by S D Simper
Flowridia kept her gaze on the squirming infant, watching as he reached for his mother with tiny, pudgy fingers. “I still like the name ‘Demeter.’ I know it’s a girl’s name, but we could change it. Perhaps-”
With an exasperated sigh, Mother stood, bracing herself against the wall as she steadied herself. “Useless,” she spat, and she tore from the room.
Flowridia followed, confused and panicked. “What do you mean?”
“Boys can’t inherit my potential. Have you ever heard of a male witch, Flower Child?”
Flowridia had not, and she gasped when Mother nearly dropped the baby into her arms.
“Take care of it,” Mother said, and in her other hand she offered a knife.
* * *
The roses rested at her chest, one splattered with blood. Flowridia flinched when she attempted to sit up. The scars remained tender, and against her wishes a pained sigh left her throat. The Skalmite’s spit had wiped away without a trace, leaving only patched skin for her to heal with her own magic.
A carriage had been sent, a rip between the planes created by the empress allowing it to appear outside the bounds of the crystal’s power.
Thalmus watched from the opposite bench. The carriage rolled smoothly, lulling Flowridia’s tired body. His voice did little to soothe her troubled mind. “You talk in your sleep.”
Flowridia shut her eyes. “I know,” she whispered.
Thalmus said nothing else, for which Flowridia was grateful. Though her wounds had healed, the thought of speaking brought pain.
In the early evening, Marielle and Zorlaeus waited at the gates. Flowridia had scarcely stepped out when she felt herself pulled into a careful hug. “Oh, Flowridia, I was so worried,” Marielle said, letting her fingers trace lines against her back.
The embrace was enough to pull tears from Flowridia’s eyes. “So was I,” she replied, but she couldn’t summon the laugh meant to accompany it.
“Are you injured?”
Flowridia shook her head. “But I would like a bath. And sleep. I healed myself.”
“Once Etolié has returned, we’ll have a meeting,” Marielle said, and she pulled away enough to study her face. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Flowridia knew Marielle didn’t refer to her physical well-being. “I need sleep,” she repeated.
Marielle nodded, but Flowridia could see her skepticism. “If you need anything at all, please find me. Or Thalmus. Someone.” She engulfed Flowridia again in a hug. “Don’t be afraid to talk.”
Flowridia nodded in her arms, eyes still glistening. She wondered what Marielle knew.
It didn’t matter. She would know everything after their meeting.
Demitri kept close by her heels, and she carried her bag by her side. You’ve barely said anything.
“I don’t know what there is to say, Demitri,” Flowridia replied, voice soft. The young wolf brushed against her knee as they walked. “I need to be alone.”
Without me?
Up the stairs, and then Flowridia managed a smile. “No, dearest Demitri. I always want you.”
She swung the door open. The flickering of a thousand candles met her gaze, and Flowridia immediately knew.
Stepping fully inside, she braced herself as she turned to see Ayla by the window. Her black dress, painted on by appearances, left little to the imagination, though Flowridia was intimately familiar with what lay underneath. A coy grin graced Ayla’s face, still burned and charred. “Good evening.”
Flowridia kept her gaze down and turned when she realized Demitri had already begun trotting down the hall. “Demitri-”
The small wolf turned. You need alone time.
Flowridia shut the door, knowing he was right. “You look like you’re feeling better.”
Ayla chuckled darkly and said, “Oh, your little group was adorable.” Her grin turned wicked. “The crystal is yours now. Who better to protect it?”
Gaze to the floor, Flowridia nodded.
“You and yours are home safe.”
Again, she nodded. Flowridia shut her eyes, angry at her welling tears.
“You could map out the catacombs and set up an impressive stronghold, your treasure vaults are full of dwarven spoils, and-” Her tone grew dark, intense. “. . . you and your friends will never be forgotten. Stories will be told for generations about the return of The Endless Night and those who heroically fought it. A bit of collateral damage, sure, but heroes never escape unscathed.”
Flowridia sniffed, her form trembling as she fought to push away her tears. “But at what cost?”
“Now, now,” Ayla cooed, “you got exactly what you wanted.” Flowridia heard the faint rustling of fabric; Ayla approached. “Exactly what you asked for.” With a gentleness that caused Flowridia to tense, Ayla put her hands on either side of Flowridia’s face and placed a kiss on her forehead.
“I-” Flowridia took a step back. “I-I still have scars from-” A tear trailed down her face. Instinctively, she turned away, dabbing at her eyes with her long sleeves. “You don’t want to see them.”
“Scars have never bothered me.” Ayla’s hands gently pulled her back. Flowridia stiffened as Ayla began planting small kisses along her jaw and down her neck, trailing down to the top of the brutal gash at the collar of her dress.
Flowridia stood still, unsure of how to react. Ayla leaned up and said, “You did bring my flowers, right?”
When Flowridia stepped away, Ayla let her, and she dropped to her knees and rummaged through her suitcase. She withdrew the roses, though they had wilted in the passing days, and offered them forward.
Ayla took them and smoothly tossed them to the ground. Her grin spelled triumph, and she offered a pale hand. “Come.”
Flowridia stared down at her lithe fingers, trying to reconcile the view of those gentle hands with the claws that had torn through her like paper. Not days before, blood had seeped through those fingers, raining down and snuffing out the lives of thousands.
Flowridia reached out to accept the offering and realized the blood soaking Ayla’s hands had stained hers too. When she looked up, it wasn’t Ayla’s smile she saw, but the fanged grin of the monster before it ripped her to ribbons.
“Flowra?”
A torrential sob ripped through Flowridia’s body. Her hands flew to cover her face, though tears leaked through her fingers. The memory of pain and turmoil, of screams and horror and blood-stained earth, roared through her mind, yet paled to the all-consuming shame threatening to drown her.
She managed one word: “Why?”
The answer came in sensuous tones, along with a light touch upon her waist, one that would surely lead her to hell. “You faced an enemy you had no hope to defeat.”
“The Endless Night was-” Flowridia gasped when the soft hands at her waist turned to claws, threatening to pierce her skin.
“Was it The Endless Night who threatened to force itself upon you and kill your friends? Funny, I seem to recall it saving your life.” Ice steadily rose in Ayla’s voice, freezing Flowridia to her core as she whispered, “When faced with monstrosity, become the greater monster. The sting of victory will fade with time.”
When Flowridia said nothing, Ayla’s grip softened again. Her voice cooed, “There is no monster here, my sweet Flowra. I’ll show you there’s no need to be afraid.”
When cool hands slid across her dress and groped her, when kisses were peppered along her neck, Flowridia shook her head, gasping sobs stealing her voice. “Ayla, I- I can’t-”
Ayla released her, and Flowridia crumpled to the floor, weeping into her hands. Amidst her cries, something soft brushed against her; instinctively, Flowridia reached out and clutched the fabric of Ayla’s dress, desperately clinging within the storm of her tears.
Flowridia looked up, and through her misted, tear-stained vision, she met an ambivalent gaze, one bearing nightmarish features – a burn hardly healed. Ayla raised a single eyebrow. “Pathetic doesn’t suit you.”
Flowridia felt the same blow, stomach pained at the sharp remark.
“I’ll return in the morning, once you’ve cried yourself to sleep. Perhaps you’ll remember to be grateful for all I’ve done for you.”
“If I’m such a burden,” Flowridia whispered, lip trembling despite her words, “don’t come back.”
Ayla stood straight, stare suddenly sharp. “I beg your pardon?”
The urge to hide from that pointed glare nearly overwhelmed her, but Flowridia matched it as she trembled from tears. “I’m sorry I burned you,” she managed, words shaking, “but now the debt is repaid.” Her hand touched the top of the scar that peaked at her sternum, shined and tender. “Please, go.”
When Ayla stepped forward, Flowridia shrunk back, prepared to accept death as penance for her crimes. Such pride in Ayla’s face, but something else, something severe beyond even the disfiguration spreading out from her ear. Ayla turned aside, her body vanishing behind the cracked door of the wardrobe.
Alone, Flowridia crawled onto her bed and curled into a ball, grabbing the blankets and wrapping them around her shaking form. Crippling sobs tore through her, tears falling fast. No relief; only pain. She buried herself underneath the thick blankets, disappearing as the sun set outside her window.
Then, a familiar voice drifted through her head. Mom?
Flowridia sat up. At the foot of her bed stood Ayla, and in her arms, gently stroked by her thin fingers, was Demitri. Trembling, Flowridia reached out. Ayla placed the pup in her arms.
Flowridia held Demitri tight, breathing ragged as she pulled comfort from his soft fur and the lick on her jaw. She kept her stare for Ayla, who watched the scene with an odd vulnerability. Ayla’s gaze shot to the ground, and in meticulous, stiff movements, she climbed on the bed and slid herself toward the pair.
Arms snaked around Flowridia’s form, but Ayla said nothing as she pulled Flowridia down into her lap. She brought the blanket up to cover Flowridia’s shoulders. “Try and sleep,” Ayla whispered, her fingers soothing against Flowridia’s arm. “I cannot promise I’ll be here when you awaken.”
With Demitri cradled in her arms, Flowridia settled herself against Ayla’s body. Despite her dirty clothes and shoes, the blood that clung to her hair, she breathed in deep and shut her eyes. Tears still fell.
Soft, barely a whisper in her ear, Ayla began to hum. Far from unpleasant, her voice held an airy quality, but the tune she sang, heartfelt and melancholy, resonated through Flowridia’s head.
She clung to the sound, letting it soothe her to sleep.
* * *
The next morning, twelve roses sat in a bouquet on her bedside table. Flowridia steadily blinked into wakefulness, smiling fondly in the dim morning light.
The scratching of a pen on paper alerted her to the presence beside her. She turned over, only to see Ayla sitting in her bed, legs under the covers. The lithe woman, still fully dressed and hair well-kempt, glanced down from the nondescript book in her hand. The other held a pen. “Good morning,” Ayla said, and she turned the book toward her.
Flowridia saw a detailed ink drawing of her own sleeping image, her breath leaving her as she studied the near-perfect likeness. Each individual strand of hair seemed ready to burst from the page, her lips glossy, and even the gentle blemishes of her face – her faint freckles and hints of scars – held a delicate beauty about them. A stunning image, and Flowridia felt heat color her cheeks.
This was how Ayla saw her. “It’s beautiful.”
“You can have it. I have others like it,” Ayla said, and she ripped the page from the book and leaned over to place it on Flowridia’s table. She set the book aside and slid down next to Flowridia and the still-snoozing Demitri.
“I didn’t expect you to be here,” Flowridia said softly, and when Ayla pressed their lips together, she smiled wide.
A vicious grin tugged at Ayla’s mouth as she pulled away. “What’s the worst Casvir can do? Kill me?” She chuckled and snaked her arms around Flowridia’s waist, keeping their bodies flush together. “Besides, I got carried away with drawing. After you fell asleep, I realized how peaceful you are to watch.”
An odd statement, and Flowridia raised an eyebrow. “I would have thought you already knew that, with how often you’d snuck into my bedroom.”
“Clever girl,” Ayla said, and she planted a kiss on Flowridia’s cheek.
Feeling brave, Flowridia dared to add, “And you have other drawings like it, you said?”
A wide and dangerous grin spread across Ayla’s face. “Most are from memory. But it’s been a long time since I’ve had as pretty a subject as you.”
Somewhere in the depths of Flowridia’s sense of self-preservation, she suspected she ought to object to this, yet this sudden change in Ayla’s decorum, while jarring, wasn’t unappreciated. Instead, she said, “How did you learn to draw so well?”
Ayla chuckled. “When you’ve lived as many centuries as I have, you pick up a few hobbies.” Her hand moved up to stroke Flowridia’s hair, her neck, and as she traced down, Ayla flinched at the scar. She glanced down and leaned in to place a kiss at the top, above the collar of Flowridia’s dress. “Give it time. It will fade.”
Demitri stirred, perhaps awakened by their conversing. In clumsy motions, he approached Ayla, even as she leaned away, visibly wary.
“It’s all right if you touch him,” Flowridia said, smiling softly. “You don’t need my permission; only his.”
In tentative motions, Ayla offered a hand forward, but Demitri ignored it. Instead he settled into Ayla’s lap, curling into a ball while Ayla kept her hands up, oddly stiff.
But before Flowridia could comment, Ayla lowered her hands, letting one settle onto Demitri’s back with a quiet smile.
Flowridia watched them fondly, the peaceful scene warming her tender heart. “Ayla, last night . . .” Her breath hitched when Ayla glanced up. “I shouldn’t have told you to leave. I’m sorry.”
Ayla held her gaze, her smile fading as she shook her head. “We both said terrible things.” When she returned her attention to Demitri, Flowridia knew Ayla would say nothing more.
“You mentioned something else,” Flowridia dared to push. When she hesitated, Ayla reached over to cup her cheek, softness returning to the undead woman’s expression. “Are you The Endless Night?”
“Oh, Flowra,” Ayla said, amusement in her words. “I promise, I am no demon.” She scattered kisses across Flowridia’s forehead, and with each one Flowridia felt her body relax. A firm kiss pressed against her lips. “No need to worry yourself.”
Ayla said nothing more, instead continuing those sweet gestures. Each kiss brought a deeper blush to her cheeks until, giggling, Flowridia dove in to return the favor. Their lips met, and when her tongue parted Ayla’s lips, she reveled in the soft moan her cold companion released.
With an apology, she sent Demitri away. Alone with Ayla, Flowridia savored every unmapped curve of her body, before finally settling at the valley between her legs. Bitterness, she discovered, was the sweetest taste of all. Ayla’s pleasure rose with the sun.
* * *
A knock at the door interrupted their play. Flowridia froze, Ayla’s breast in her mouth. “One moment,” she said, the words muffled by Ayla’s slight chest, but when she looked back at Ayla’s face, the woman held a dangerous glare. “Please, Ayla, it’ll only take a minute,” she whispered. She took Ayla’s face in her hands and kissed her roughly, smiling when she felt Ayla’s tense pose relax.
Flowridia stood and quickly threw a nightgown over her nude form. She opened the door no more than a crack and stared out at Marielle. “Good morning.”
“You missed breakfast,” Marielle said kindly. “I wanted to know if you were all right.”
Flowridia gave a slow nod. “Exhausted, but well.”
“Etolié has returned and wants to meet as soon as possible. She brought home an interesting souvenir.”
“A council meeting, then?”
“Once you’re dressed, we’ll begin.”
Flowridia’s heart sank. “I should bathe first. Give me a few minutes. Please?” she added, and when Marielle nodded, she smiled. “Thank you.”
Still, the queen watched with concern. “I’ll tell them half an hour.”
Marielle left, and Flowridia shut the door. She whipped around, relieved to see Ayla still lying nude in her bed. “You’ll be leaving me, then?” Ayla said, if a bit dramatically.
“I have duties,” Flowridia replied, remorse in her words. “But you don’t have to go.”
Ayla sat up, the blankets pooling around her waist. She leaned back, her tight stomach flexed, ribs severe but her breasts enticing. “I do, unfortunately. I should have left last night.” Her head fell backwards, and bitter annoyance escaped with her groan. “Casvir will have missed me.”
Heat filled Flowridia’s cheeks, but not from arousal. Of course Casvir would care. Did Ayla care that Casvir cared? Flowridia stepped forward, hands fidgeting as she sat at the edge beside Ayla. “Casvir will have missed you . . . in his bed?”
The silence grew tense, though perhaps only in Flowridia’s head. Ayla burst into laughter. “Flowra, my sweet, I beg your pardon?”
Relief vastly overshadowed her embarrassment. Flowridia sighed, releasing tension she hadn’t realized she carried. “You aren’t sleeping with Casvir?”
“Gods, no,” Ayla replied, hilarity lacing her words. “Even if I were inclined to, he wouldn’t have me. Haven’t you heard the jests? That he’s more monster than man, immune to the temptation of flesh? I don’t think he’s ever so much as wet his cock on a woman’s mouth, much less her cunt.”
The mocking in Ayla’s tone meant this must have been a common jest, and Flowridia felt her face grow hot. Ayla surely felt her red cheeks when she moved to cup her face. “I’m sorry for accusing you,” Flowridia replied softly. “When I first met you, I thought you and he-”
