[i]“Am I not family?”[/i]

It made her pause, just for a moment, while cruel words gathered on the tip of her tongue. But there was no energy left in her to set those words in flight and send them like arrows to rain abuse upon him. There was nothing left in her that wanted to fight. So she slowed, but not enough to stop, and she carried on and away.

[i]“There is nothing inside worth taking home with us,”[/i] he called after her, and both the sentiment of his words as well as the sound of them, haunt her. 

But not nearly as much as the expression she saw on his face, just a fleeting glance over her shoulder before disappearing beyond the threshold of the building. 

He had not appeared angry, surprised, or wrestling with any sort of inner conflict. His entire appearance had been relaxed, with his supple mouth edging toward a smile -- or maybe a frown, and his eyes piercing straight through her to the heart of the matter. Her fear. He was pleased, perhaps, because she was afraid, or comfortable knowing he produced such a response in her. She couldn’t be certain, but the confounding nature of their reunion followed her as she sought a back exit to the tavern. 

“It’s like,” she stepped out into the night, alone, but continued to voice her thoughts -- as if somehow, that might help her make sense of it all. “It’s as if -- we’ve done this before.” 

Rather than running wild into the night, she stopped there, under a short awning that protected her from the drizzle of fog that was falling in heavier sheets. A step back brought her closer to the building until her shoulder blades rested against the wooden panels that made up the exterior wall. And, as if the cold were affecting her, both arms rose and crossed over her chest. She even shivered -- but it was the memory of his face, of his contentment, of his pleasure.

They had a history. Those memories were intact. She knew who she was long before she had ever met Roen. Irene Gabriela DuGrace, from Earth, from a Kingdom by the sea -- Atitlan. She was the hope of her people, the firstborn child to a dying species. And then she became their horror when she ran away, leaving them all to a fate worse than extinction at the hands of her ruthless mother and cousin. She remembered these things. She remembered the taverns and the people she met during those times -- Kalicity, Malice, Lucis. And of course, she remembered Tenebre, though his absence now was painfully noticeable, and of course, she remembered that she had taken his place and that Roen -- he had [i]stolen[/i] her birthright. 

She remembered dying. 

She remembered waking up in a public garden devoid of a public -- in an empty city. 

She remembered the humiliation and the exhaustion, and the children he promised she would be able to see if only she pleased him -- if only she finished. 

It was the suffocating realization that if he truly had her children he would forever have control over her. That simple and horrifying realization sent her running again. Better to never see the children -- better to never play in the game. He wouldn’t hurt them, they were as much hers as they were his, and she did not think him cruel enough to cut a part of himself from this world just to wound her. He wouldn’t hurt them, she had convinced herself of this and left. But what folly had it been? 

Of course, he’d follow -- to the ends of the earth, to the ends of the universe. 

Golden eyes shifted then, focusing at last upon the swirling sky above. The fog had rolled in fast and it had swallowed the night sky, but she could see through the mist. The flickering of stars shone dimly, but she could still make out the strange new pattern of constellations, the distant glimmer of hope that her old life still existed. 

“He never wanted the queen, he only ever wanted the girl,” she said out loud, a whisper -- a realization that made her sudden determination steadfast. “But he can’t have [i]one[/i] without the [i]other[/i].”

[i]I am a fucking Queen. [/i]

With her arms crisscrossed over her chest, her hands clutched and squeezed at her own biceps. She took in a deep breath and let out a slow sigh -- a measured release. And then, resolute with her intention, she turned and went right back in the same way she had come. Through an abandoned kitchen, where the remnants of abandoned projects remained, and back out into the noisy tavern.

She stopped there, just beyond the swinging kitchen doors, glancing down the length of the bar. She examined the patrons, most of them chit-chatting (and all but avoiding making eye contact with the man she had stolen from), and then turned her eyes upon the wall of pretty bottles. There was no bartender, although it appeared some were playing the role -- though by their appearance it was clear they did not actually belong to the establishment. 

With a shimmy of her shoulders, she decided that she too could play the part and went about the selection process. Somehow, she had to save face and prove to herself -- as much as to the devil -- that she was not just a frightened little girl. She said she came back for something and now she had to figure out what that something actually was. 

Gabriela pointed a finger and walked along, behind the counter, studying the bottles. She had only ever seen Roen drinking wine -- Orisian Wine. But that didn’t exist here. She settled on a silver-white bottle of vodka and took it by the neck. Unable to partake, she settled on a single glass and made sure she filled it with ice. However, Roen wasn’t likely to believe that she had come back in for a bottle of vodka. 

She needed something tangible -- and fast.

Golden eyes flickered to the door. He hadn’t come in after her. That was [i]unusual[/i]. 

She glanced around again, and then she saw the strangest creature she had ever laid eyes on. A young woman, with a pretty and pale complexion and stunning red hair. But that isn’t what singled her out. A white rose appeared to be growing out of her left eye socket. It was both magnificent and undeniably disturbing. The woman was wearing a medallion -- perhaps a talisman -- it was pretty, and Gabriela decided she wanted it. She could use it as proof that she had come back for [i]something[/i]. 

Picking her way toward the woman, still, on the opposite side of the bar, she approached. 

“Can I get you a drink,” she asked, her voice thick with an accent from a distant land. With great care, she set the bottle and glass down, pushed them aside, and then waited to see if she could manage to seduce the woman into a conversation.