[P] bite my tongue, bide my time

[Hagar]

HAGAR IESHAN

Truth be told I don't mind
'Cause her hell's my paradise
She can crush every hope
Got her heels stompin' down my throat

T

here is this thing about me that makes me neither proud or excited, and it is the look in the girl's eyes when she turns her head and sees that it is I, standing there: pupils that swell with a split second of admiration before it's pushed back down. Nevermind her absent smile, I think. Nevermind the far-off stillness of her voice. All that matters is the brief flicker of oh in her eyes and the absolutely wicked joy that blooms to life in my throat. I am not proud of it. I wish it weren't there.

But it is there, and it faces me as I face it, burning and burning and burning as it crawls its way down to my chest.

My family thinks that Pilate is the vain one. That he is the petty one. I am lucky we do not know each other well enough, though we have lived together our whole lives, to know the truth. I think all Pilate's doings might come from a better place, than mine, in any case.

"Oh, thank you!" I chirp, "I was going to ask if you would, anyway."

I wave off the entourage, who hesitate only a moment before dispersing, disappearing around corners to do their own shopping, for the estate or themselves. It is so far from my mind, the second the last one is out of sight, that I barely remember they came at all.

My eyes float from her face--a pale sort of cream color, like buttermilk, fine features and a posture that suggests some well-to-do family or another. I am familiar with each Solterran house, but I was not required, as Adonai (and Pilate after him) and Miriam were, to learn everyone's faces, from Dusk to Dawn.

--anyway, my eyes float from her face to the smooth black sheet of her hair to the drawings she's carrying. "What are those?" I ask, setting off in order to restrain myself from plucking them out of her grasp without asking. We dip out from under the archway and into an alley where it is still windy and gray, but not overly so. The Dusk Court is a canyon of white walls and cobblestone, I think.

The wind howls as it blows through. It must howl as it blows through me, too.
"Oh, I'm Hagar." I say, and, smiling: "Tell me your name."

@Isabella