She can feel the pressure of that fan pressing up against her all over again. The coolness of the casing and the tender brush of paper caressing her throat. How soft it is against her neck, and how firm it is beneath her chin. That insistent pressure inviting her to press the weight of her head down into it, to submit forever, or to be a brave girl and lift her gaze where it directs and look the Empress of All Humanity in her dazzling starlight eyes. Her smile was like staring directly into a star: more beautiful and divine than anything you could fit on a planet and so terrifying it could make a heart forget how to beat.

There was so much tenderness in everything Nero did. Every breath and gesture that she deigned to share with someone was a miracle. It was impossible to look at her and not feel your chest well so full of hope that it felt like it might crack open and spill all of your secrets out on the floor. The promise of Redana, fully realized. You were safe when you with her, so long as you didn't stray too far from her side. It was comforting. And somehow too terrifying to contemplate. There was so much misery in everything Nero did. The pressure of having her sight turned on you could burn you to ash in an instant.

Everything she did made Bella want to cling to her skirts and never leave their safety. Everything she did made Bella want to run as far and as fast as possible. The demand, to submit. The challenge, to rise up. The offer, to speak one's mind. The threat, to disappoint her. It was all in those eyes and in that smile and in the lifting of that fan. And all of these... all of these, she'd put to Bella first. She'd left the theater that night and hunkered in her tiny bed under the oldest most threadbare blanket imaginable, warding off the darkness and the thoughts that were too big for her brain until the demand of her nightly chores finally forced her out of her cocoon. She knew as soon as she slipped away that she'd be beaten that day.

That fan was here with her, in this room. She could smell it. The taste of roses replaced the salt on her tongue, and it was all she could do not to cry. Whatever the answer of the riddle might be, it was surely unbecoming of a Consul to show tears on her first day at the job. But who was she to try and outdo the greatest mind that ever lived? Who was she to take the challenge of a god? 

Bella licks her lips as she crosses her arms over her chest. Her tail swipes from side to side in agitation. Gods, but she needs wine. She shakes her head. There's a spark burning in the back of her eye, and an itch inside her chest. She scratches her fingers across the open folds of her prayer dress, then slips off the wall she was perched on top of to wade through the uncomfortably warm waters. She ignores the feeling of her fur as it mats and sticks to the hem of her skirt. She carries herself with her back held straight and every swaying step immaculately placed and timed. 

She may, in fact, possess all the bearing of a Princess herself. Or she may not. Her regalia is nowhere to be seen. Only, her crimson eye tells the squids she walks among that she comes from no less than Nero herself. Her heart pounds furiously with something that could be terror as easily as it might be pride.

"I understand well enough about how this place is run. I don't care about that. Tell me," she pauses and frowns, looking away to where the Assistant Secretary is already hiding himself away again, "Tell me about you. And the crabs, whichever one of you speaks for them. Or whichever one of them can speak, whichever fucking way it works. Away from that asshole up there, I need to know what you're capable of. And while you're at it, tell me what you want. The Lanterns made it obvious enough; I can't do shit here unless I know you like I know them."

The scars on her back itch; the seawater is bad for her. She rolls her shoulders back and ignores it as best she can. She'll need to leave to scavenge some ointments soon, that's all it means. But then she takes a breath, and she feels the fan at her throat where her skin tightens. The pleasure of the pressure, and the deadly threat. She could swear she feels a breeze as it flutters open, and pats her on the cheek.