i think we've loved a thousand lives
i try to find you every time
As the sun dips below the horizon, the markets are coming alive with the real festivities of the evening. Yet again, they are hosting another seasonal festival, except this time there are games and more performances involved. It seems some of it is coming to a close to make way for the bigger acts on the stage tonight, but there is only one Morrighan is keeping her eye out for.
It's felt like ages have gone by since she had last been with Al'Zahra. So much has happened since too- becoming Regent, somehow regaining immortality.
But then, there is something else. Something she hasn't told a soul, not even Antiope. Not even Bram. At first, she tried to convince herself she was imagining things, but it became very clear after how sick she kept feeling.
Is she ready to be a mother? To start a family? Probably not, but this is the reality she's living now. Just as she's taken on the responsibility of Regent and looking over the Court, she'll do the same with a new life. Somehow.
In truth, she doesn't feel confident doing it alone. Her eyes scan the crowd with a little more urgency now. The butterflies that typically flutter in her chest are even worse today. It's a mixture of her eagerness to see Zahra again, but also to tell her the news. How will she react? It's hard to tell with her sometimes with that wildness in her eyes. She is like the very fire she breathes to life with her magic.
When Morrighan finally does see her, it's like the breath is knocked out of her once again. It appears she may have just finished her dance and this may be as good of a time as any. The Regent trots forward with a lump in her throat, but hides her nerves with the familiar comfort of flames.
"Zahra," she says, although it's more of a sigh as she reaches out to caress her neck. She closes her eyes and breathes in the familiar scent of smoke and spices, always complimenting the smell of ash and charcoal that follows her.
There are many things she wants to say to her. She wants to ask where she's been and why she's been away so long. Her instincts always kick in and she wants to be protective and selfish. For now, she tries to keep this locked away. There would be time to ask those questions later.
"I-" she stops, wanting to finish her sentence with "I've missed you". Everything in her has. Her body has craved her touch, the fire has ached to steal her warmth and get a taste for her skin again. Can she say this?
Morrighan clears her throat and looks around for a break in the crowd. "Walk with me?"
She wants to tell her many things, but not when so many ears may be listening.
The Illuminated
“both beauty and terror, without beginning, without end.”
Like a lone lion she had been prowling between the courts. From underbelly to stage, there is nothing that was too dark for her to descend into. The freedom of it all had been sweet on her tongue and her dances had grown more wild, more feral, more full of wanting, by the night. And it's still a wild dance purring below her skin tonight as Denocte celebrates another season as only the night creatures can.
There is a drum echoing in her heart and a bass roaring in her bones. Poetry slides over her skin like silk and song echos in the whispering kiss of chain and flesh. Between the bass and song Al'Zhara dances and each movement, each curl of her neck, and each echo of her hooves and wood, is holy. She dances like a star, and a sun, and like the molten rock curling in the center of their world like dragons.
The crowd is silent as she dances. There is only poem, and flesh, and beauty too wild for any of them to think of holding.
And it's that wild beauty that walks from the stage with sweat frothed across her chest and roar in her heart. Every inch of her screams a warning as the Regent approaches with her body dripping notes of something that looks like uncertainty. Part of her wants to soothe away the tight lines of Morrighan's expression. Another part of her wants to dissolve back into wild dance and freedom.
She steps closer as Morrighan does, and she brushes a line down a painted cheek as her own shoulder receives a caress. Something in her blood sparks, and smolders, and starts to beg for blood and sin. She trembles with the heat of it, of the way ash and salt rise from their skins like pollen from a rose. It washes over her as she waits for the Regent to speak.
Al'Zahra grabs a bit of mane in her teeth. She pulls Morrighan closer. The gesture is not kind, or loving, but a demand for the way the Regent dared to come to her with uncertainty instead of fire. She does not say that she missed the mare, she does not say anything as the other mare clears her throat. There is only silence and the heat of her gaze that seems as dark as it is piercing.
Let me see your soul. The look says. Let me in..
And she does not wait for a break in the crowd when she says “of course.” Instead the crowd breaks around her as she starts to walk through it with a wanting look spared to Morrighan as she joins her.
i think we've loved a thousand lives
i try to find you every time
When she receives Al'Zahra's touch again, it's like the world around them burns away to ash. It's just the two of them in the heat of it and Morrighan wants to lose herself again. She remembers being vulnerable and giving in to the dance and the fire. She wants to drink it all in like a sweet wine, but this is not the time. As much as everything in her is begging while Zahra fiercely tugs on her mane to bring Morr closer- she cannot.
There is a pit in her stomach. These are not butterflies.
The crowd breaks for them, as if the fire between them is as strong as the fire she wields with her mind. For once, the feeling of many curious eyes on her is uncomfortable and makes her more sick. But they walk further away from it and she starts to feel better. Only a little bit though because there is still news to share.
News she never thought she'd ever be telling anyone, ever. She still hasn't figured out how she feels about it herself. It's more responsibility than she had ever imagined for her life.
When she's sure they are alone, Morrighan forces herself to break away from Al'Zahra's side to face her. For a moment, she doesn't want to look in the mare's eyes. Is she ashamed? She's definitely nervous and these are not emotions she's proud to show. It's like this woman has torn down the last of the walls she's spent ages putting up and there's not a way to put them back.
Morr has never been one to beat around the bush. She will not be that way to her lover either. "I'm pregnant," she confesses, her voice still hushed just in case there's someone in the corners spying on them. "With our child." It's news that should make her excited, but she doesn't know. Maybe she won't know until she sees the expression on Al'Zahra's face change. Maybe she's hoping the woman will be happy for her - for them.
It's a dream she never thought she'd have, but it's all swirling inside her now, waiting to plummet down, down, down. She's never felt so sick in her life.
Now we can be a family, now we can be together, she wants to say, but she doesn't. There's only ever been wanting when the two look at each other, but now Morr only looks at the woman with hope in her eyes.
The Illuminated
“both beauty and terror, without beginning, without end.”
There are a million things her wild and ancient soul is prepared to handle. And this--
This is not one of them.
Nothing in her understands the ways in which to be gentle, or loving, or anything but a lick of flame racing across the mortal coil. Her own gaze is not hopeful, or loving, when her steps almost falter (she is too graceful to stumble, too holy). The look in her gaze is a bit of wildfire trapped in flesh. It's full of rage, and violence, and a hundred other looks too dark, too bright to name. And she tries to bank it, to water it down to something less violent than the storm roiling in her core, but she knows it's too late, too late, too late when she says “oh” and it comes out like a sigh.
She lets her movement stop once they reach the wall of nothingness between the crowd and the night. The darkness rushes over her, taking with it the last flare of fire in her gaze. Al'Zahra does not try to get it back, but rather lets the blackness start to feel like suffocating. There is a peace in it, a place where her soul is not racing for the edge of a cliff like a cursed thing begging for death. And she lets her soul race into that abyss, before she turns to lay her lips against Morrighan's cheek like she is full of something more than dread and wildness chewing a bit of iron between its jaw.
It is not a feeling she enjoys, these words and the hope in Morrighan's eyes each echoing in her thoughts like links of chains. She wants to run instead of kiss, to dissolve into ash and float away on the breeze until the grass turns to forest and to mountain pass.
But she tries to settle her ankles into the links of chain, and she tries to smile against the feeling of falling.
She tries. Oh, she tries.
“Have you chosen a name?” There is still soot, smoke in her voice, and heat made to singe and devour. But tonight, with the weight of chains holding her down like stones in her belly, the magic in them does not sound like song and dance.
For the first time she does not know what else to say, not with all her blood begging her to run, run, run.
you are the only hope for me too
i just wanted you
Maybe Morr didn't exactly know what she was hoping for. Al'Zahra has always been a wild soul. Her movements are reckless both in dance and lust. There had always been a danger present and maybe that was destined to be their downfall.
Because what she sees in the woman's expression is disappointment. She sees no joy from the thought of a child being born or from them possibly becoming a family. All of those hopes and wishes are washed away the moment the woman says "oh."
Part of her wants to be angry. She wants to scream- maybe to Al'Zahra or the sky as if the universe is to blame. But then she feels it all disappear as the mare's lips brush against her cheek. It's a reassurance it seems, but Morrighan can't help but wonder if it's a fake gesture. Eyes don't lie.
Al'Zahra asks if she's chosen a name and it breaks Morr from the swirling mess of her thoughts. It takes her off guard for a moment and she has to think. Several names had come across her mind, but she wasn't too sure which would be the right one. The last thing she had planned was to become a mother, after all.
"I was thinking Maeve if they're a girl," she manages to say, her voice wavering. She quickly glances at Al'Zahra to see what she thinks. "After my grandmother." There are other names she's thought of, but none have stuck quite like her grandmother's. Since Morrighan isn't typically sentimental, she's not sure how she feels.
Being at her home of Ourania felt like ages ago when it had been years in reality. She doesn't think of her family much anymore, but once and a while a memory of her grandmother slips through. The woman managed to bring out the softer side of Morrighan, but their time together had been too short.
However, the child's name isn't as important to the Regent right now. Not only is she terrified of carrying a child and being responsible in that way, she has to raise them too. While the Court would likely be supportive (or she'd make them), she'd prefer if Al'Zahra could stay in the picture.
There is a knot in her stomach as Morr kisses her back. "Will you stay with me?" Maybe she knows already what the answer is. Even as she pulls away, the words feel heavy on her heart. "We can raise them together here." Morr's gaze turns to the walls around them from the buildings of the markets. In the distance, there is a low buzz of the normal traffic. It feels like it's worlds away from this alleyway and not just around the corner.
She wants to hope that Al'Zahra with such a wild soul could settle down. Morr would spoil her with as many jewels and fine wine- at least as much as she could buy. Maybe she'd spoil the kid too.
The Illuminated
“both beauty and terror, without beginning, without end.”
The night moving around them, bloated with mortals and cedar-smoke and gems twinkling in the corner of her gaze like stars, starts to feel like a nest of ants. Al'Zahra who-is-the-last-of-her-kind, feels like she might be a grain of sand trapped in between the synchronized army and the walls. She wants to be the flood and the fire, the beginning in the end. Love is not enough for her (nothing is, nothing will ever be).
Surely, she thinks, there must be more to life than this?
Her hooves dance over the stone as she prances in place, singing even now with the elegant lines of her forms. Air races though her lungs like a gathering of vultures and the darkness starts to feel like a tide dragging her out to sea even as it drowns her. Music lives in her pulse, a steady drum of war no mortal remembers. She wants to sink into it like a stone-- this feeling of running, and running, and running until there is only the smell of smoke clinging to her hair and nothing else.
She does not want forever and happiness. Only the embers of it.
And oh, oh, she had thought Morrighan the same.
She smiles as Morrighan offers a name. There are no other suggestions in her thoughts, only the itch of restlessness (like embers in the dirt of a dry forest) and the low-hum of a forgotten war. Her teeth feel like weapons instead of bone beneath her lips as she presses them into the Warden's shoulder. She wonders if she can go through, or out, or just dissolve at the edges of them. “I like it.” Al'Zahra lies, she does not feel anything but hunger, and need, something that feels savage and coiled with waiting.
“No.” She does not yell the word but it feels sharp as a sword on her lips. And when she pulls away the space where the night rushes back in between them feels soothing instead of wanting. “I will not stay. Not even for you.” The phantom chains dissolve away from her ankles and her lungs take their first real breath since her dance ended.
She still remembers walls pressing in against her smoke day after day and century after century. It is not a thing she will suffer. Never again.
A part of her heart, the one that is straining and mortal, aches when she only deepens the black space between them. It sobs in her chest like a dying sparrow. “But I will come back.” Her eyes flash like two golden stars in the darkness as she tries, and tries, and tries, to feel anything but the need to run until the horizon swallows her hoof-prints.
“For you I'll come back. For both of you.” Her hooves sound like tears falling from the cheeks of a god as she dances to the side like a wild thing fighting against a noose around her neck. They sound golden.
you are the only hope for me too
i just wanted you
"No."
It's a simple word, yet it manages to shatter Morrighan's heart into a million pieces. She's not able to acknowledge that Al'Zahra liked the name she picked out. All her mind can hone in on is "no" and it repeats over and over.
"Not even for you."
She feels like she's been poisoned. Like the air has been sucked out of her lungs out of selfishness and she can't get it back. She let her walls down for her, pushed aside all of her anxiety to make way for trust and what she thought was love.
This isn't love.
Not even when Al'Zahra says that she'd come back. It doesn't help. Morrighan is still hung up on "no, not even for you." She feels worthless, like this entire time she had just been a pawn in some sick joke of a game.
She notices how Al'Zahra is tiptoeing away, like she wants to escape from something. From her.
Morr's fire ignites immediately. It starts at the ground, then curls around her legs, rising higher and higher until it appears her whole body is engulfed in flames. She can feel her energy draining almost immediately, but she doesn't care.
Now she just wants to know the truth.
"Did you ever love me?"
She had been so vulnerable. Oh, how stupid she was.
The Illuminated
“both beauty and terror, without beginning, without end.”
Ah, here it is, the spark and ember glow of the end.
She laughs as the flames rise like dragons around Morrighan. The heat makes her eyes water but she does not look away. This is only a mockery of the sacred fire, of all the viciousness that sleeps half-forgotten in the center of her marrow. Her hooves whisper over the grass, using flight and gold-song, to hide the wrath itching its way down her spine.
It pools beneath her burning eyes, flashing white as lightning when she blinks away the smoke and tears. The pain makes her smile.
She's still laughing as she circles around Morrighan and her furious flames. The gracefulness of her steps turns lion feral, wolf feral, djinn feral. She is soot, and smoke, and embers sheathed in white-fire. “Love?” There is only scorn, and bitterness, and a thing unleashed in her voice. She is danger instead of dancer.
Al'Zahra bares her teeth at the space between the two of them, firelight echoing on them and turning them profane. This, this look of hers on the face of beauty, is a thing that consumes worlds and unmakes them down to cells, and organs, and bones scattered like seeds. “What do you know of love or of me?” Her eyes are aching from the smoke, but she still circles and circles like a snake about the newborn world.
There are still too many teeth in her look as she throws herself into fury instead of the noose of this thing between the two of them. “Tell me, Morrighan, tell me one thing about myself. Prove to me that you love me. Or is it only loved now?” And she does not tuck away her teeth, or her wrath, as she stops to face the woman who knows nothing about all the things that Al'Zahra is.
you are the only hope for me too
i just wanted you
Al'Zahra is laughing.
It cuts into her like a blade through her skin. She can feel the blood pouring out of her, just as she had poured her feelings like some lovestruck teenager. What a mistake, what a fool.
The woman circles her and maybe this is when Morrighan realizes it. Before Al'Zahra has even said anything or called her out. The fire rages and can just taste the edges of the woman's skin that's so close yet so far.
Love. It's a word that holds a bitter taste. Perhaps it'll be forever ingrained this way in Morr's mind after this. Is she incapable of love? Is she undeserving of it? Is this to be her fate? She knew some who were in love or claimed to be. That's what she thought this was, this fire and passion between them. There had been a connection, a spark, before. What happened?
The woman's teeth are bared like a wolf and Morr doesn't know what else to do but let the fire lash out further. She doesn't know how to bare her teeth like them, although she wants to. She badly wants to.
She wants to say… she wants to say… something. Anything. There are no words to describe who Al'Zahra is except an elusive dark temptress, but that isn't enough. She doesn't know who the woman truly is. Maybe she never knew. She never thought about it, only the fire and lust. That's all that ever seemed to matter when they were together, but now she sees that's all it had been. None of it was genuine. It was not love and could never be.
Beneath her fire, her rage, Morrighan is entirely broken.
She snuffs out the flames and there is nothing but smoke (and regret) in the air. She pushes past Al'Zahra, not daring to look her in the eyes again. Maybe she never will again.
She stops before she rounds the corner back into the markets, but keeps her head down. "I'll send an owl when the kid's born, if you care at all," she mutters. She has half a mind to take full custody of the kid, but it's still Al'Zahra's too whether she likes it or not.
There is nothing left to say and nothing more she feels like thinking about, so she disappears into the crowd. Her head is pounding, but she goes back to the castle instead of the bar. Oh, how she would love to drown her sorrows in alcohol right now.
The Illuminated
“both beauty and terror, without beginning, without end.”
Part of her wishes that the flame had roared over her form like a tidal wave. She wishes it had been smoke and heat filling her throat instead of bile and hate. Perhaps then something other than fury would have fallen from between the snarl of her lips and caught in the golden flash and smolder of her gaze.
And part of her wishes for her old form filled with smoke long and heavy enough to choke with. It would have been easier then, to step closer to her once-lover (her soon-to-be-forgotten-lover) and unmake that brittle heart too weak to catch her chamber by chamber and cell by cell.
Al'Zahra does not think a million wishes would have saved Morrighan then.
She is about to snarl again, and swallow down the smoke like wine, when Morrighan snuffs out her fire and drops her eyes. And she laughs when the mare has no answer to her question but to turn away like a broken and beaten thing. It is better this way then, broken and beaten things cannot hold up all the weight of her want, and desire, and burned-out fire that is still hungry enough to eat a forest.
Morrighan offers to send a owl. Al'Zahra smiles. It is cold, and cruel, and weighted enough to break bones (and hearts, always hearts). “Send an owl and I will pluck off its wings.” She says before she turns to go.
And already each of her steps is turning once again to dace like her soul is nothing heavier than a spring cloud. There is no rain, no sorrow, no brokenness to be found in her at all.
There never really was, she discovers, it had only been a fleeting folly as easily forgotten as a dream.
