ sociability; I know that I am better now at interacting with others than I was as a girl, but I still catch myself forgetting to react to things, to smile when a smile is expected and to force a demure laugh at someone’s attempt at humor, amusing or otherwise. I am grateful, I suppose, that certain social cues are formulaic, but they make me innately aware of all the ways that this world is not built for me. I wish, quite often, that I didn’t possess any desire to adhere to them; I wish that I could finally abandon my futile search for normalcy. I know I won’t, though. Not until I can make myself content with being half-filled.
I don’t like the parties because they are so full of obligations. I doubt that Pilate cares about my attendance; I love my brother, but we have never been close. (And I still remember the way that he – that all of my brothers – teased me relentlessly, when I was a girl. It was Miriam who protected me from them. I don’t think I’ve ever made it up to her.) I love my brother, but I am not sure that we share much more than our family name. If I spent the evening in my room, nose buried in a textbook or sorting through my herbs, I doubt he would even bother to be offended.
But I am sure that Ishak will attend, if only to pry, and I do feel some quiet need to assert myself as an Ieshan. (I have no desire to wane further than I have already.) Besides. There is some, small part of me that longs for my family to act like a family, if only for an evening.
It is another one of those futile things that I hope for. Another obsession with normalcy. I have a feeling that, if my siblings could ever get along, they would no longer be themselves.
The halls are swarmed with servants, busily preparing for the party. The noise is headache-inducing, so I slip outside and into the courtyard, which is no less busy but has the benefit of being outdoors. It is still sickly hot – winters are only cold at night, in the desert -, but I barely notice; I spend most afternoons in the hospital, which is stuffier and hotter by far. I recognize a few of the faces among the servants worriedly attempting to arrange the decorations, largely from Ishak’s anecdotes. If I were them, I’d be worried too. Pilate takes considerable pride in his ability to throw a party, and I am not sure that I want to know how he would react to any failure to meet his (exceptionally high) standards.
I consider them briefly, but it is the figure of Hagar, who seems to be working away at…something…that catches my eye. I have never spoken to Hagar as much as Miriam, but I feel like I have seen less of her than usual lately. I have seen less of all of my siblings lately.
I pause, for a moment, at the edge of the courtyard, and then, possessed by some desire I can’t quite put to words, I stride up to her, eyeing her current project. “Hagar?” I incline my head at her, a moment too late to seem entirely natural; I have to remind myself of what curiosity looks like. “What are you working on?”
I suspect that it is for the party. I have never asked Hagar what she thinks of them, but I suspect that she enjoys them – and, even if she doesn’t, she is Pilate’s twin, so I am sure that she will take part regardless.
I am not sure that I am actually curious – but I am one of the hosts, whether I like it or not, and I’m sure that it would be form to be out of the loop entirely.
@Hagar || pre-party thread? || agha shahid ali, ghazal
(The flowers themselves only came with some insistence. In the winter, the blooms that are common in summer and spring are considerably more expensive. I thought that they would better-suit my sisters the moment that I saw them, but they had already been prepared – and I felt some small, prickling desire for recognition as an Ieshan, or a noble at least. I had hoped that they would be yellow, which would, at least, be tolerable, but they came out as pink as the sunrise blush; and, even as he braided them into my mane, Ishak had struggled to keep a straight face, and admitted, in the end, that they did not suit me at all.)
I have very little interest in my brother’s parties, illustrious and exciting though they may be. I lack my siblings’ sociability; I know that I am better now at interacting with others than I was as a girl, but I still catch myself forgetting to react to things, to smile when a smile is expected and to force a demure laugh at someone’s attempt at humor, amusing or otherwise. I am grateful, I suppose, that certain social cues are formulaic, but they make me innately aware of all the ways that this world is not built for me. I wish, quite often, that I didn’t possess any desire to adhere to them; I wish that I could finally abandon my futile search for normalcy. I know I won’t, though. Not until I can make myself content with being half-filled.
I don’t like the parties because they are so full of obligations. I doubt that Pilate cares about my attendance; I love my brother, but we have never been close. (And I still remember the way that he – that all of my brothers – teased me relentlessly, when I was a girl. It was Miriam who protected me from them. I don’t think I’ve ever made it up to her.) I love my brother, but I am not sure that we share much more than our family name. If I spent the evening in my room, nose buried in a textbook or sorting through my herbs, I doubt he would even bother to be offended.
But I am sure that Ishak will attend, if only to pry, and I do feel some quiet need to assert myself as an Ieshan. (I have no desire to wane further than I have already.) Besides. There is some, small part of me that longs for my family to act like a family, if only for an evening.
It is another one of those futile things that I hope for. Another obsession with normalcy. I have a feeling that, if my siblings could ever get along, they would no longer be themselves.
The halls are swarmed with servants, busily preparing for the party. The noise is headache-inducing, so I slip outside and into the courtyard, which is no less busy but has the benefit of being outdoors. It is still sickly hot – winters are only cold at night, in the desert -, but I barely notice; I spend most afternoons in the hospital, which is stuffier and hotter by far. I recognize a few of the faces among the servants worriedly attempting to arrange the decorations, largely from Ishak’s anecdotes. If I were them, I’d be worried too. Pilate takes considerable pride in his ability to throw a party, and I am not sure that I want to know how he would react to any failure to meet his (exceptionally high) standards.
I consider them briefly, but it is the figure of Hagar, who seems to be working away at…something…that catches my eye. I have never spoken to Hagar as much as Miriam, but I feel like I have seen less of her than usual lately. I have seen less of all of my siblings lately.
I pause, for a moment, at the edge of the courtyard, and then, possessed by some desire I can’t quite put to words, I stride up to her, eyeing her current project. “Hagar?” I incline my head at her, a moment too late to seem entirely natural; I have to remind myself of what curiosity looks like. “What are you working on?”
I suspect that it is for the party. I have never asked Hagar what she thinks of them, but I suspect that she enjoys them – and, even if she doesn’t, she is Pilate’s twin, so I am sure that she will take part regardless.
I am not sure that I am actually curious – but I am one of the hosts, whether I like it or not, and I’m sure that it would be form to be out of the loop entirely.
@
HE FEEDS ME RED MEAT / HE WATCHES THE BLOOD POOL IN MY MOUTHlaughs at my red teeth❂please tag Ruth! contact is encouraged, short of violence
