![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
glacial_queenIt was night, with a bitter wind that raised gooseflesh on Karla's arms. The air smelled of smoke, acrid and stinging, and of an oncoming snow. In the fields, the stalks of wheat remained, tall, wizened skeletons that crumbled to dust on the ash-gray ground. Karla slowly walked through the remains of a village, broken and despairing, with homes falling to ruin and the villagers watching her from the doors and windows with empty, hopeless eyes.
It's knowing what they want of me that scares me,
It's knowing having followed that I must lead
It's knowing that each person there compares me
To those in my past whom I now succeed.
This was all her fault. She knew it, the kind of knowledge that could be felt all the way to her bones. Without the Queen's Gift, the land had died. Without her protection, Hobart's males had come through and taken what they'd wanted, leaving behind hunger, anger, and pain. The only crop this village had seen had been in the form of unwanted babies--and new mounds in the graveyard just out of town.
But how can whatever I do for them now
Be enough?
Be enough?
As she walked, the people began creeping out from their homes, still silent. Still watching. At first, they only reached for her, wordlessly begging for her benediction or letting the fabric of her clothing pass through their fingers. Soon, however, they began to follow her, dogging her footsteps and pressing ever-closer. Unnerved, Karla began walking faster, hoping to outdistance the the shuffling crowd. Turning a corner, she came face to face with a second group, just as bedraggled and needy as the first. She backed away, spotting yet another group to her left, hemming her in with bent, twisted bodies and a psychic scent of desperation so strong it was nearly palpable.
She stood still as the groups converged on her. For a moment, all was quiet. Witchfire sprouted in their hands, igniting rude torches. Shadows washed over their faces, making them mysterious and unknowable, save for the hunger glimmering in their eyes. Karla opened her mouth to speak, but they beat her to words.
Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla!
All we ask of you
Is a lifetime of service, wisdom, courage--
To ask more would be selfish,
But nothing less will do!
Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla!
The crowd directly before her parted, and an old woman hobbled out. Karla recognized her; Hilda; the leader of her coven, the Black Widow who had taken her in after her parents' death and initiated her into the rites of the Hourglass. Now haggard, old before her time, face scarred and eyes milky white. In her withered hands she carried a tattered gray gown, and she held it out to Karla to take.
You Weeds should be silken, your Weeds should be perfect,
Instead of this ragged concoction of thread.
But may you be moved by its desperate beauty
To give us new life for we'd rather be dead
Than live in the squalor and shame of the slave...
To the dance!
To the dance!
Before the last of the melody faded away, the crowd changed. They were no longer content to just reach out and touch--they began to clasp and clutch and cling. Surging forward, they surrounded her on threes sides, ripping at her modern clothes, shredding them and tearing them away. They sang as they clawed at her, trying to pin her down, hold her tightly, pull her deeper inside of the throng.
Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla!
All we ask of you
All we ask is a lifetime of
Service, wisdom, courage
To ask more would be selfish
But nothing less will do
Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla!
Karla pushed and shoved them away, spinning on her heels and racing away in the only open direction, away from the village and towards the dead fields. They followed, their torches beacons in the night, calling her name. From all around came the sound of drums and running feet--or was that only her heartbeat? It was hard to tell anymore.
Oh, Karla!
She ran through the rows of wheat, the stalks slapping at her face and arms. They broke the skin and she left streaks of blood where she passed. Occasionally, a hand would emerge from the rows and snatch at her, fingernails dirty and broken. Or someone would fling themselves at her, and Karla would have to dart in a new direction as she tried to find a way out. Her clothing came unraveled, her shoes fell to pieces. Jeans, sweatshirt, sneakers; all were torn away leaving her almost naked as she plunged through the field. All around her came calls and shrieks, growing wilder as the drums sped up the rhythm and drove her onwards.
Yah! Hah!
It was heavily claustrophobic, dashing through fields of wheat taller than her head, unsure if the movement up ahead was a plant or a waiting person, if the wheat was swaying because of the wind or someone lurking nearby. There was a break in the lines of the plants. Karla could see the edge of the fields. She sprinted forward, leaving the maze of grain behind--and nearly ran off the edge of a cliff. Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla Windmilling, she desperately fought for balance, pitching so far forward that her heels lifted up and she rocked on her toes for a moment.
The drums went silent.
Karla stared down at the canyon below her cliff. There were hundreds, perhaps even thousands of people waiting below, faces upturned towards her, torches in their hands, expectations in their eyes. She kept looking, peering out farther and farther, trying to see where the light from the torches ended.
It didn't.
Rustling from behind her. She turned and there were the people in the village, walking out through the stalks, Hilda at their front. Again, the old woman offered the tattered gray gown.
There was nothing else to do. Karla took the gown and pulled it on. As the cloth slithered over her hips and fell to her feet, everyone prostrated themselves in unison; a soft thump as hundreds of knees hit the ground at the same time. And so she stood there, looking frightened and awkward, surrounded by a nation of kneeling figures; people who would depend on her to be strong and wise and just and brave. The weight of their unspoken demands hung heavy on her shoulders.
But they were her people. She could not let them down. She threw back her head and sang.
I know expectations are wild and almost
Beyond my fulfillment but they won't hear
A word of a doubt or see signs of weakness
My nigh on impossible duty is clear
If I can rekindle my ancestors' dreams
It's enough
It's enough!
It's enough!
Her people leapt to their feet, their chanting nearly overpowering her words, dancing around her in a mad circle.
Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla!
Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla!
Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla!
She raised her cut hands and sent her voice spiraling to the sky--a wish, offered with blood, was a prayer to the Darkness. It's enough!
Karla bolted upright in bed and with a strangled gasp, the scent of the night air and lingering torch smoke still in the back of her throat.
[For he who's there, please!]
It's knowing what they want of me that scares me,
It's knowing having followed that I must lead
It's knowing that each person there compares me
To those in my past whom I now succeed.
This was all her fault. She knew it, the kind of knowledge that could be felt all the way to her bones. Without the Queen's Gift, the land had died. Without her protection, Hobart's males had come through and taken what they'd wanted, leaving behind hunger, anger, and pain. The only crop this village had seen had been in the form of unwanted babies--and new mounds in the graveyard just out of town.
But how can whatever I do for them now
Be enough?
Be enough?
As she walked, the people began creeping out from their homes, still silent. Still watching. At first, they only reached for her, wordlessly begging for her benediction or letting the fabric of her clothing pass through their fingers. Soon, however, they began to follow her, dogging her footsteps and pressing ever-closer. Unnerved, Karla began walking faster, hoping to outdistance the the shuffling crowd. Turning a corner, she came face to face with a second group, just as bedraggled and needy as the first. She backed away, spotting yet another group to her left, hemming her in with bent, twisted bodies and a psychic scent of desperation so strong it was nearly palpable.
She stood still as the groups converged on her. For a moment, all was quiet. Witchfire sprouted in their hands, igniting rude torches. Shadows washed over their faces, making them mysterious and unknowable, save for the hunger glimmering in their eyes. Karla opened her mouth to speak, but they beat her to words.
Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla!
All we ask of you
Is a lifetime of service, wisdom, courage--
To ask more would be selfish,
But nothing less will do!
Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla!
The crowd directly before her parted, and an old woman hobbled out. Karla recognized her; Hilda; the leader of her coven, the Black Widow who had taken her in after her parents' death and initiated her into the rites of the Hourglass. Now haggard, old before her time, face scarred and eyes milky white. In her withered hands she carried a tattered gray gown, and she held it out to Karla to take.
You Weeds should be silken, your Weeds should be perfect,
Instead of this ragged concoction of thread.
But may you be moved by its desperate beauty
To give us new life for we'd rather be dead
Than live in the squalor and shame of the slave...
To the dance!
To the dance!
Before the last of the melody faded away, the crowd changed. They were no longer content to just reach out and touch--they began to clasp and clutch and cling. Surging forward, they surrounded her on threes sides, ripping at her modern clothes, shredding them and tearing them away. They sang as they clawed at her, trying to pin her down, hold her tightly, pull her deeper inside of the throng.
Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla!
All we ask of you
All we ask is a lifetime of
Service, wisdom, courage
To ask more would be selfish
But nothing less will do
Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla!
Karla pushed and shoved them away, spinning on her heels and racing away in the only open direction, away from the village and towards the dead fields. They followed, their torches beacons in the night, calling her name. From all around came the sound of drums and running feet--or was that only her heartbeat? It was hard to tell anymore.
Oh, Karla!
She ran through the rows of wheat, the stalks slapping at her face and arms. They broke the skin and she left streaks of blood where she passed. Occasionally, a hand would emerge from the rows and snatch at her, fingernails dirty and broken. Or someone would fling themselves at her, and Karla would have to dart in a new direction as she tried to find a way out. Her clothing came unraveled, her shoes fell to pieces. Jeans, sweatshirt, sneakers; all were torn away leaving her almost naked as she plunged through the field. All around her came calls and shrieks, growing wilder as the drums sped up the rhythm and drove her onwards.
Yah! Hah!
It was heavily claustrophobic, dashing through fields of wheat taller than her head, unsure if the movement up ahead was a plant or a waiting person, if the wheat was swaying because of the wind or someone lurking nearby. There was a break in the lines of the plants. Karla could see the edge of the fields. She sprinted forward, leaving the maze of grain behind--and nearly ran off the edge of a cliff. Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla Windmilling, she desperately fought for balance, pitching so far forward that her heels lifted up and she rocked on her toes for a moment.
The drums went silent.
Karla stared down at the canyon below her cliff. There were hundreds, perhaps even thousands of people waiting below, faces upturned towards her, torches in their hands, expectations in their eyes. She kept looking, peering out farther and farther, trying to see where the light from the torches ended.
It didn't.
Rustling from behind her. She turned and there were the people in the village, walking out through the stalks, Hilda at their front. Again, the old woman offered the tattered gray gown.
There was nothing else to do. Karla took the gown and pulled it on. As the cloth slithered over her hips and fell to her feet, everyone prostrated themselves in unison; a soft thump as hundreds of knees hit the ground at the same time. And so she stood there, looking frightened and awkward, surrounded by a nation of kneeling figures; people who would depend on her to be strong and wise and just and brave. The weight of their unspoken demands hung heavy on her shoulders.
But they were her people. She could not let them down. She threw back her head and sang.
I know expectations are wild and almost
Beyond my fulfillment but they won't hear
A word of a doubt or see signs of weakness
My nigh on impossible duty is clear
If I can rekindle my ancestors' dreams
It's enough
It's enough!
It's enough!
Her people leapt to their feet, their chanting nearly overpowering her words, dancing around her in a mad circle.
Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla!
Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla!
Oh, Karla! Oh, Karla!
She raised her cut hands and sent her voice spiraling to the sky--a wish, offered with blood, was a prayer to the Darkness. It's enough!
Karla bolted upright in bed and with a strangled gasp, the scent of the night air and lingering torch smoke still in the back of her throat.
[For he who's there, please!]
no subject
Date: 2012-01-11 11:47 pm (UTC)"... Karla?"
no subject
Date: 2012-01-11 11:57 pm (UTC)"Warren?" she croaked, turning to him, to the familiar. She wrapped her arms around him and clung. "Warren!"
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 12:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 12:18 am (UTC)To ask more would be selfish, but nothing less will do...
"Can I tell you about it?" she whispered.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 01:30 am (UTC)It was only a dream.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 01:56 am (UTC)She told him about the dream, about the fear and desolation, the clinging, stifling despair. She told him how she'd tried to outrun her duties, evade them, only to wind up on a cliff and looking down at thousands of people who needed her. Demanded her. Didn't care about her, only the Queen.
And if she wasn't exactly crying by the time she was done with her recitation, it was a near thing.
"I felt so alone," she whispered. "Surrounded by people, but completely alone. They'd stripped away everything that was me and gave me the Queen's gowns to wear."
That dream was practically inviting Cindy to travel up a floor and lecture about the symbolism of dreams.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 02:02 am (UTC)Warren chewed his lip as he listened, not daring to interrupt her until he was sure she was finished speaking. And when she was, he waited another moment still, gathering his thoughts and giving her a chance to say more if she needed.
When she remained silent, he finally spoke, softly, his arms holding her even more tightly.
"But you're not alone. You never have to be alone." He swallowed, and then pressed a kiss against her forehead. "Glacia isn't mine, but you are. I don't wear a jewel, but that doesn't mean I won't do all I can for your people, too."
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 02:17 am (UTC)The closer she came to the end of her time at Fandom, the more she clung to those things that made her Karla.
"You don't need a Jewel to love me. To help me and comfort me and help me be a better person. That's more important than a little Craft."
Things she had never thought she'd say when she'd first arrived.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 02:26 am (UTC)There was another moment of silence, save for the sound of rustling feathers as he rearranged himself on the bed and then pulled her a little closer, inviting her to crawl into his lap.
"Serving the way I know how. Loving you."
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 02:45 am (UTC)Her fingers traced the contours his chest, nails skimming over skin. She opened her mouth to speak, but what came out was something very different than what she wanted to say. Or, at least, how she wanted to say it.
"'Cause every time we touch, I get this feeling.
And every time we kiss I swear I could fly.
Can't you feel my heart beat fast, I want this to last.
Need you by my side."
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 02:49 am (UTC)And then shrugging and pulling her close and nodding. It was Fandom. He'd go with it.
"'Cause every time we touch, I feel the static,
And every time we kiss I reach for the sky,
Can't you hear my heartbeat slow?
I can't let you go,
Want you in my life."
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 03:07 am (UTC)Fandom didn't seem to care about Karla's grumpy faces, however. "Your arms are my castle, your heart is my sky. They wipe away tears that I cry."
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 03:17 am (UTC)That he was singing something he'd be speaking anyhow did happen to help.
"The good times and bad times, we've been through them all. You make me rise when I fall."
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 03:41 am (UTC)And every time we kiss I swear I could fly.
Can't you feel my heart beat fast, I want this to last.
Need you by my side."
Maybe if she kissed him? That would work, right? She couldn't sing when her mouth was busy. She drew him close, cupping his face and lifting her mouth to his.
She loved him so. Mother Night, how she loved him.
And then, when their kiss was over...
"'Cause every time we touch, I feel the static.
And every time we kiss, I reach for the sky.
Can't you hear my heart beat so...
I can't let you go.
Want you in my life."
DAMMIT FANDOM.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 04:07 am (UTC)""'Cause every time we touch, I feel the static,
And every time we kiss I reach for the sky,
Can't you hear my heartbeat so?
I can't let you go,
Want you in my life."
He finished that line with a soft chuckle before leaning forward to kiss her again.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 04:17 am (UTC)"That was not what I meant to say," Karla said crossly a few moments later. Then she looked up and him and smiled. "But maybe it's what I needed to say."
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 04:20 am (UTC)"It was good to hear. And to say back," he decided, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. "And I promise to keep saying it."
A pause.
"Just, maybe with less singing, in the future."
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 04:48 am (UTC)She sighed, though. "Warren, am I a bad person?" That question had been preying on her mind for awhile.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 04:58 am (UTC)"Of course you're not. With everything that you do, not just for your people in Glacia, but your friends here? Bad people don't drop everything on a moment's notice to accompany their kinda-estranged boyfriend into the middle of a mutant war because his dad's gone missing."
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 05:12 am (UTC)Her shoulders slumped. "A good person wouldn't be having anxiety dreams where she's forced to do what is best for her people. I bet Cassidy isn't. Or Morghanne. Or Gabrielle."
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 05:22 am (UTC)Go on. Try to tackle the Warren logic, Karla. Good luck.
"You have so much on your shoulders, Karla. And you're still doing what needs to be done. And... you know that being upset about accidentally hurting people is one of those things that good people do, too?"
He shrugged.
"Bad people just argue that it was for the best, no matter how many people are left broken in their wake, I've found."
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 05:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 05:36 am (UTC)"Karla. You're Queen. You're also a Healer and Black Widow, and you wear the Sapphire as your birthright Jewel."
He shrugged.
"And you're only human. You wouldn't be the first good person in the world to wish that you'd been given a choice. But you know what? It isn't stopping you from doing everything you can, even from here."
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 05:50 am (UTC)"But even so--" and she was going to circle back around to that argument just as soon as she found a good counter, "that doesn't stop me from hurting people sometimes. Both accidentally and deliberately."
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 06:02 am (UTC)He would, too.