#shakespeare's code

There was something in the way Cleopatra slept that... enraged Regina, almost.

She looked peaceful. The witch, the monster—peace isn't a notion that should correspond to her, and yet... There she was. Bliss hitting her sleeping face, as Regina sat up, watching— staring at her, observing every slight movement ; the way her ample chest lightly rose up and down with every breath, the gentle sway of her long, black hair, the little moves her body would make when it changed positions...

It sickened Regina.

The sight made her want to throw up her guts— and yet... And yet, it somehow managed to both calm down and aggravate the fire within herself. This was like torture. It was as if even in her sleep, Cleopatra had succeeded in actively making Regina's life worse— by somehow, slithering into her thoughts like the asp she was and poisoning her every single thought until she found the root and fatally sank her deadly fangs into it.

Ugh.

Regina sank into the bed, staring at the ceiling— trying to think about something, anything besides the sleeping form next to her ; Sabrina, Hobello, M, Scotland, grass, anything. Yet she possessed her every thought.

Turning over, Regina sat up and contemplated what to do, flames of envy dancing in her tenebrous eyes— fire within her rising as she imagined her hands, wrapping around that throat. She would be serving her own interests as well as M's— becoming her favorite servant, getting rid of this obstacle, burning her alive like she was supposed to be years ago. Or maybe she could be more amiable about this. One stab to Juliet's heart, with a nearby dagger. Even witches may die from common weapons.

And yet...

And yet, in her eyes, envy seemed to be joined by her companion— desire. The two danced, close to each other, chasing and finding each other in an endless, undecipherable whirlwind of feelings.

It was repulsive, and magnetic at the same time. Those feelings immobilized Regina— they left her defenseless, and unsure of what to do ; it was as if she were being torn in half. Or, better yet, at least if she were, she'd know it would eventually come to an end.

Being torn in half would be less painful than whatever charade this is. Desiring her rival... Ugh. Thank M Sabrina isn't here, otherwise she would have to handle her familiar's mockery on top of everything else.

Turning over— the miller's daughter looked at her sleeping companion, hand instinctively moving to touch her leg. It was undeniable that she was beautiful, that, no one could say anything about. But why ? Why could she not use that beauty to torment those weaklings people call 'men' ?

Why her ? Was she doing it on purpose ? Was she genuinely this obtuse about her own powers of seduction ? Was Regina imagining a potential reciprocity to try and make herself feel better about desiring Cleopatra ?

Hand caressing the fellow witch's body through her basically translucent nightgown, her eyes unable to look away. It felt as if she had been ensnared in the other's web like an insect about to be devoured by a spider.

Sometimes, she wished she was more like... other women. Normal. Not a witch... Or anything that was associated with it. A normal miller's daughter. An average woman, who would've had an average marriage with an average man, with an average family and with who she would have average children.

Regina could feel herself get nauseous at the idea. Her ? Marrying some gentry boy her father picked out for her and having... Disgusting. Her feelings regarding the norms women had to face weren't exactly helpful, however— as she still didn't know what to do about what she herself felt.

What did she feel, exactly ?

A need. A need to eat. To wreck, to ravage. The embers inside her burned brighter and more destructive than ever the more she thought of Cleopatra, a need growing inside her to burn it all down, like she did that filthy hospital back in Stratford.

Her feeling manifested physically through this... urge. To destroy. As if she couldn't contain herself anymore— As if this... this passion was driving her mad, was turning her into a monster. A monster she couldn't recognize, one that was stronger than her, more fearsome, more dangerous— It was almost frightening what desire could do to someone.

Her hand moved up to caress Cleopatra's long, black hair, a soft sigh coming out of her as she observed the sleeping woman. How her hair fell perfectly into place. How serene she looked. How she managed to be so beautiful without doing anything.

URGH !

This was all too much— standing up, grabbing her broom and flying right out of the window. She needed some air, maybe the moon would bring her counsel... Maybe. Or maybe she would just clear her head, and hopefully, forget about her tormentor.

As soon as she was gone, Cleopatra laughed. She couldn't handle it anymore— bursting in wicked laughter as she rose up from bed, looking right at the open window, a sinister grin on her face.

Pretending to be asleep does grant plenty of opportunities to the one who knows how to wait. And Cleopatra was a patient woman ; the most frightening kind.

Very well, she thought. Let's play. Let's see where this passion will drive you, phoenix. Although...