Blessed Blight

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

How could he have known that guilt was the silver bullet that would render her useless? Like an arrow through the heart, she felt herself bleed straight out into the night, and breathe through a gaping wound in her chest. She didn’t need much of a push toward that deep and dark edge, and she could so easily fall off and into the abyss of despair. She already considered herself a monster of the worst degree. And this man sold it soo well -- with his peppered hair, his tired expression, and his human frame and all of its human aches and pains.

“You’re not normal.”

The words were an accusation.

Her eyes were misted with bloody tears.

He took a step back, and she mirrored the action, stepping away as well, increasing the distance between them. The shift caused the cloak to fall closed over her small shoulders and completely cover her figure. Still, all that was visible was the small curve of her chin, and her trembling bottom lip as she resisted, to the best of her abilities, the sudden urge to cry.

The man gathered his things, but not before flinging the poor falcon into the air with all of his strength. Gabriela managed a small, heartbroken cry, but nothing else. Somehow, she managed to contain herself and not reach out, not run out after the small creature as if she could hope to save it. Luckily, she did not give away her ignorance. She stood there, managing her guilt, her sorrow, and her horror.

“Fine. Fine… All your’s. Don’t follow me.”

He shot her a glare over his shoulder as he pushed off the large stone where he had set up his small set of supplies. She watched him, mute and frozen -- traumatized it seemed -- from the strange interaction. But then her head turned, and the hood fell away as her golden gaze shifted to the distance, the tavern where they had both been just a moment ago. The look on her beautiful face was one of pure distress as she seemed to examine the building in the distance as if she were waiting to hear or see something.

She looked petrified.

When she looked back, her face, finally exposed by moonlight -- looked young and lost.

“Fine, I’ll leave.”

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

The lullaby of his heartbeat, a liquid-sounding lub-dub, lub-dub, lud-dub, was quick to change and was her first indication that things were likely to take a turn for the worse. At least humans had that about them -- their tender hearts often gave them away, their fear, their excitement, their anger. And while she did not assume to know which of these emotions gripped him, she relied on the knowledge that whatever mood had suddenly bloomed at the core of his chest it was likely not to be anything welcome or pleasant. But really, was she expecting anything different?

Maybe…

Possibly…

Through the darkness and the space that separated them, she saw the tension in his body as his back straightened and the muscles in his neck tightened. He wasn’t looking at her, but rather cutting a glare straight across the lake to some distant point. Perhaps, he was trying to hear her. She made sure not to move a muscle and not to take a breath -- not even a sip of air. But that did not mean that the wind did not blow and that her hair did not shift, and that the breeze did not carry her smell, the perfume of orange blossom and bloody tears.

“Actually, I’ve got a couple of problems with you already.”

To the best of her abilities, she had tried to be unassuming -- to be small, to be quiet, to be meek. She had stayed out of the way. And like a coward, she had turned tail and escaped into the night rather than face the ghosts that haunted her and those that sought to harass her. But surely this was fate testing her patience. She could not be expected to continue to bow her head and ‘suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.’ What problems could this stranger possibly have -- what harm could she possibly have done to him? Her small hands had already curled into fists -- tight, white-knuckled, and ice-cold fists with glass-like fingernails that dug into her pale palms.

“First of all, you say you didn’t want to startle me. But you did.”

Not my fault you didn’t examine your surroundings, imbecile. She thought to herself.

“Third, said you seen me coming. Said this is your spot, you got here first. If that were the case, then why didn’t you move on? Leave me be instead of bothering---sorry---interrupting me.”

“Pardon me?” she said, speaking up just as he turned to face her, interrupting him -- and surely not for the first time. “That’s some audacity you have there. For someone who doesn’t even bother to look around his surroundings before dropping all of his belongings, you sure do like to wag your finger at strangers. Maybe, you just shouldn’t be so careless.”

Her knees, which had been pressed to her chest, dropped open so that she was sitting crisscross, and her fisted hands settled in the small gap between them, sinking into the moist sand. For the most part, her heavy cloak fell over her small form, hiding the dainty figure. Her hood still covered the majority of her head, and a shadow still fell across her face. Only the tip of her nose was visible, and her heart-shaped lips, which were pressed into a tight little frown.

The man didn’t seem to care a bit about what she said, as he went on to explain what other problems he had with her -- mostly being that she didn’t seem to know the first thing about falcons. That was true enough. Falconry was not a sport that she ever took to, and perhaps her advice had given away her ignorance. But was that any excuse for being so rude? She was already so confused and lost, and utterly put off by this new world and experience, but finding out that everyone here was just absolutely awful was beginning to take its toll.

She was desperate for a way out.

A way back to a familiar place.

“So what is this really then?”

He pulled her back to the present.

She pinched her brows in confusion, but he couldn’t see the expression.

“You could have left me alone. What is this really about.”

She realized the way he was holding the falcon -- it hardly seemed natural or healthy. However, the small bird seemed at ease, although that didn’t much convince her that he wasn’t two seconds from ripping the poor thing's head off. Horrified, she shifted, suddenly, standing on her own two feet, and moving with a speed that any human would find utterly unnerving. She hoped it frightened him -- intimidated him into backing off.

“How about you leave me alone? How about you pack all your little things back up and you just keep walking and find your own dark little corner of hell to sit and rot in -- and you can leave me alone.”

Post a random fact about yourself.

I'm a lucid dreamer.

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

She heard him coming long before the silhouette of his form crossed the horizon of the path. Although he was light on his feet and he moved with all the grace of a person who was comfortable in the wilderness, she heard him. Of course, it wasn’t fair. He was human. She could smell his warm blood -- sweet along with the musky odor of sweat that dampened his brow. There was also the smell of rancid chicken. It wasn’t rotten, but it was dead, and far from fresh, and definitely on its way out. Any creature with a keen sense of smell would notice it, which oddly enough brought her attention to the last interesting scent that perfumed this interesting man. It was dandruff from feathers, a smell that reminded her of sunshine and wind -- of Raphael and Isabella.

Then she saw him. A man, wearing a heavy coat, a knapsack, and a wooden box around his neck. He moved with all the comfort and ease of someone who was certain he was in private, and she felt somewhat ashamed for not making herself known. However, that sense of guilt was quickly overcome. This was her space, she had found it first.

Even so, she knew it was childish. The polite thing to do would have been to make some sort of announcement of her presence. Perhaps clear her throat, or maybe make a move to stand, something that would have given away her position before he began to make himself at home. But she did no such thing. She was lost in the spectacle of his actions, and too far gone in the act of being a witness to this private moment of voyeurism. She consumed the vulnerability like a villain and observed him like a predator might observe prey.

From her place, sitting near the shore, she did not move. Her knees were still pulled to her chest and her arms were still wrapped around them. Although she did straighten her back and lift her head so that more of her face fell into the shadow of her hood, which she had made certain to pull back over her hair. Her features were hidden away, the gold of her eyes, lost in the darkness that was cast over them.

And she was free to watch the desperation and tenderness with which this man set down his small wooden box. How he sat into a low crouch, how he carried the tension in his thighs and back. With pinched brows, she observed the curious way his fingers unlatched the box, and how he rolled back onto his heels and waited.

“Alright girl, come on now dammit.”

Gabriela held her breath.

The skitter-scratch of small claws across a surface was the first indication that she had guessed correctly. She saw the small falcon hop out of the box only to perch just outside of it. The curious little thing, with bright and intelligent eyes, peered all around itself, then back up at the man. He was trying to feed it that same foul-smelling chicken.

“She probably wants to work for her supper,” Gabriela said out loud, “...probably, just wants to feel useful, and hunt, like she’s intended to.”

She should apologize and explain that she didn’t mean to startle him. But she didn’t say as much, the social graces for that seemed lost to her. She felt a bit burnt out. She wasn’t certain if Roen was still beyond the tavern. If he was still coming after her, or if he had grown bored and left. The games he played with her -- the things he did to her. They twisted her up and hurt her. She wasn’t herself and hadn’t been for so long now.

But surely she could at least manage passing friendliness.

Surely she could still manage common decency.

Maybe she should apologize.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you -- I was here first. You just walked up. I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

Somewhere, just outside the tavern...

She had the presence of mind to grab the bottle of vodka round the neck just as she side-stepped around Corbin in her attempt to flee the suddenly uncomfortable situation. He didn’t stop her, though a glance over her shoulder and a look at his face, just as she rounded the corner of the bar to the back door, told her everything she needed to know about his supposed “good guy” act. He looked like he could barely contain his anger, as if she had delivered a blow to his ego that could never be forgiven. And all for what -- because she refused to drink with him or to sit down and chat?

The audacity of his entitlement carried her through the backrooms of the tavern on a dark mist of frustration. A heady feeling floated through her veins, up through her blood, and into her brain, causing a heady sensation that was reminiscent of a runner's high, which supported her just beyond the threshold of the back exist and out into the crisp, cold, night air.

Back outside…

There was a moment of disappointment. With the bottle hanging at her side, clutched in a halfhearted grip, and her lashes already thick with drew-drops gathered from the fog, she stood there pondering at the failure of her convictions. She was supposed to have marched right back out to Roen, to face her destiny once and for all -- and here she was, right back where she started.

“Long live the queen,” she said quietly to the night in a mocking tone, her free hand reaching up to wipe away the gathered droplets on her brows and lashes, drawing them away, until they rolled down her cheeks like tears. And then, drying them off with the back of her hand.

She didn’t care who came after her -- Corbin, wanting to reclaim his wounded honor, or Anath Homura wanting to restore her own damaged honor. Whatever the case, Gabriela would deal with them. Her fingertips brushed along the handle of a small dagger, strapped along the left side of her rib cage, inside her blouse. Yes, it was still in place along with the other three hidden upon her person in strategic positions.

Down she went, walking along the dirt path -- away from the tavern and toward the sweet smell of fresh water. The night was cold, and it felt all the more frigid as she left the warm glow of the tavern lights behind her. Deeper into the dark of the night and the silver-white light of the full moon. Along a clearly marked path that was obviously used during the daylight hours and when the weather was favorable by the tavern patrons to enjoy the lakeside for recreational use. However, there was no one out tonight, save for the creatures of the night, and even they turned to flee from the monster that walked amongst them tonight.

And so Gabriela was left alone.

The mist, the rain, and the ugliness from before had lifted or had grown heavy enough to be sticking low to the ground. The heavens had opened up, and the night sky was a display of celestial bodies that mocked her with a dazzling arrangement of constellations that indicated a hundred directions, but not a single one that she recognized. Inside, she had heard someone comment about how the tavern was some sort of magic and that the surrounding lands could somehow accommodate whatever the needs of each individual person. Made sense, it was always night for her. And yet, the stars that she so desperately wanted to see -- the ones that would point to the existence of the home that she remembered -- were beyond the scope of magic. Perhaps because they were long dead now.

The thought made her sit on the sandy shore. The waters of the lake were still, and therefore, like a mirror, reflecting the starry sky from above. The universe seemed to expand and stretch out further than could ever be imagined. And she sat there, at the edge of it all, a small form, a small child. She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on the top of her hands. Her golden eyes, dull with sadness, followed the stars from the surface of the lake up into the night sky and tried to make sense of the patterns.

The bottle of vodka sat at her side, for now, forgotten.

My Hider

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

“Hmm… your divinity has been damaged -- a shame. Why ask if I wanted a drink? Do you work here? How far have you fallen, far from home, forsaking your honor? Ah… I have no need to drink, but I believe I wish to rescue you, Daughter of Darkness.”

Gabriela felt anger pour over her like ice-cold water. A frost gathered at the corner of her eyes, and little crystals of ice formed behind her ears where the cold of her blood flowed slowly and labored around the back of her neck. Whether it was the audacity to assume so much or the ugly negativity with which Anath painted the very ordinary offering Gabriela had made -- she could hardly contain her sudden displeasure. It was one thing to have a stranger, powerful or not, know so many secrets about her and blurt them out to the world as if they were nothing at all, but Anath spoke with so little regard toward her own existence that if she did not turn and walk away there would be problems.

“Rescue me?” Gabriela replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she regarded the woman, “Perhaps you should see to your own shortcomings before offering aid to someone else.”

And she intended for that to be the end, for she was in such a foul mood now that she could barely contain her vexation but Corbin remained -- steadfast it seemed. His expression was caught between amusement and disappointment as he watched her interaction with the strange rose-faced woman and her rejection of his offered drink.

“No?” he asked, but he was already pouring the blood back into its container.

She watched it go.

“What brings you to a place like this?”

“Escape,” she answered honestly and her eyes nearly drifted toward the door again but she stopped herself -- he wasn’t coming. So then she smiled in that disarming way of hers, “...just looking for a change of scenery, adventure, discovery. I don’t know.”

“Have somewhere to be?” he asked when she failed to mask the fact that her attention continued to shift toward the door. “Need a lift?”

Gabriela was disappointed in herself and it showed. She bit her bottom lip and crossed her arms over her chest, and with her muddy boot, she toe'd what was left of the shattered glass on the floor.

“No, well, sort of…”

Did she have somewhere to be?

“Alright, well…Where did you come from?”

At that, Gabriela became quiet, much like earlier when Salvator had asked her the same question outside. She didn’t know how to answer. She knew where she came from, but she didn’t know how that related to this place or if it would mean anything at all. And there was a deep and painful fear in her that speaking the name of her home -- of her land, now dead -- would awaken the very ghosts that would drag her back into the grave. So anxiety prickled at her scalp and she lost her social graces completely, “I am sorry, you’ll have to excuse me, I should really be on my way.”

But where?

She didn’t know.

Panic was prickling every inch of her body and spurring her forward into foolish and impulsive decisions. So she pushed past him, leaving Corbin and the very rude woman behind, uncertain of where exactly she was heading.

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

“I haven’t seen another…like us in over a century so I know how you feel.”

The man offered a smile but it did little to comfort the bewildered vampyre. She could see it -- his smile wasn’t honest and she couldn’t quite decide if it was disappointment or pleasure that hid behind his dubious expression.

“When I felt your presence…”

Gabriela became disturbed, not at the obvious emotional confession he was about to make but rather at the fact that he had taken notice of her presence long before she had picked up on his. It was a stupid mistake and the sort of carelessness that resulted in the devil himself sneaking up on her. For how long had Corbin been aware of her existence, and how easily had Roen managed to follow her this far?

And how far was she actually? How was she supposed to measure the distance when she didn’t even know her starting point? The stars were different -- all the constellations rearranged, and the earth under her feet, it felt different without so much as a trace of La’Ruta left to grant her any semblance of grounding.

While Corbin contemplated who she might be, she stood there feeling a dark and ugly numbness creeping over her -- from the top of her head, down her scalp like icy fingertips, down her throat, to her shoulders, and beyond, down further to the rest of her body. For a moment she yearned for Roen’s warmth and the familiarity of it.

He was right outside.

Some semblance of home was right outside.

A longing glance toward the door but her golden gaze right back upon the oddly formed Anath. The woman, with her one present eye, was staring right back at her.

“Shall you reimburse the tavern after shattering those glasses?”

“Glasses?” Gabriela echoed, confused, “...I dropped a glass. I highly doubt this, or any other establishment would charge a patron for such a thing. I imagine it gets calculated into the overhead cost. Accidents happen.”

She offered a one-shoulder shrug.

“However, should reimbursement be requested, I will be happy to repay.”

It was a bluff of course -- Gabriela didn’t have a penny to her name.

“Hmm… indeed; your chaotic conduct compels me to reprimand you since such boorish behavior is improper for a member of royalty.”

Dark brows lifted in surprise -- there was so much to unpack. Had the strange rose-faced woman somehow guessed at Gabriela’s lineage? Was she simply a being capable of such feats of knowledge? Gabriela, having (within her recent memories) ascended to godhood only to have it ripped away from her along with her life, knew better than to assume any creature was ever just as it appeared. But that wasn’t the most astounding part of any of this -- it was the woman’s tone and her choice of words, all of which dripped with a distinct lack of civility.

Who talked like that to a complete stranger?

Clearly, the other vampyre agreed, for when Anath turned to introduce herself to her newly found companion, the man did not regard her, save to turn away. He busied himself with pouring a drink, which Gabriela watched for a moment, before turning her attention back to Anath.

“I only asked if you wanted a drink,” she said softly -- almost a whisper, before shaking her head and turning away as well.

Corbin served the rose-faced woman a drink -- Gabriela wondered if there would be some nasty comment in store for him, or if the woman saved all of her spite for members of her own sex.

Of course, Corbin wasn’t done. He gathered two wine glasses and even spun one of them like a freshly sharpened dagger on the nimble fingers of a trigger-happy troublemaker. She almost smiled, remembering her youth, but somehow managed to contain the serious expression that was carrying her through the absolute wackiness of all of this. He tapped the pommel of the blade at his side, like a secret handshake, and much to her surprise a secret compartment in the hilt seemed to appear.

He poured her some blood.

“Still warm,” he said -- his voice nearly a purr.

To deny her thirst was the sort of deception she did not have the energy to maintain. However, this would not be the first time she went hungry. Surely, through her long sleep, her morals had not changed.

“No, thank you,” she replied, pushing the glass back toward him as gently as possible while hoping that her rejection would not be taken with offense. “I like to do my own hunting,” she followed up, before he could reply and then left it at that. Raphael had ridiculed and hated her for her dietary preferences, best to not assume a newly-met vampyre would understand her decision to feed only from animals.

He didn’t seem to mind -- after all, he was enjoying his drink.

“The name’s Corbin,” and then he lifted the glass in her direction, “to our unexpected meeting.”

“To your good health,” she added, before glancing at the door once again, “although, it may end up being a short meeting.”

Her pretty face, those pretty features, settled into a deeper frown as her brows pinched and her full lips pressed into a more severe line. Something just wasn’t right.

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

A flutter of a breeze caused a few wayward strands of hair to fly loose from behind her ear where she had tucked them. Her normally, neatly woven braid was in disarray from travel and weather. It caused a halo of wispy dark hair to frame her face, while heavier strands, which had come undone from the braid, fell in loops around her shoulders, trapped by the collar of her heavy clothes. It hid the true length of her hair, which was still mostly hidden under the dirtied material of her cloak.

She had sought a moment of solace -- a moment alone to think and to contemplate -- but had been denied the reprieve. Without an ounce of strain, the man had hopped over the bar and was now crouching down, close to her.

Gabriela couldn’t help but examine his hands as they came into view. His fingers were long and pale, and his fingernails -- so much like her own -- appeared to shine as if a gloss had been applied to them. But there was a quality of density to them that she recognized -- those nails could carve into metal. He attempted to pluck a few pieces of the shattered glass, but she shook her head and nudged his hands away with the back of hers. His flesh was cold, like polished marble.

“You’ll cut yourself,” she stated, impassively, under her breath and he read her message loud and clear and gave her some space. It was a truly silly thought -- a vampyre worrying and fretting over another vampyre cutting themselves on glass. It was perhaps the pinnacle of pretenses.

Corbin straightened and took a step back.

“I am well accustomed to invoking terror unto others,” he said down to her, “...but under extraordinarily different circumstances.”

Still down on one knee, and still plucking pieces of glass from the floor, Gabriela shifted her gaze upward. She took in the sight of his slacks, of the belt around his waist, of his shirt -- so neatly tucked in, and the heavy coat that hung over his shoulders but draped open across his chest. His words disturbed her, and there was a faint remembrance of who she had been so very long ago.

She had never savored her power; she had always sought to be small, meek-like, and unassuming. Unlike this stranger, she wasn’t accustomed to invoking terror in others -- in fact, she did everything in her power to do the opposite.

But that was a lifetime ago…

“You need not fear me,” the man went on to say -- his arrogance causing a ghost of a smile to touch her lips.

“I don’t,” she replied, climbing back to her feet with a handful of glass, “...you just caught me off guard. The last thing I expected to see in these parts was another…” She glanced sideways to the nearest patrons and gave Corbin a knowing look.

“Someone like me.”

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

The whole of the universe was made up of angels and demons, and everyone who didn’t happen to be one of those two particular beasts just fell somewhere along the spectrum of good and evil. And it was really that simple. Deviations from this particular path were only shifts along the spectrum. She struggled against the guilt of her great sin -- the death of those who loved her most and best -- but she had also come to understand that she was neither side of a coin, but rather a being that spun and danced upon the edge of a narrow line.

Roen was playing games with her.

Her mind was still foggy -- a clouded space where hardly a coherent thought could manifest. She felt guilt, she felt fear, and she felt lonely and somehow, although she knew he was fully responsible for it all, there was a part of her that knew there would be no soothing to her many aches other than by his side. Or rather, under his thumb.

It was a painful conclusion, but not one she was fully prepared to accept.

“Surely, you know the answer to such a simple question.”

Gabriela had been staring at the door. The expectation of his sudden appearance became a nearly obsessive compulsion. Somewhat disoriented, a result of the strange reply as well as having to focus once again on the disturbing rose that was growing out of the woman’s face, Gabriela frowned. But before she could ask for clarification or express her confusion, the woman spoke again -- her words nothing but riddles.

“I am Anath Homura, and I ask; how shall we satiate our hunger? How to quench our thirst? Shall we speak awhile?”

Suddenly, Gabriela felt very small and very young. To think that she was ageless now seemed utterly ridiculous. But she had moved through time devoid of consciousness -- a sleeping relic that was only ever awoken when Roen felt the urge to deliver punishment or pleasure. All of it, that long sleep, was still just an endless collection of fragmented memories that felt more like dreams.

She could not trust herself.

What if this was a dream?

Below the bar, unconsciously, she had curled her long fingers into her palm and her glass-like fingernails bit into the pale flesh. The pain roused her -- reminded her that she was still awake. But then again, hadn’t she felt the pain and the pleasure of those feverish nightmares?

She blinked.

“Pardon me?” she spoke, at long last, “I am sorry… I don’t…”

Could things become any more convoluted?

She felt Corbin before ever laying eyes on him.

“That’s impossible,” she said under her breath, golden eyes shifting from Anath’s face and over her shoulder.

Their eyes met and for a moment -- for the briefest moment -- Gabriela nearly descended into total madness. There was a hitch to her breathing as the slow beat of her heart picked up.

It was his golden eyes that shot her through the heart like an arrow with deadly aim. And then the luster of his silver hair under the radiant glow of candlelights. The memory of a small child -- a newborn swirled inside her head threatening to burst her skull open. Suddenly, she could smell his sweet, baby’s breath, and feel the strong, and steady pressure of his small, chubby fingers as they grasped one of her fingers.

She stumbled backward and struck the wall of neatly displayed bottles, causing them to clatter against each other. Then, as if it were somehow possible, she appeared all the paler. Gabriela looked as if she had just seen a ghost.

There was Lucis, come back to life and coming straight for her -- surely to deliver justice.

“What’s the strangest thing you got?” he asked, and somehow she didn’t see or realize that he had crossed the tavern and was standing there before her with nothing but a wooden bar separating them. But rather than righteous rage, what she saw reflected back to her in those golden eyes of his was curiosity -- and wonder.

“What?” her frown grew deeper, and she was painfully aware of how unhinged she must have appeared -- how unhinged she actually felt. She had to get a hold of herself. “Um,” she broke eye contact and looked behind her at the bottles, which had finally settled from their near crash-clattering, “...there’s whiskey.”

With a shift of her eyes, she regarded Anath, “...there’s some whiskey.”

And then she turned away from them both and sought glasses, which a trembling hand managed to drop. The sound of glass shattering was like an alarm, and she reacted by dropping down onto a knee. Tucked behind the bar, under the pretense of cleaning up the mess she had made, Gabriela doubled over and tried to take a deep and calming breath. But it was only after she started picking up the pieces of glass that she noticed the hurt she had caused herself -- droplets of black blood had oozed out of the small nail marks she had left on her palm. Slowly, but surely, her flesh was knitting itself back together. However, the smell of her blood would help to ease any doubts Corbin might have been holding onto.

Indeed, he had come across another vampyre.

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

“Am I not family?”

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.

“There is nothing inside worth taking home with us,” 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 stolen 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 one without the other.”

I am a fucking Queen.

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 unusual.

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 something.

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.