#do you have any idea the damage forehead sweat would do to white silk???

[greenandhazy]

So it turns out I am now physically incapable of watching any media in a historical-esque setting without obsessively wondering how the characters would have dyed their clothing.

#the untamed is hitting me hard on this front #wwx’s first-life outer garment def looks like dark-dipped indigo #but the wens’ black looks like a true black #are they using iron as a mordant??? #jiang sr’s purple is probably an overdyed blue-red #but where are his kids getting their lovely pastels? #inquiring minds are dying to know. #also HOW are the Lans doing their laundry? #do you have any idea the damage forehead sweat would do to white silk??? #forget the monsters #forget the necromancy #I think the laundry might be the most impressive cultivation in the show

[ravenwritesstuff]

Wandering Hearts (16/?)

Fandom: Frozen AU. Set after shipwreck but before coronation day. 17th Century. Pairing: Kristanna (Kristoff/Anna) Rating: M (this part, all in all, is not too bad but this fic as a whole is horrible so please use caution) A/N: I made a separate sidebar thing on my page that is specifically for Wandering Hearts content to make it all easy to find since this thing just keeps growing. xoxo.

RAZOR BLADES IN CANDY NOT FOR BABIES

[ part one ] [ part two ] [ part three ] [ part four ] [ part five ] [ part six ] [ part seven ] [ part eight ] [ part nine ] [ part ten ] [ part eleven ] [ part twelve ] [ part thirteen ] [ part fourteen ] [ part fifteen ] [ part sixteen ] [ part seventeen ]

She wakes with knives in her throat, drums pounding in her head, and the burn on her hand pulsating a sickening rhythm. She is shaky, weak, but she needs to relieve herself. She needs a drink of water. She needs to stoke the fire.

She rolls to sit on the edge of the pallet and blinks blurry eyes with teeth chattering. Yes. The fire need to be stoked, to be certain. She is freezing despite the fact that her body is wrapped in sweat. She needs to revive it before the coals go cold. Bjarg is gone till the morrow so she must do it. She must do it.

With concerted effort she stands and goes to the waste bucket to relieve herself. She’ll need to empty it to the nightsoil container off of the garden, but the idea alone is exhausting. She will do it when she wakes again.

When she finishes so goes to the barrel by the door filled with drinking water from the stream. She opens it and uses the ladle hanging from it to take long, greedy gulps. It is simultaneous agony and ecstasy for her throat. She drinks till her belly is bursting but fire still remains.

She looks back to the hearth, so certain she has that final task to complete, but sees that it is stoked already. She doesn’t understand. She was so certain it had been dormant. Hadn’t it? Why else would she be so cold?

Her stomach cramps around the water.

What time is it?

She goes to the door and cracks it open. Clouds have rolled in, but the light seems to indicate mid-morning. She has not slept in this late since she lived in the palace and she knows he is long gone by now. She thinks him wiser for it. If she could go - she would. A fuzzy part of her brain tells her that now may be her last chance to run, that she should because her wound has turned and she will either die trying to escape or by fire, but she is too tired to heed it.

She closes the door.

She will run, but she must rest first.

She needs her strength - has none right now - is so, so tired.

Two steps away from the door she collapses to the straw covered floor and does not get up.

….

It is dark in her dreams at first. She sees Elsa but at a distance. She calls and calls but her sister only grows further away. The one time she manages to catch Elsa, grabbing one willowy arm, she vanishes into icy smoke. After that, Anna sits in the darkness and wonders if there why she even tried.

….

There is a hill in the garden at the palace. It is not large, but large enough that Anna proclaims it a mountain and hosts tea parties upon its summit. She is there now, tea party in full swing, and the ducklings are there because she feeds them crumbs. They are her most constant and only companions in such adventures, but today’s event is different than the others.

Lightning splits the sky and her mountain collapses in on itself, swallowing Anna whole beneath the earth.

She screams, but no one hears her.

….

She is drowning. Water gulps her down whole and she fights but it is not enough. The last thing she sees is a pair of skeletons on the ocean floor wearing her parent’s crowns, fish nibbling at their bones.

….

The trees have faces as she trips through the woods.

Alva, Nadir, Elsa, her parents, the guards from the road outside of Arendelle, Large Leader, her governess, the officer she cut on the ship… and they are all screaming - branches reaching for her. The sound makes her brain bounce around in her skull until it feels like it is exploding. She cannot understand what they are saying, cannot get anywhere quiet enough to hope to understand.

She smashes the heels of her hands against her ears and stumbles to try any find someone, anyone, who can tell her what is happening. She tries to find Bjarg, to find a tree with his face on it, but she never does no matter how long she scours the screaming forest.

She is lost.

He is gone.

….

Shadows grab at her clothes and tear. She tries to escape, but cannot fight them off. There are too many. They are too strong. Her body refuses to move as the shadows tear her limb from limb.

….

She is back in the bed of his sleigh. Her body is bundled and wrapped and she cannot move, but she is moving. She feels the motion of the sleigh as sky, dark and wrapped in moonlight, flashes across her blurred vision.

She swears the branches above are reaching for her too, and she tries to cry out - to warn him - but the sounds don’t come. They are cut to ribbons in her razor blade throat and she chokes on them until the darkness envelopes her once more.

….

A giant holds her to his chest. His arms are too tight, too hard, and he is ugly. Or at least she thinks he is ugly. She cannot be certain in the starlight. He has hands made of crystals and they are sharp where they hold her. She can smell moss and minerals and there are others moving around them. She thinks she has seen shadows like this before and she wonders just how many dreams she will have before she wakes, before she leaves.

The giant is cold. The air around them is cold. He takes her from his chest and lays her on a bed of black and snow quartz. The pieces are fitted together in swirls and turns and she has seen these patterns before but she cannot remember where. She isn’t sure it is important when the giant touches the bed with his crystal hand and there is an explosion of light.

She can see nothing but the purest white, but it does not blind her. She accepts the light, bathes in it.

She feels the light course through her. She had not known light could do that, but the brilliance pours through her body and she can feel it spread like quicksilver through her blood. Pain comes as she feels her very essence shifting. She squeezes her eyes shut against it but still all she sees it light.

As the lights ebb, her eyes crack back open. The quartz still glows around her though not with the same blinding intensity. She sees steam and geysers and mountains with crystal hands shifting along the treeline and out of the corner of her eye she sees a flash of long golden hair. Bjarg?

Then one long crystal finger touches her temple and in a voice like a distant clap of thunder commands her:

“Sleep.”

Isn’t she already? She does not have time to answer her own question before her mind goes dark.

….

She is floating on clouds made of silk and gossamer.

Clouds strip into ribbons and wrap her weightless form.

She is transforming, cocooned in warmth and air, but the world changes again before she ever sees her final form.

….

She is walking through a field of grain, ripe for harvest. She looks to the distance and sees Arendelle but the palace is not there. It has crumbled to nothing. She looks back across the field and sees him waiting for her.

She runs to him but the space between the rows stretches and stretches adding three strides for every one she takes.

She never reaches him.

….

He is cutting down the screaming forest, using his axe to silence the noise so she can sleep. He hears him murmuring that she should sleep, but she does not see him. A thick fog has settled. She lays down among the stumps and tries to do as he says.

….

The first thing she sees is gold. Fine yellow strands of every shade fall across his arm where his forehead rests in the crook of his elbow. His head and arm rest on the pallet inches from where she sleeps. The rest of him is out of sight, presumably draped down onto the ground next to them, but she cannot assume anything. Not in this dream world.

She looks around from where she lies. The cabin is dark. She waits for the shadows to move, to attack, but they don’t. She waits for the ground to open up and swallow her, but it stays firm beneath her. She waits for him to disappear or rise up as some sort of spook, but he stays unmoved, unchanged. Everything remains as it is.

She realizes then that she is awake and it is he who slumbers. Her mind feels as thick as porridge, but she knows that if he has returned she has slept a day and night. She knows that he has moved her to the pallet from the floor, but that is all she knows. Her fever dreams leave her exhausted in a completely foreign way.

The thought of fever sparks a new realization in her mind. She is ill, or at least she had been. She takes a mental inventory of condition to find all that has ailed her before sleep now is restored unto her. She is well. Not even her burn -

She startles upright and he jerks his head from his arm, blinking heavily, awoken by her sudden movement.

“You are awake.” His voice is thick and low, but she can hear his relief.

“My hand.” She pulls at the bandages. “My hand does not pain me.”

He shakes off whatever of sleep lingered when he sees her tear at the cloth covering her wound. His large hands enclose over hers to still them.

“Easy now. You’ve a fever. Your mind is troubled.” He tries to repair the damage she has done in her hasty unwrapping.

“The fever is gone.” She takes his hand and presses it against the cool skin of her forehead. “See?”

She can tell he sees but not only that her fever has broken. What he sees is her, and no matter how many time she realizes this it always catches her by surprise. She snatches her hand away, but his remains on her face, slipping down to her cheek. His unbandaged palm rests along her jaw, the pad of his thumb sweeps the length of her cheekbone. She looks down at him and sees the wild thing stirring behind his eyes. Her face heats with an entirely different kind of fever.

“My hand.” She whispers, unable to raise her voice any further. “It is whole again. I can feel it.”

She lowers her face to escape his touch, to bring attention back down to her bandages. He lets his hand fall away from her face, but not without letting his fingers brush the side of her neck in a way that sends a shiver down her spine. With that same hand he finds the end of her wraps and begins the careful process of unwinding them.

This is not the wrapping Alva had done, Anna realizes. Alva’s wraps had been looped and crossed in a much different way. This was Bjarg’s handiwork which means he tended her as she slept. The idea flusters her. She knows he would not take advantage, did not, but the thought of him caring for her in such a way makes her heart speed ahead of itself.

He arrives at her wrist. The skin on her forearm is no longer red or blistered. The sticky coat of honey makes it difficult to assess any more than that. He takes his time unraveling her hand, careful to not pull too hard and rip or tear anything in the process, and she again finds herself transfixed by the gentleness of large hands.

When at last his is finished she cannot believe her eyes. Despite the honey and dim light she can see whatever infection had held her before is gone. Moreover, the skin is already healing over in dark pink patches. There are no open sores or oozing places, no blisters or ruptures to be seen. She closes her hand and brushes fingertips to the sticky center of her palm, but there is no pain - only pressure.

She does not know how this is possible.

“Can it be?” She examines every angle. “I’ve slept but a day. It could not have healed so quickly.”

She looks at Bjarg to see him frowning.

“You did not sleep a day, Logi.” He shakes his head. “This is the fifth night you have slept.”

She hears the words, but she cannot make sense of them. Fifth night?

“That’s not possible.” She looks to him with wide eyes. “Is it?”

“You woke at times for thirst or to cry out, but not beyond that.” He looks at her hand. “It seems to have done you a great service for at dawn they will come to take you to the hollow.”

She has no experience with healing, with medicine, but she thinks still this is miraculous. Surely sleep and honey alone could not have mended her with such expedience. Could it? She frowns.

“I dreamt as I slept. I dreamt a great many things.” She says.

“You spoke in your sleep and I knew you were dreaming.” He says and she remembers that he has told her so much before, that it seems to be a habit of hers.

“You were in my dreams. I saw you many times and when I couldn’t see you I looked for you.” She looks to him and meets his eyes. Her mind is still muddled with remnants of illness and prolonged sleep and so she asks: “Were you there? Did you heal my hand?”

He looks at her like he understands, but wishes he did not. It is an expression she cannot begin to fathom.

“No. No it wasn’t me.” He cradles her wrist in his hand.

“Then how?”

He does not answer immediately, but when it does it is with a question of his own.

“Do you believe in magic?” He asks, but she cannot reconcile his question to hers. Perhaps she misheard for sleep and heat.

“Pardon?” She recalls in her hazy state tales of the draugen, dwarves, and nisse that had regaled her throughout childhood, but had never been given a second thought.

“Magic. Do you believe in it?”

She looks for humor, for teasing, but there is none. There is something in his tone: leading, wanting, that sends a dizzy nervousness through her blood. Her mind circles in on itself. What did this have to do with anything?

“I confess I do not know much about magic.”

“I care not what you know.” His tone comes out more harsh and urgent than she expected. It catches her off guard in this quiet space, eyes full of intent. “I want to know if you believe in it.”

He looks up at her and he is leaning, but not on her walls, on his. The intensity of his eyes draw her towards the truth, but it is dangerous ground for both of them and her eyes shoot down towards her hand, the bed, his shoulder. She remembers light and shadows and her mind cannot draw any conclusions. She can barely think past the idea that she has slept away near a week of her life. She can barely think.

She curls her fingers back into her burned palm, calloused fingertips touching new scar tissue and:

“No. No I don’t.”

She is not sure if that is the truth. She does not know what she believes any more, has not known what the truth is for a long time, but she cannot give him any more false hope than she already has.

“It is better that way.” He says, but she is not certain she believes him.

He withdraws then, but not physically. No, he captures her hand and begins to rebind it in sticky bandages, but she can tell he is far away by how decisive he is in his wrapping.

“It is a few hours yet till dawn.” He says as he finishes. “Best to lay back and settle your mind, min navnløse. There is not left to do till the light shows what we need to see.”

He finishes his task and moves over to his bed on the other side of the fire. She feel his absence as if she had known he had been with her as she slept, but that was nonsense and he was right. Her sleep addled state was no way to meet her judgement. She will rest now, wake refreshed, and absolutely not spend more time than she should worrying about just what truths would come with the light of the sun.

….

They wake just as the sun peeks above the horizon. He offers her bread and water to revive her. After days of not eating her stomach demands more but he does not supply it.

“Best to do this is measures, min lille ven.” He says as he finishes his portion. “Those awoken from sleeping sickness all too often gorge themselves to more damage than good.”

He speaks as if he knows and she trusts him. He has no need to lie, and she will eat again soon enough he assures her, but first the hollow.

He goes out to wait at the first sound of footsteps in the forest, his ear acutely trained for such a thing, and waits. She stays inside but dresses for the cold trek, taking extra care when pulling on the fur-lined, leather mittens he had provided her so as not to skew her bandages. She stays inside and thinks of magic and how she wishes she could ask him just what he meant when he asked those things in the middle of the night.

Had he even asked them or had her addled brain imagined it? She cannot be certain, but she can certainly mull over it. She does not have long for such thoughts however.

The door opens and Bjarg stand there. He nods and she understands. It is time.

Cold anticipation sits like a rock in her stomach, and she tries to tell herself she has nothing to fear. Her hand is healing. That was the stipulation of the trial, but as she comes out of the small cabin to an assembly of surly faces she cannot be certain. Some of the group are familiar: Large Leader and Sigfrid looking bleak, Gunnar and Nadir looking irritable, and Eerie Blonde - well Anna prefers not to look at him and his strange, watchful eyes.

These are the men that will take her to the hollow. These are the men who will pass judgement upon her. She never had to fear the judgement of men when she lived in the palace, but she is not sure this is a worse fate.

When she appears in front of them, Large Leader only nods before turning and heading in what she assumes is the direction of the hollow. Everyone else follows his lead except Nadir. Nadir steps towards her with gruff intent and she shrinks from his steps. A steady hand cups her elbow.

“I will deliver her to the hollow. You needn’t trouble yourself.” It is Bjarg, and the skin around Nadir’s mouth tightens in response to the challenge.

“Ye weren’t called.” The bite in Nadir’s voice stings her skin.

“I need not be called. We share a blood bond.” He holds up his palm, unbandaged, where the deep score mark rests as proof of his claim.

The sight of it, the legitimacy of whatever claim Bjarg has, is enough to leave Nadir to spit at their feet.

“The only bond that matters to ye, on all counts.” He speaks with enough bile to burn Anna anew, but the words are not directed at her. They are aimed straight at Bjarg’s heart. She tenses at the attack, is compelled to deflect it, but Bjarg’s hand tighten on her elbow and she stills.

“She is enough.” He says, and does not wait for Nadir’s response.

Instead he propels her through the snow (which has grown in depth while she slept) in the path left behind by the men who came for her. His hand stays firm on her elbow, his eyes straight ahead. The strength of him, of his presence at her side, bolsters her spirits even as the crunch of Nadir’s boots behind them dampens them.

She glances up at Bjarg’s face whenever she dares, drawing courage from his steadfastness. The dawn light cuts through the trees giving his cheeks a tawny glow, adding warmth to the whiskey color of his eyes, and she does not know how she can ever be enough for such a man. She does not know how, but she knows she will try. At least for as long as she can.

But she cannot entertain the thoughts of freedom, of running, just yet. There will be a time for that, but not today. No. Not today. Today she will finish what was started. Today she will face the hollow.

[ previous part ] [ next part ]

#kristanna #kristoff #anna #frozen #raven writes frozen #raven writes kristanna #raven writes stuff #wandering hearts

[grandestblood]

Chapter 03: Burn the Bridges

When I opened my eyes, I found myself lost in a space of seamless darkness. The emptiness of it was eerily soothing and I never wanted to leave here. There was not any place to run. Still, I took a step towards a vague direction. Of course it was futile. I could feel my body moving but it was as though I had not moved at all. My pace was aimless. I did not have the faintest idea where to go. I was still wandering in the darkness when I saw a glimpse of red light that beckoned to me. It shone cryptically in the midst of the void. It grew bigger and brighter with each of my step toward the red bleeding into the darkness. Soon, the darkness was gone and it was crimson everywhere I looked. I stopped in my tracks. Should I keep moving? Or was it safer if I stayed here? Suddenly, a black shadow danced at the corner of my eye. I turned around to look at it, half-expecting an entity to be looming behind me. But there was nothing. In the search of what I thought I saw, I looked down at what seemed like a floor made of blood. There was a single black feather just inches away from my toes.

Curiously, I bent down to pick it up. I held it close to my face, revelling its velvety texture. An odd nostalgic emotion crept from the bottom of my subconscious. I tried to mentally chase after it to determine its root but as I looked away from the feather in my hand, dozens of black feathers were fluttering to the red endless ground. At first, it was just a handful of them so I tried to catch or pick them up but eventually, it was raining with black feathers. There were hundreds falling from the sky.

Sky?

I supposed there was no sky in this space because I was not outside. I was not anywhere. If this place was somewhere to be, it was where the dead go. Hesitantly, I looked up. Sure enough, there was the source of the feathers. Hanging high above me were a pair of gigantic black wings folded together as if they were encasing something inside, trembling as though they wanted to break free. Thick unforgiving chains, that made tight ropes out of themselves and stretched towards the vast redness coiled around the wings. They must attached to something somewhere to restrain the wings above securedly. It was so tight it almost looked cruel. Those chains looked like they could break those wings. Or maybe they were already broken. I wondered what will happen if those wings were set free.

Having recovered from my initial wave of curiosity, I sat down due to the lack of a better thing to do, unconcerned about the black feathers that kept piling up around me. I sat alone in the redness, my legs bunched up for me to embrace as I rested my forehead on my knees, the strange calmness still soothing me. Acceptance was one thing I was quite fond of. The softest of the feathers bathed me with comfort. I was almost burried under the velvet. I could fall asleep here if not for the frustration that made me grind my teeth.

When I met Casra, I forgot any other bond that restrained me and sent me to Alexandria. We spent time frolicking together. We explored Aegyptus, visited the obelisk and the countless pyramids. She even wanted to break into a pharaoh’s tomb but I held her back. She promised me we would do the same when we visit her hometown, Athenia. She wanted to drag me there ever since I told her I only had one night in one of their cheapest lodgings. I looked forward to it. We could probably go there after finishing our earth research for geology.

But I was such a fool.

Casra was not the person I thought she was. She was a fraud. Fake family, fake hometown, fake face. Even the name I was so accustomed with was not real. She was playing me all along. What for?

Was she ever my friend?

The calmness evaporated out of me and in its place, I felt hot anger. Casra was not pleased to be related to me by friendship if her reaction to Usmu saying what he did, when he did, was anything to go by. It seized me with fear that Casra never thought of me as a friend and that she only made me think we were. And I had easily let her do it as she pleased. Everything made me feel vulnerable. Casra – or whoever that fake was – easily manipulated me and there was no finding it out if not for what happened. Did Casra even care if I died? Or was I just a pawn in her game of deceit and was nothing but collateral damage? I felt the blade cut through me. At that moment, before I fainted, I thought I heard Casra call my name.

I was going to die. I was probably dead already. If not, maybe it was much better to stay here and fade away.

Gasping to catch my breath, I awoke with a jolt.

Tears trickled down my cheeks, wetting my hair. My heart was pounding and my blood ran fast and furious at my temples. I sweated heavily, making my clothes damp and stick to my skin. I looked down and realized these strange clothes – a tunic of liquid night that felt as smooth as silk – were not mine. Somebody changed me into them. I was still sobbing as I felt my face get hotter at the thought of somebody else dressing me up.

I must calm myself down. I closed my eyes again and let a sigh escape my mouth. My eyes moved nervously under my lids. I knew I was stabbed. I did not see Usmu but he was the only one that could have done it when everybody else was present before my eyes. I didn’t know whether to be thankful or not that I still lived.

How could I be alive?

Did Casra save me?

Tears started pooling at the corners of my eyes again. My shoulders trembled as I slung my right forearm across over my eyes. I bit my quivering lower lip to keep myself from screaming. I tried to compose the best explanation for this but without knowing anything about who Casra actually was, I was at a lost for words.

Damn it! We were together for years! But I knew nothing at all!

“Are you awake now?” a deep baritone voice came from my feet to my surprise. I quickly wiped my tears away and lifted my head slightly to look south of me. My surroundings failed to register to me when I awoke but now I realized I was lying on a bed in a room and there was a stranger standing by the entrance, between the door and the wall. A stranger had seen me cry. I bit my lip with a frown.

He came in from the outside or whatever was beyond that door. I narrowed my eyes at him. The tears probably did some trick to my eyes. I sat up to get a better look at him. He was a tall slim man with white long hair and bluish gray skin. His thin pale lips were lavender. I felt a trepidation creep up on me when I looked into his slanted crimson eyes framed by long white eyelashes. His thin eyebrows were like slivers of snow. But his most intriguing feature was his long pointed ears.

Did I cry my eyes out too much that I started to see things?

I blinked twice. They were still there. The man cleared his throat and his ears twitched up and down. I made an oval shape with my mouth as I gaped at him. I only heard about elves from tales. I couldn’t get my hand on any writing be it scrolls or tablets. It was only from the words of the different people I met from my travels with my father that I knew about elves. It was said that they lived in dense forests and rarely interacted with humans. They were extremely long-lived and incredibly dexterous by nature. Long pointed ears were always associated with elves. Those ears were nothing but elven.

An elf stood right in front of me. And he did not look like he appreciates my presence. Which begged the question: where was this? Obvioysly, this was nowhere near Alexandria. There were no elves in Aegyptus and if one wandered by, at least there would have been rumors. But there were none. Was I still within my own world? Where was Casra and our mentors? Thoughts after thoughts raced through my mind as I broke into a cold sweat.

“If you’re fine now, get up and follow me,” said the elf, still stoic as he first appeared.

No, I was not feeling fine. But I needed answers so I gingerly stood from the bed. I wasn’t able to find any footwear but the floor was clean and smooth enough it was probably best to walk barefooted so as to not spread any dust. The elf was already leaving before I even started walking. When I stepped out of the room, I was greeted with a huge gathering of many other elves like the first one who came to get me. I noticed that the room I came from was only enlightened by a spell. The rest of this place was in darkness. Only a few torches were lighting the midst of the gathered elves. The settlements here were crafted like houses with a surprising complication for carved designs. They were made delicately probably from day to night. But I was not be sure if there was a day here because even the space overhead was full of darkness as though we were in a cave. I wanted to call unto the elf that I first met but I still didn’t know what his name is.

“Elf, sir?” I called out to him, trying not to scrutinize the twitch of his ears.

Crimson eyes turned to glare at me venomously as if I were a fish ready to be filleted. I shuddered out of instinct like an animal daring to flee.

“What did you say?” he bit out the words harshly, stressing them out as if I wouldn’t understand if spoken any differently. I didn’t know what I did wrong but his words together with his eyes made my mouth go dry and my heart flutter like a captured bird in my ribs. I made a mental checklist of everything I did wrong in my whole life.

“W-what?” Crap. Why did I feel so guilty I actually stuttered? “You’re an elf, right?”

I raised my voice in panic. In a second, the rest of the elves were looking in my direction. What felt like hundreds of crimson eyes pinned me on the spot. If those eyes could turn me to stone, I could be having a sculpture exhibit by then. As if that was not enough, the elven man in front of me disappeared. I didn’t know what happened; I wasn’t even able to blink. But in a moment, the longest and sharpest nails I’ve seen in my life were suspended in the air, only a strand of hair away from the middle of my eyes.

“You’re not forgetting the law of hospitality, are you?” a deep melodic voice sounded from my right. I was petrified before those nails so I could only move my eyes. The tanned silver-eyed man stood beside me, his right fist firmly locking in place the wrist of the hand whose nails were about to drill into my head.

“As if you’re one to observe laws faithfully,” the elf hissed. He was grinding his jaws so hard that I could see his teeth. Pearly white teeth with protruding canines…were those fangs? My heart’s beating quickened as I tried my hardest to recover from shock. I flinched when I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I was about to scurry away until the hand ran soothing circles on my back. I looked up and saw the worried pale face of sir Theon as he shook his head disapprovingly while panting hard. He looked like he ran a mile before getting to me. I opened my mouth to ask a string of inquiries but decided I really must shut up now. The professor helped me up and then that was when I noticed that sir Neiro was at my other side, also catching his breath. Still behind the silver-eyed man, we stood petrified. He was the only defense we had against the elf that was still poised to attack. But the man did not look like he was even half-threatened. I noticed he was no longer wearing his black armor. He was dressed in a red doublet that cut across his waist, showcasing the toned lean bronze biceps of his arms. He wore black wool pants and black leather boots, all simple but looked comfortable enough Behind us, I heard a slow capping of hands. The hair from the back of my neck stood on their ends as my back and arms were covered in goosebumps. The sound of the clapping steadily grew louder and nearer but I did not dare to move. I strained my eyes to watch out from the sides until I saw a figure walking towards the silver-eyed man. I followed the figure with my gaze. This one had the same features as my attacker but larger in built. I could see toned muscles from those biceps and if not for the firm large breasts she bore I would have mistaken her for a man especially when she spoke.

“That was a nice catch,” said the huge lady, her voice deep and threatening even as her fiery eyes squinted and her full lavender lips stretched for a smile. “Now, if only you’d let my boy go, then I assure you nothing else would thwart our evening tonight.”

“Huh? So there’s night and day even when you’re underground?” said our defender as he let go of the wrist he was holding unto. Despite the gray skin of the elf, I could see the dark blue bruise that marked around that wrist and the small glint of blue blood that made its way down his palm. His wrist was bruised, bloodied and broken from the look of it as it went limp as soon as he was free.

“An advantage of being sensitive to light,” said the big-breasted woman with a hearty laughter. “We can differentiate day and night even if we live beneath the land. Now, let me lead you to my sleeping chambers. You shall rest with the matriarch tonight.”

The silver-eyed man’s lips curled to a lopsided grin. He was about to turn his back on the bruised elf but he stopped midway.

“You can act all high and mighty,” the elf’s words were whispered but still clear enough to be heard by everyone around the five of us. “But sleep well in your bed and I’ll be there to suck your blood dry.”

The silver-eyes gleamed murderously and the same monstrous expression was back on that sun-kissed face before he twisted around using one foot as a pivot, his right hand balled into a fist and drawn back as far as he could before he was rushing towards the elf with all of his weight. But his fist did not connect to the elf’s face. The matriarch blocked his fist easily and pushed it down to his side, all too gentle as if she was reprimanding a child. Still, the silver-eyed man’s expression did not change.

“Why don’t we drink for tonight, Gil?” said the matriarch, smiling gently. But her smile was too full of teeth and fangs. It was a warning.

“Not in the mood anymore,” Gil said, his expression softening while still looking tense. Finally, I had a name for this jerk.

The matriarch laughed that booming laugh again. “You say that but you just can’t hold your liquor.”

Gil stood at six feet. Even when he was disguising as Casra, he was already way too tall compared to average people. A man his size could not possibly be a lighweight when it came to booze, could he? I realized the female elf was teasing him. These two had known each other for a long time if they could tease each other like that.The faces of every elf except the one who remained by our side were livid with rage. Their lavender lips were turning blue as they tried to control their anger. But elves were not known for physical resilience. Nobody dared pick another fight.

“I won’t be taking your son under my tutelage if you won’t let him take one of my punches,” Gil sneered at the elf behind the matriarch and that elf sneered back.

“I know. Can we go to my chamber now?” the matriarch said with a huff, disinterest evident with the way she slouched and slumped her shoulders.

“You better get his wrist checked,” Gil said as he returned to a relaxed standing position.

The huge female elf laughed uncontrollably. She wheezed a few times before she was able to calmly speak again. “Please. He can deal with worse than that.” she shrugged. “You should have seen him when he fought a divine beast. He made me so proud.”

The matriarch started walking back the way she came from, gesturing to us to follow her. I waited for the silver-eyed man to walk first but he pushed my shoulder for me to get going. Apparently, he wished to be the last to go to watch our backs as we retreated before the numerous crimson eyes still following us until we disappeared into the largest and grandest structure I saw in this civilization.

The structure effectively proved to be the palace of the woman who called herself the matriarch when we paced along a grandiose hallway of towering black marbled pillars and at the end of which was a stone throne that the female elf seated herself upon.

“Well,” the female elf coughed a few times and cracked a smile. She tried for a friendly demeanor but the smile immediately caused me to feel intimidated. “I suppose we do the introductions now. I, Shamirasha, govern this realm. I apologize for that kind of welcome but the Utukku have no grudge on you. We especially hate being called names but I understand where you’re coming from. No human lived to tell tales about us, you see. I understand your confusion but please also understand why my son assumed you were insulting our community.”

No humans lived to tell tales? Oh, for gods' sake, did that mean we won't leave here alive?And I did not know mistaking anyone for an elf was already insulting. Sure, I assumed things and gawked at his ears. That could have been what angered her son. I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. Still, I felt torn between apologizing for real to clear things up and avoid getting killed or ridiculing their standards for insult.

“Uttuku? As in blood-sucking demons?“ Sir Theon gasped with wide eyes and, I daresay, fear.

At gaped at them. Blood-sucking demons? Really? At this point, my fear had reached painful levels of headache. I looked back and forth from him and the matriarch, feeling the fear for myself. I turned to Gil, seeking an explanation. Not only was he a fraud, he was a demon worshipper too. The crimson eyes of Shamirasha shone with interest. She curled her lips, showing the tips of her fangs. If she was indulging in bloodlust or a different kind of lust, I did not want to know.

“Well, you're misinformed but I'm impressed that you heard of us,” Shamirasha gracefully clapped her hands together. “Gil! You never told me you have such a wonderful companion on your travels.”

The silver-eyed man answered, “It’s not like I wanted to take them with me.”

“Is that so?” the matriarch smirked as she rested her hands together, ending her applause. “Then I can keep them?”

Gil did not respond. He simply glared at the matriarch. He had his arms crossed over his chest.

“What was so impressive about misinformation? You absorb energy. Sucking blood is a way to do that but unnecessary,” said Gil, tilting his head to one side. I noticed the way his long lashes curled upward and I couldn’t help but gauge how feminine it looked. “And humans often label anything they fear as demons. You only discovered a kind of magic that lets you live long and stay young by absorbing energy, at the price of worshipping the useless gods.”

The atmosphere tensed at the blaspheme and the look of utter mockery on Gil’s chiseled face. He resented the gods, it seemed. This person had a long-standing strife with the divine. But instead of focusing on his words, I was fixated on his voice. Then Shamirasha said, "Bold words from a queen who once served gods."

"That's a thing of the past. I've told you many times." Gil made a sputtering noise and blushed before regaining composure.

“You were a queen?” I managed to squeak after swallowing dryly. Gil’s face was still for a moment until his expression softened. Or her. I gasped and quickly bit my tongue. I assumed this whole time she was a he. I really should stop assuming people's identities based on looks. It got me into trouble and now I almost questioned Gil's gender. I tried to mask my surprise by the fact that she was once a queen. A queen that ruled a country. I wondered what country.

“Yes. Why do you ask?” Her silver eyes dared me to keep asking. Which meant that I should not but curiosity got the better of me.

"Because queens are not supposed to be in another country while faking her credentials, I assume."

Shamirasha chuckled and sir Theon gasped. Sir Neiro only sighed as if he had been expecting me to say it. I could never hold my tongue back when an argument presented itself. And what better time to press for answers than now that someone is slowly revealing who Gil actually was. I half-expected Gil to be angry at me but she stayed calm. Dangerously calm, like the sea before a storm. I started praying to every pantheon, some gods I was most familiar with. I could almost feel her fist approaching my face. But all she did was smirk. That smirk very much reminded me of Casra. That one which exuded arrogance; the one she won’t even try to hide. I focused on the anger and pain of betrayal when I discovered the truth. Now it was much easier to be angry at her since I needed something else to distract me. I needed answers and I will pry them out of her.

"Stop smirking.” I noticed how quiet it was after I hissed. I did not raise my voice. When you wanted to be heard, there could be no better way than to say something nice and cold in a moderate voice. But Gil still smirked at me like nothing happened.

I sucked in a breath as I met Gil’s intense gaze and closed the distance between us. I could smell her, that cinnamon and chocolate scent that used to calm me down. Now it won't stop assaulting my senses like sweet poison. My ears were ringing again. Those eyes like molten silver always managed to unnerve me since I first saw her real self. "You almost got us killed. And you actually wanted to abandon us, didn’t you? All this time you were deceiving me. "

Was our friendship even real? I didn't dare ask lest she knew that she could use my emotions against me. Gil chuckled. My eyes stung with unshed tears but it barely had any effect on her. What could I hope to do against someone like her? I thought I was following closely behind Casra. I thought we were each other’s equal. I thought I found my place right beside her. But everything was a lie. I was not even close enough. Her power and ability far exceeded a human’s as though she was a god herself. I was just a lowly peasant in front of this wandering queen.

“Who are you?” I gritted out the words in a breath.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” she answered coldly. It looked like prying will take longer than I intended.

“So you won’t deny risking our lives?” I laughed humorlessly. “At least you have that much shame to not lie again.”

“I'm not denying what I was but it doesn't have anything to do with our business here,” she said, putting stress on the last word. “I left for a reason. And now here we are. You’re not in the human world anymore, have you noticed? I brought all of you to a different dimension after you were stabbed by a god. This is far from my intended destination. The least you can do after you wasted my plans is to not question me about irrelevant things.”

I tried not to show interest at the fact that I was breathing and living in a different world. Whatever she did, surely it was no ordinary magic. She knew many lost arts and commanded them freely from her fingertips. I didn’t want to be tempted to follow her. But she saved me enough already and I must repay that at least with respect. But how would you respect someone who repeatedly lied to your face and might still be lying to you now?

“I’m assuming ‘Gil’ is not your real name either,” I said to which she responded with a shrug. A carefree opponent that I couldn’t perceive. Well then, I only had to ascertain who you are and give form to your identity. “Let’s have a bet. If I guess your name correctly, you will tell me everything. Answer true to all of my questions as accurately as you can.”

She arched her dark brow at me, the gesture a favorite action of Casra. “Then you have yourself a deal, Lady Elisavet.”

She held out her hand at me, offering a handshake. But she used her left hand. I knew that sign. Sorcerers used their left hand to create a contract of unbreakable bond. Only the one who made it could decide its conditions. If either party violated the contract, the spell will become a curse. Depending on the conditions, the violator can die. It was up to the maker whether to use that much severity or not.

“Stop,” sir Theon objected, grabbing me by the wrist just as I was about to take Gil’s hand with my left. "Do you dare insult me, your mentor, by violating the natural order before my eyes? You know binding spells are forbidden by the obelisk.”

He glowered at me and Gil so I assumed he still considered Gil as one of his students. He was furious, I knew, but I snatched my wrist free from his grasp. I returned my attention on Gil who still offered her hand. She remained silent, recognizing neither the mentor’s prohibition nor his remaining attachment to the student image of Casra that we all knew was a lie.

“I will follow Gil until she answers everything,” I said, staring down on her lips. How much of what she told me was a lie? Then I met her eyes again. “I want the truth. I know the risks of a forbidden magic. But if I cower from that, what right do I have to know the truth?”

“It’s not actually forbidden,” Shamirasha said, amused like a cat. “Temple shamans make these contracts with kings, queens and other political leaders. This one is unauthorized but not forbidden.”

“Making a contract follows a list of rules,” said sir Theon. “First one is the law of mutual trust. Without that, it’s no different from making a demonic contract.”

A demon? Is Gil a demon? Does associating with the Utukku make her demonic?

“I’m not a demon,” said Gil. “I can reveal that much.”

“But you are not much of a human either, are you?” I stated more than asked. I wanted to keep demanding for answers but other than making a contract, there was no other way to determine if she was saying the truth. At least with a contract, lying would be painfully obvious if one of us started dying or maybe just died. Gil winced. Visibly winced despite the invitation still shining in her eyes.

“What are you willing to exchange for information about Gil’s history?” Lady Shamirasha offered.

Gil growled at her, finally breaking the eye contact we held together.

“What do you want?” I asked, turning to the matriarch. Not that I have anything on me at the moment. What can I offer a demon?

“The importance of it to me doesn’t matter,” Shamirasha continued. “Its importance to you is what pays it off.

"Don’t you dare,” Gil warned, lowering her offered hand to ball it into a fist and glaring spitefully at the matriarch.

“I will think about it,” I said, averting my gaze away from them. My eyes hurt. I need to rest. “I don’t know if I have anything valuable on me but I will take you on that offer. After knowing what manner of being this fraud is, I will think about whether or not she’s worth binding to with a contract.”

“Suit yourself,” Gil hissed but she turned around and walked away instead of picking a fight. I wondered if the matriarch could fight on equal terms with her.

Assuming it was night, we dined then slept in the rooms of the matriarch’s chamber. Gil did not come back.

#gil #casra #siduri #theon #neiro #shamirasha #kiyan #uttuku #annunaki #igigi #elohim #chapter 03 #chapter 3 #burn the bridges #immortal index