You make me want to believe in love. Ch:27
Nausea rears its head and she stumbles along, bracing herself against the wall. Then deciding to drag her body to one of the chairs in the room.
Dyō had been waiting for her. “I don't give sincere praise lightly but you showed me that you've earned it. What a performance! The people will speak of this day and its glory from near and afar.”
He speaks fast, not able to get his sentences out quick enough. Waving his arms to accentuate his words and full of bubbling excitement.
“Red was not pleased but who could argue with a good show? And oh! How they taunted me with visions of your demise at Fontana’s hands! But their words faded with each blow you held your own under. I couldn't even tell them to fuck off.”
Her entire body aches, a living sore muscle that with each movement begs her to collapse in a pile. Despite it, her heart is still racing, she can't rest, his insistent words poisoning her mind with turmoil.
“The court assassin is when they thought they had you. I'll admit to a small doubt you would make it through. Yet you prevailed through the trial. You were glorious. A vengeful soldier.”
Remembering the blood has him shuddering.
“You were amazing out there. I didn't think you had it in you.”
“Me either.” Her response is lackluster. An episode of disassociation hits her hard and in an effort to ground herself back to reality she digs her teeth into her tongue.
She stretches out her wounded leg. They'd given her a single rag to wipe off the dirt, sweat and blood. A physician had wrapped her leg up and left it at that, no ointments or painkillers. She'll be lucky if it doesn't rot off from infection in the days that follow.
The show he loves so much wounded her body in ways that will never be the same. If the wounds heal the mental scars on her psyche will remain. Could she return to her home now? Like this? Having been mashed up and remade into something bitter.
An unrecognizable woman reborn. Her accomplishments, the PhD, the infantry enlistment, are distant.
“When that fool had you pinned I nearly lost my cool. But it was for naught. You triumphed over my wildest expectation.”
He continues ranting and raving about his favorite parts of her battle. About her sword and the way she leapt across the arena, about the way she landed each blow with her armor gleaming.
“Like Artemis herself…” He compares and it's a slap to the face.
Her breathing still hasn't slowed and the hot blood in her veins rushes beneath skin. Warbled speech tapping in and out as she attempts to steady herself. He compared her to a Greek goddess, an unchained and wild feminine force, yet here she is still at his neck and call. Just as he prefers it.
“Aren't you in any way sad that she's dead?” she asks. Is that how he treats his fuck buddies?
Dyō chuckles. “Oh she isn't dead. No. You didn't break her mask. That's the only way for us to truly die. Fontana will just be indisposed for a long time.” If anything his answer infuriates her. The continued casual cruelty grinding her nerves, even if it's to be expected, she can't get used to it. “It was a show they won't soon forget.”
Flashes of images assault her senses. (Crushed June bugs under heels. His heel.)
Of course Dyō isn't upset, if it isn't about him then he's fine because he's a selfish piece of shit skip. Ruining the lives of whoever crosses his path because he can.
The lurch of acidic vomit climbs up her throat and she swallows it. Closing her straining eyes for a moment. The unnatural geometry of the place is something she can only stand for so long.
“I didn't do it for you.” She snaps.
“So you claim.” he remains unmoved by her anger. Stopping his pacing and folding his lanky form in the chair next to hers. “You hate me. That's fine with me. Flattering even. Remember what I said? Something along the lines of ‘Hate and love both burn hot.’”
She is silent. Staring at him with a look of simmering resentment. Utterly lost and burning with an intense heat, she just wants to go home and sleep. She crosses her arms tightly and looks to the floor. Hair obscuring her masked face. "I didn't do it for you." She whispers curtly. "I know why you're here instead of partying with Sforza and Paggliaci. To rub salt in the wound. But I'm going to warn you to keep your claws to yourself. I won't be so easy to manipulate again.” A fragile claim she yearns to back up with action
“What a brazen declaration, noble in its determination. I thought you'd learn by now, everyone has to do things they don't enjoy.” he tsks, lighting up a pipe of opium. The thick cloying scent chokes her. “It's part of life here in Alaggadda.”
He reaches for her injured limb, messaging her calf before gently whacking her leg. She yelps, shoving him away
“Is that how you treat a victorious hero, the one you intend to reward?” She says sarcastically.
His white mask is tilted down and stuck in that frown. A single long string of beads from his headdress brushes her cheek. Glinting in the low light with that awful black tar.
“You are right…..” The bead tinkles and taps on her cheek. In the candlelight their forms merge into a single shadow. She can't look anywhere else than his eyeless gaze. Something in the black depths draws her in. Black holes. “My, what should I give my champion?” he turns his mask and pretends to ponder.
She lifts her chin up and glares through a haze of red. Though she's trembling it is not with an ounce of fear. "Is this a trick? Will you hurt me? Do it! Kill me! Beat me!" She leans close to his mask as the overpowering stench of his perfume fills her lungs. “You know what I want. My answer hasn't changed.”
(Beetles locked by the horns. Kissing bugs attached at the ends.)
“Dyō?” The fur cape he has slips from a thin shoulder. Her gaze lands on his dress, her jaw clenching tighter as she takes in the way the dark red silk clung to his curves, the floral embroidery doing little to hide the shape of his long supple body, the hint of nipples beneath the bodice, the V of his legs. She can see the outline of him through the thin material, and it makes a familiar heat twitch traitorously in her belly.
He leans in closer. His hand caresses her leg. “Anything… I'll give you anything but your freedom.”
Was there ever a choice?' she wants to ask. But she chokes the question and instead studies the sight of him seated with that smug expression.
“Be honest with yourself. You can't return. Not now. You've changed.” Their noses are inches from brushing. Whispering and promising to unleash secret desires and hidden appetites when what she craves is freedom.
Yet it's been so long she's beginning to forget what her home looks like. The color of the walls and the decorations in the room. It's slowly becoming vapor.
Where is the woman who talked of romance operas to her colleagues and would clean a bookstore out of new Josie mangas? The one who boxed for fun but always had an inner softness maintained by chocolates and sweets?
Even in the face of victory she's dealing with loss.
“But if you stay you'll be shedding that boring human life. You'll spend eons discovering new emotions, a Kaleidoscope of existences laid before you. With me at your side.”
He holds her hand close to his chest. The cool touch causes goosebumps on her flesh.
“Dyō …” she breathes. Look at me and see what you've made me into, what you've done to me. The woman I was before you no longer exist and there's only the hardened callouses of her shape.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/33567895/chapters/220534316
