theatrical_muse Inventing Sorrow

DG returned again, this time with a flower. Azkedillia allowed as how it was a beautiful thing. Pink, yellow and a deep burgundy, parts of it almost glowed in the morning sun. DG tried to put it in her sister's hair, but did not even sigh when she was rebuffed.

The flower was her third attempt at making Az smile. First had been a round rock with a fossil embedded in the center. Then had been a butterfly who obligingly landed on DG's hand. The flower certainly was beautiful, as had been the butterfly and the stone. Still, none of them broke through the melancholy of that morning.

Azkedillia woke up that day and the silence chilled her. She had nothing of her own to fill it with that day, no busy work to distract her, and she'd lain in bed waiting to hear the witch's voice as she had so many mornings before. Now she sat on a low wall in the garden, her skirts warm from the sun, with her hands cold as ice from fear.

She could tell DG was looking for something else to bring her. Like an eager puppy, she kept coming back. The girl's shoulders were slumping, though. She was giving up. Azkedillia shuddered at the thought of what would have been if DG had given up when it mattered.

Rising slowly, Az smoothed her skirts and strode past her sister. "Follow me, squirt, I know were to find the greenest roses."

"Green?" DG perked up and followed behind her, lacking only a tail to wag.

"Green. They are mother's favorites. Maybe we can take her some."



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theatrical_muse Greatness

There are certain assumptions made about what happened to Azkedillia while the witch possessed her and about who she is now. Even within her family and their closest circle guesses are made at how she survived. Only DG, who saw her that way for such a short time, comes close to getting it right, but even she has more compassion than knowledge.

It's not their fault. Who wants to talk about such things, particularly when every word is a reminder of a crime perpetrated? She thinks sometimes that Cain understands that the fears and voices in her head won't ever go away, but asking him means hearing him tell of the cries that echoed in the tin suit.

Once she was all powerful, strong and certain. Her body controlled monsters and could cause death with a deep breath. Soldiers and scientists, courtiers and coal miners all cowered before her. She was a god. Now that was all gone and sometimes she missed it.

There was no one who could understand that.



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theatrical_muse Seduction

Seduction can be accomplished with a whisper, a sweet smile, or a word left hanging. It is a thing of delicacy and subtlety. So few truly understand how little it takes to bend the mind of a person when you offer them what they already want.

That's the trick, of course. You must discover what they want. Once you know that, you can use those secret desires to achieve your goals. Offer them power, fame, security, sex, whatever it is that drives them, and they will hand you their soul on a plate.

Seduction is not only about flowers and candies. Seduction can happen at the point of a sword if the offer is sweet enough. The will to live is usually quite enough of a draw to bring another to your side. Watching the play of emotions is a thing of beauty. Seeing the surrender is the most delicious thing in existence.

It is a taste you can never forget.


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realmofthemuse Touch of Dawn

She moved back into the room she had as a child. Not as big as the Queen's chambers, but an odd comfort. The colors are all different, the furniture had to be changed because she grew to her full height, and most of her childhood toys have long since been discarded. Still, it was her room.

In the evenings, when she'd had enough of people she couldn't truly speak to, she retired to that room and wandered it. Her fingertips brushed over the spaces where the toys had once been. She could almost feel them and that moment when she realized she could not was the closest she came to tears.

Alone in the big bed, without even the mobats to keep her company in her dreams, she slept restlessly. She wanted simple things, but they would not come. Everything was complex and frightening, full of traps she couldn't begin to understand anymore.

She woke with a start one morning, certain something was wrong. Something had changed. Rolling slowly onto her back, hoping that whatever was there might think she was still sleeping, she reached out to find the knife she kept under her pillow.

Rather than the cold steel, she found fabric. Not the silk of her pillow, this was rougher and worn. She opened her eyes slowly. Under her fingers was a stuffed doll. As the sleep cleared from her eyes, she realized she knew the faded fabric and loose buttons. The doll had been hers. Many more annuals ago than she could easily remember, that doll had sat on her pillow every night.

She sat up, clutching the doll to her chest and looked around wildly. DG stood in the door to her room, watching her with a curious smile. She cocked her head and shrugged at Azkedillia's unspoken question. "Mother found it in her room, behind a bit of furniture. Thought you might like it."

Nodding, Azkedillia rocked the doll and put a hand out to her little sister. Together they curled back under the covers. After a long while, Azkedillia started speaking. "I was given it just before you were born. To have something of my own." She smiled gently. "I loved it very much, but around the time you started to crawl, I decided you were better."

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realmofthemuse Tiny Dancer

DG told the story of how she remembered her magic more than once. It was meant to be a sweet story, something to bring the sisters together while the OZ was healing. Together the sisters had worked strong magic, all because they could remember playing with a child's toy. Azkedillia smiled and touched the back of DG's hand, acknowledging their connection.

To Az, the story wasn't sweet, it was terrifying. Something so small, a moment so long forgotten, was all that stood between all of them and the destruction of the OZ. What if it hadn't worked that day? All would have been lost if two little girls hadn't been playing with a doll.

Better to think of the work that DG and her friends had done crossing the OZ to find the answers. Much better to think of the tiny bit of herself that lasted deep inside, hidden from the witch. Better even to think of Cain and his guns blasting everything in sight than one blasted little spinning toy.

Still, she touched DG's hand every time and nodded. What mattered now was that it was done, not how it happened.


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