#alef

Goldless, Golden

When bitten, bite back.

This is what Alef does when the neighbours’ child grabs Alef’s arm and sinks their yellowish teeth into the flesh there, when tiny droplets of blood form where the enamel meets the dark skin, when the child calls them names and uses words that Alef’s Mother would shush them for.

Alef bites back.

Their Mother says, patching up the scratches and bruises that Alef gained in the fist fight that followed, that one must always call an adult instead of continuing the useless cycle of hurt. But the iron-y taste of blood still dances on the tip of Alef’s tongue, still reminds them of the pain that the kid’s uneven teeth brought to their arm, still makes their heart race and their fists clench and their eyes water.

Alef promises their parent to always call an adult in the future but thinks of thin lines of dark-red running down their opponent’s limb.

* * *

When bitten, bite back. Always.

This is what Alef learns in the Cave, where children snitch, and tell on you, and steal your things, so that they can claim they have at least something to their name, where children cry at night and fight from dawn till dusk, where adults hide their faces and border on useless, and where trust only exists to be betrayed when it needs to be.

Their knuckles hurt, and their mouth is filled with blood, and from their lips fall dozens and dozens of lies; the kids growl at them, frown at them, shed tears; eventually, the snitching and the telling on them and the stealing of their things stop.

One of them goes too early for Alef to get a chance at biting back; this leaves a sinking feeling in their stomach which haunts them night and day, lies heavy in their chest as the Elder of Isle promises to Alef they will never be bitten again.

* * *

When bitten, bite back. Twice, preferably.

This is what comes in handy when Samekh come to visit the Isle Temple and look down on the Prince, when Teth scoffs and tells them to talk to Daleth instead, when Ayin averts their gaze, when Tsadi taps their finger on the table, the clock on the wall going tick-tock while the Prince continues aging without growing.

Alef never attacks first. It leads to nothing, really — and even if it did, the result would be all but significant. These are the Elders, after all: they have been bitten enough in their lives.

What they have not, however, been is bitten twice. Once, as revenge. The second time, as a warning.

Alef’s voice is cold, and their words are firm, and their eyes insistent, and their hand sending ripples across the lives of many; for every strike, there is a counter-strike and a message to accompany it. Do not mess with me, the message says.

One day, in Forest, where they arrive to take a look at what is to change everything, they see an emaciated wolf tearing apart the soft, delicate body of a hare, blood staining the predator’s fur and a rage-filled glint shining in its eyes. Alef wishes, then, they had been born a wolf.

* * *

Bite first.

Sink your fangs into plump lips, chew on them, tear on them, make them bleed, swallow the whimper, swallow the surprised Alef?, swallow the negation, swallow the lie; tell them, show them, teach them, make them understand, make them fear you, make them cede control, make them admit; put them in their place. Before they have the chance to bite you, always bite first.

This is what Alef does, on the last night of being Alef.

Elder blood is sweet like expensive Prairie liqueur, and it has a golden tinge to it instead of the usual burgundy; it is inebriating, and Alef drinks, drinks, drinks, until they are drunk on what the two Stars would have never given them if the Prince had not dared bite first.

Alef pulls away, far enough to look in the Elder’s eye, close enough to feel the ragged breath on their own lips, to see the flushed cheeks, to admire the dilated pupil, to watch a single drop of gold roll down the Elder’s chin. A perfect distance to whisper, a warning, a threat, a confession, I win.

* * *

Bite first, bite back, bite until you bleed out and die; forget the order and remember the cycle, forget the beginning and forgo the end.

This is what Resh does, yelling and being yelled at, fighting and being fought, saying no a thousand times and being met with a deluge of the same syllable; Resh wins and loses and is defeated and triumphant; Resh’s tongue and lips and clothes are smeared with gold, and their opponents’ cheeks are covered in dark-red. They do not stop biting. Samekh do not stop, either.

Out of the two things fair, only war allows winners.

* * *

When bitten, bite back.

This is what the King expects them to do. Wants them to do. Could beg them to do. Because Resh is biting and chewing and tearing, a wolf sinking its fangs into the frail body of its prey, because Resh will kill them, because Resh is killing them, because Resh can taste golden liqueur in their mouth, and this taste is what the word rapture was created to denote.

But Samekh do not bite. They take a bow, picture-perfect, elegant, beautiful, as delicate as hares in the mouth of a wolf, and turn on their heels. Resh closes their jaws — and yet, the prey escapes.

* * *

They dream of gold on their lips and burgundy streaming down their arm; when they wake up, nobody bites them, and there is nobody left to bite.

finally finished the thing oh my god. the longest fic i've ever written wow

anyway hi

if you want to read an alef | resh -centric fic about a possible interpretation of the events that once led to the end of the sky kingdom, this might be a fic for you :D

alef | resh is the protagonist and the main pov, but the elders are given a lot of attention as well — just like the kingdom as a whole, with the regular people playing an important role. the fic deals with such things as societal issues, politics, religion, and mental health among other things