‘ & is that supposed to FRIGHTEN me? did you think I entered this without knowledge of the teeth you bare? mortality is an inevitable disease —– at least I know I can go creatively. ‘ she pauses, baring a grin which displayed her own dragon’s fangs as her gaze shifts from the rise & fall of the empress’s bust to her eyes, ‘ The question is whether or not your BARK matches your bite. ‘
Meg could feel her HEART beating faster in her chest. She had never seen this woman before and yet there was SOMETHING about her, something that drew Meg towards her. She wouldn´t explain the feeling, but she could feel the way her skin almost felt electric and she couldn´t help but take a step CLOSER.
“I…do know what you mean, but…I´d rather call you by the name you go by,” she then found herself saying. “It´s the polite thing to do and…I do want to know what you´re called,” It felt as if this was a MYSTERY that had to be solved, one that could maybe help explain why she was feeling THIS was.
HER FIRSTsubconscious thought remains ( why was the girl UNFRIGHTENED? ) she was far too stubborn to give up the self-depricating nature that refused to explain the girl’s plain curiosity, and moreover, lack of inherent abhorrence. still, her words paced through her mind at a careful speed, debating what use the foreign name would have on her tongue. it STUNG, too, the thought of releasing it into the air, like a fresh wound she had never finished licking.
HER BREATH is fine and labored, deep and slow. she stares into the blonde’s eyes, out of INTIMIDATION or sheer searching she really didn’t know. dark lips pursed as she weighed her answers ( the WICKED WITCH ) was it not what she now was? what point was there to living in the past? one she, alone, had ruined. one she could never return to. & all for some dancer, a little girl with too many stars in her eyes.
Her hips move up against the empress’s, how lovely the thought that she could take someone so PRIZED from someone so royal, so immortal. she made no effort to conceal her lowliness now ———– she wore it as a BADGE ;; the WICKED WITCH of a long forgotten land, degenerate & dirty, and yet she could have the ruler or the land any time her husband had a slip of tongue.
She laughs at the POWER in theodora’s anger, it’s so easy to use, it’s so arousing to them both. it’s now & only now that she could throw the empress against her own wall without being hung for it. it’s now & only now she can press her to the wall and slam her wrists against it. ( she loved the bruises ). it was now that her hands moved in the fading light, giving elphaba, too, the SENSATION she craved without the commitment neither would admit they feared.
Her teeth find the smooth skin of her neck with EASE, growling a bit in accord with the rawness of theodora’s anger. ————— ‘ Has no one taught you to be QUIET? I’m happy to teach. ‘ of course, she’d TEST that silence just as much.
SHE arches an eyebrow at the partially disrobed empress, the luxe of her nightclothes never ceasing to amuse the witch, who had, at most, perhaps two dresses, certainly none which were silken & fitted perfectly to un-corsetted breasts.
HEReyes move swiftly to the doorway and back, as if to WARN of the time left before her husband was to return. it was hardly her concern, but it created a tension in the musky air that she could see excite theodora’s feature, and perhaps she like to play still, every now & again.
‘ IT DEPENDSI suppose ————- will you be going any further, or do you plan on remaining a tease. two CAN play at such a game. ‘
SHEcan near SMELL the fury in theodora’s seduction, senses the very same hunger for control that she herself knows well. the feeling of bone hitting solid wall may have stunned some, but she loved feeling it, feeling ANYTHING, even pain. because, it meant one thing, she was invited to put up her OWN fight.
QUICKLYher hands flip around to grip the pale, porcelain wrists of the empress, smirking as the body remains pressed to hers. it is so easy a game to play, because neither wanted anything more than POWER, than physical satisfaction in the heat & excitement of such sinful behaviors.
ELPHABA, of course, has the UNFAIR advantage of her size & strength, not to mention her power. theodora may have been the immortal bride, but elphaba was the mortal wielder of the devil’s craft, and it was not below her to use it in this game. her fingernails snagged on the lush fabric covering theodora’s breastbone, and she smirks into parted lips.
‘ MY, we’re quite hungry today, aren’t we? what has he done now? ‘
HER words come as indifferently as if she’d never seen the thing in her life, as if it had no role in her mind but an absent memory of some passing mention. & if only that were the case. but the truth is often not the case one would wish. the clock could fuck itself for what she cared. this clock of the time dragon, the mysterious roaming teller of all fates. its crude gestures & almighty, inexplicable power. ( that which - though she could not speak it, had tied her fate with a neat bow, regardless of the princess nastoya’s assurances ).
SHErecalls with an inward shutter watching it as a dazed, naive girl. remembers the animated wooden man in a gray trench coat, bent suggestively at the waist, forcing himself into the woman before him, the woman dressed in her late mother’s robes. she recalls the green bottle, the whir of minuscule people, the singular show of an incredulous child becoming a wicked witch. how her blood, then, had boiled, as it did when her power had exploded. how she had refrained from destroying the relic then & there was still a mystery to her. all of this, though, remained locked inside her ribs, leaving the woman outside her mind, none the wiser. & so what made it so unfair, the clock had fucked her, had it not? but yet, hadn’t everything?
as peter flies off, ending the game they played as quickly as he’d started it, tinkerbell felt unbelievably…well, empty once more. the wondrous joy he brought that filled her up in it’s puzzling, addictive way followed him, travelling far away only to return in some unknown amount of time to retrieve her before both fly home. it was the closest thing to a routine peter allowed himself to had.
“we love each other. there’s a level of freedom you HAVE to give up when you love someone. it’s simply how it works.”
THE RESPONSE elicits from her both laughter, and genuine discomfort. love, how reckless a concept, one she had always held herself back from. was it to protect her FREEDOM, as the fairy so suggested. was it simply because she felt she didn’t deserve it? her face remains COLD as she speaks, showing not an ounce of her thought. it was a skill she had perfected, frighteningly so. she gives the fairy only a knowing, and intelligent gaze. though her curiosity was genuine, it was posed as the near opposite.
she holds the cloth there, pale hand suspended between them as the cloth dangles like some grey pennant heralding the presence of tragedy-wrought beings. she can feel the eyes on her, probing, but … on the scales of strangers, there is not much more weight to ella than what can be seen. she IS poor, she is forsaken with no land, no title, nothing of value on her person but that wondrous little splinter of glass that remained in her pocket. in hope-wrung hours, it reminded her that she had been worthy, that she could be.
KINDNESS & BRAVERY remain the badge sewn on her breast, and ella can no longer balk when someone is in pain. as intimidating as the other tries to be ( and does succeed, but not enough to hinder her ), she reminds ella something of a child still, prickly and quick in temper. with that final inhale of torment from her, ella takes a few steps forward, but leaves ample enough space between them, giving her the choice to either step forward and claim the aid or turn away.
❝you don’t seem fine,❞ she murmurs, offering shreds and olive branch alike. ❝please. it looks deep.❞
‘ Itold you, I’m fine! ‘ —— but with the fierceness of the words comes a yelp of pain, the blood now trickling between her fingers as she pressed into the wound. tears welled at the corners of her eyes, but did not dare fall, to allow the peasent girl to see her BURNS would surely be her demise. she would rather die slowly of blood-born infection.
‘ WHAT should you care? what makes you different from those who would RUN? don’t take it so personally, I don’t favor anyone. ‘
HER skin hungers for the bandage, but her pride won’t allow it. she cannot lose guard before one so unknown to her. & the begging, how it wobbled her knees with anger. she CARED, and why should she? no one was to care what became of the WITCH. they were to throw stones, not flowers. what was she to do with such strange affection? merely accept it without question? she hadn’t know kindness in her life, she had barely known contact for years on end. running, running, always fighting. always the STRONG one, never on her knees. always the tired one, never asleep. her bones did not know how to stop fighting.
