birthrightgreen: (feeling blue)
The morning was cold, with a fresh snowfall covering tracks that had been made yesterday and frosting the windows. She figured it had started to snow somewhere in the middle, but hadn't checked a timepiece to see exactly when. Instead she'd watched. Just watched. She hadn't moved from where she was curled under the covers. Hadn't unclenched her hand from the feathers, though now the muscles ached and were screaming at her to let go. It was only the insistence of her bladder that finally drove her from the nest she'd made in the bed. After she moved mechanically through her morning routine, she moved back to the bed, determined to try and get some sleep at least. But Graysfang was giving her a baleful look. He had his own way of getting out, so she just stared at him. He stared back.

"Oh, all right."

Boots and trousers, a sweater, coat, hat and mittens later, she felt distinctly unfeminine and ridiculous, but she had a happily prancing wolf at her side as they moved quietly outside. Lucivar would be up soon, if he wasn't already, but Surreal was rather determined to avoid practice this morning. Possibly even breakfast. With that thought in mind, she signaled to Graysfang and circled back around to the kitchen. Mrs. Beale was slightly more in charity with her today, since she'd been very careful to put the kitchen back to rights after making nutcakes yesterday. She grabbed the few that Daemon hadn't hoarded or devoured and tucked them in a napkin, then headed back outside where Graysfang was dancing the prancing dance of a male who needed attention. Now. Nevermind that she'd spent the night at home. In her bed. Alone except for him.

Bloody males.

Always springing things on you when you least expected it and least were prepared for it. Just when you thought you had figured out where you stood with them and were all right with that. You didn't expect more, because who would give more to a woman like you? She'd hoped for more once, only to have it borne home that she was what men wanted in the bedroom, but not elsewhere. Too difficult. Too competitive. Too strong. And now the two of them...

Both of them reducing her, her, to tears in one day. She'd blame her moontime, except it had just passed. She never cried. And if tears did escape some nights in the dark when the nightmares she'd never admit to having were too strong, she never let anyone see.

Graysfang was jumping around, throwing up snow at her. With a sigh she snagged a stick from a drift and hurled it for him, watching him run off after it, like it was the world's greatest treasure.

A new toy, a new plaything. If she moved to the Tower, moved in with Sam, one would come along. He'd grow used to her, or become irritated when she questioned things. And there'd be a new toy to go running off after, and she'd be left alone, waiting for him to come home, never knowing whose bed he was in. There'd be screaming and threats and a sincere desire to rip him into pieces that she would keep to herself because if her family found out...if Daemon found out...

She couldn't bear the shame of that twice. To be the tossed aside toy twice. To have to return home to them in shame, twice.

But it was becoming more and more clear that she couldn't stay here. It hurt too much, laced with a bittersweet joy that she'd never thought to know. Dreams she hadn't acknowledged in decades were poking their heads out in a most annoying fashion. She had to go before it got worse. Before she broke and begged. Before she abandoned everything she held dear and asked for the one thing that would damn her as the whore she knew she was. They didn't see her as that here, and she couldn't bear for them to. It galled her to admit how much their opinions meant, how much their love and affection meant.

She had to leave before she lost it. If not to Sam's, if she couldn't bring herself to take that step, if when they talked they couldn't work things out, then maybe to the townhouse in Amdarh. Society and the Season. There would be plays and balls and entertainments, and the Sa Diablo name would open doors, even if eyebrows were raised behind painted fans. Distractions. Maybe Sam would visit and they could go on as they were, if they couldn't go forward. Maybe in time they'd figure something out. It was selfish of her anyway, to always want what she couldn't have. She should be better than that, and be grateful for what she did have. It was more than she deserved.

Amdarh held welcome possibilities. It wasn't like she'd be abandoning the family. She could serve Jaenelle there. Move through the throngs and see what whispers there were of Dorothea and what might be coming to Little Terreille. People always talked in front of her. They liked to pretend she was invisible, and forgot themselves in the game. She could be useful in Town in a way she wasn't here. She wasn't a country girl, she thought, even as she hurled the stick for Graysfang again, much to his wriggling delight. She needed something to do. And the social intrigue of the city suited her. Being of some use would give her a purpose again.

After Winsol then. After they danced to the glory that was Jaenelle, when truly she would see that...maybe someday but not now. No matter how much it hurt. She wouldn't let them see. Couldn't. And so she'd go.

She rubbed her temples, the lack of sleep and repeated floods of tears leaving her with a headache.

After Winsol, she'd figure out where to go. And then maybe things would make sense again.

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birthrightgreen

March 2009

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