sixwordstories | (no subject)

And why is that?

Our mother was never the same after what happened with our father. All of the priests said so. I don't want to be like him.

Priests are usually wrong.

What happened?

*Quietly.* They weren't. He was an animal.

Oh? *is a bit intrigued* Do you know anything about him? Other than that.

*This one has power and it's never wise to attract the attention of those that have power.* Not much. Only what our mother told us.

*She can feel the power and is intrigued -- probably more so than she should be* And what did she say?

*She wishes she were small again, or that Evander was with her. She casts her eyes down* That it wasn't what she wanted and that she had no choice.

*There's more but she's frightened of the woman in front of her. She knows her kind, the thing inside her is called by their presence.*

That sounds awful. I'm sorry.

Thank you. *She gives a shy half smile. The woman in front of her is beautiful. It's an effort not to reach out and touch her hair or brush her fingers against lips that she's sure are soft as rose petals. She blushes instead and takes a step back.*

*Circe frowns as the other female takes a step back, did she do something?*

*Rowan's skin heats at the frown and she takes a steadying breath.* I'm sorry, I'm being very rude.

No. It's okay. Really.

*She puts on a small smile.* I'm Rowan, but my brother calls me Anne. It's a pleasure to meet you.

*smiles back* Circe. But my brothers call me C.

You have a lovely name, Circe.

As do you.

What brings you to the area if you don't mind my asking?

Business.

What sort of what ifs? *his voice is soft, his smile gentle*

I like being who I am. I'm afraid of what would happen if I slipped.

If you slipped and did what? What are you afraid that it would do to you, how it would change you?

Everyone has parts of themselves they keep locked away right? The things they know are wrong about themselves aren't allowed to see the light of day. I think if I let those parts of myself out, I wouldn't be able to go back to what I was before. *She blushes furiously at the admission. Being near him makes her skin tingle in odd ways she's not quite sure about.*

Tell me about these parts, love. And -- is it always best, do you think, to lock away those parts of yourself, when maybe you're supposed to let them be together, be a part of the whole of who you are? *he's standing close to her, but not too close, watching her, how she's standing. She's beautiful, and there's a scent to her that's terribly appealing, but he can't quite place it yet*

*She shakes her head.* Not these. *He's not a demon, not one of her kind, and not human. She doesn't know where that puts him but she feels the want very sharply when she looks at him. It's best not to look. *
I'm sure you have more important things to worry about than my problems, sir.

I'm right where I want to be, love. *he reaches out, very carefully, and brushes a strang of hair off her face* And talking to just who I want to be talking to. Tell me -- what about these feelings and this side of you scares you?

*She can feel the blood boiling in her veins with that slight touch and her eyes widen in shock. It takes her a moment to regain her composure and stop the words on the tip of her tongue. Evander would be so unhappy with her if she lost her head and blurted it out.* I don't want to become a mindless monster consumed with craving at the expense of those used to satisfy those cravings.

And you feel that one taste, just one -- a touch, a sample, of the other side of you, will be enough to send you spiraling down? *he touches her cheek* If you're wary of and careful of others to such a degree that you would deny yourself, then perhaps you can find a balance between discretion and what you want.

It's so much more than that. *Her head is swimming and he's barely touched her. It's hard to think when he does that, and he is obviously a fan of casual touch.* What are you?

What more is it, love? *he's stroking her hair, twining strands of it in his fingers* Not who, but what? *he smiles* I'm a god.

*That makes sense. She tries to move away although not very hard. He's a god and maybe able to help.* My father was an incubus. He was an animal and nearly destroyed my mother the night my brother and I were conceived. I've-- heard stories.

And you fear that if you let yourself touch your sexuality, what you'll find will be nothing but him, but the stories of his kind. *he nods, smiling gently at her* You think that all of what you are will disappear beneath that. *he strokes her cheek again*

*She swallows and nods, feeling very small.* Yes. That's exactly right.

I can understand that, love. Understand the fear of what you have inside you, the threat that it poses to you -- how you want to keep it locked down, always there, almost like you're keeping an eyes on one part of you at all times, until it becomes something of you and outside of you all at once. *he moves forward, slowly, and kisses her forehead, stepping back a bit, his smile soft, gentle* But you can't let your whole existence be fear of that, be a fear of yourself. Or you'll always wonder what would have been if you'd found a way to master it, to integrate all the parts of yourself, and will always think about what you could have had.

*She lets his words sink in and closes her eyes.* And what if I touch it, let it out, and I can't put it back? What happens if I'm lost? I would become the thing I despise and my brother would kill me.

It may be different for you -- for both of you, since it's not all of what you are. You can temper it, maybe, learn to control it. *he tilts his head to the side* Or you can spend your life in fear of a part of yourself.

I will think on what you've said. You've given me something new to consider and I thank you for it.

*he smiles, and holds out his hand -- a bone white card of heavy parchment, blank save for a rune in the middle, engraved in a red ink so dark it's nearly back*

Anytime you want to talk, or if you're curious about these things -- well, I know a little bit about being scared of something that's inside you, a part of you, and how it draws you, this other self -- how the more you ignore it, the more you try to push it down deep, the more it calls to you, sings to you. *his voice is low, soft, his eyes locked on hers* How it can be so hard, lying awake at night, not to give in with a weary, relieved sigh -- to just relax that tension you've been carrying inside yourself, that watchful wariness that holds it back at every turn, and taste it, finally let yourself touch what you've been holding back from for so long.

*he slips the card into her hand, his fingers brushing against hers* I'm always here, love, to listen.

*They are only words but she finds her heart racing with them. She has to swallow before she can speak, her mouth watering as if she'd smelled something delicious, and the familiar fire racing through her veins. Not trusting her voice to carry, she chooses to nod instead, allows her fingers to brush over his and linger longer than is necessary.*