Post by Delilah Daybreaker on Nov 11, 2021 13:42:50 GMT
The girl was alone in her room with her thoughts in the dark. A bad sign. They kept going back to another night, now over a tenday gone. She needed to focus. She needed to finish writing this report and have the cat go to the rendezvous point to deliver it. But her incessant thoughts kept bringing up the feeling of lips pressed to hers, fingers tracing along her unmarred cheek, Oziah’s cobalt blue eyes closed, and a rising desire to-
Delilah puts the quill down and stands up suddenly, startling Little Beastie who was falling asleep on her pillow. The cat gave a hiss in consternation.
“Well since you’re awake, want to come for a walk?” she asks the cat. It just stares at her before stretching out again, getting comfortable. Delilah shakes her head, at herself or the cat she’s not entirely sure. She dons her cloak and is reaching for the handle when she hears the sound of heavy footfalls approaching the door.
Pressing herself against the wall, the Pale Daughter unsheathes her poison dagger, thumb over the jewel that would release the poison down the blade as she quiets her breathing and goes deathly still. The shadows gather around her as she listens, preparing to spring into action if needs be.
There’s a delicate clinking around the lock and she tenses expecting the door to open. Then she hears a voice she recognizes on the other side.
“…so fucking stupid what are you doing fucking hell…”
There’s a pause, a small shuffle of feet, and then heavy footfalls walking away.
Delilah slowly begins to relax.
“Midnight callers, at your door? My, my, have you gone soft my dark bloom?” says a woman’s rich voice.
The girl whips around and throws the dagger in her hand at the point where the voice spoke from. It lodges into the wall just over the headboard of her bed because there is nothing there.
The voice lets out a low, chesty laugh. “Let’s not do this, Delilah. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you and I-”
“Clearly not by the fact that you’re spying on me,” she spits out. Already another blade is in her hand, this time her golden shortsword. Her eyes narrow. “Which you cannot do unless you’re close.”
Delilah turns towards the door. A tall, cowled figure blocks her way. She tenses to attack when the figure suddenly holds out a delicate sapphire grasshopper on a black ribbon. The girl freezes, confused.
“What is that?” Delilah asks, not taking her eyes from the tall figure. She doesn’t know how but they got into her room without her hearing them.
“I believe it’s a gift from an admirer. She’s very pretty, and strong too.”
“She is no one.” Even as she says it Delilah knows she has given away too much, hearing the slight panic in her voice.
There is a soft ticking sound that the girl thinks is a clock, until she realises it is tutting.
“You may think you’re a good little spy wrapped up in your dark clothes, wearing your little mask, but a mother always knows when her child is lying to her,” the woman coos.
Little Beastie hisses at a spot just behind her. Again, there is nothing beside the wash bastin but she has no doubt that there is some kind of magic sensor there. She slowly lowers the shortsword and dagger held up in defence but keeps a firm grip on both.
“You have seen me. Now I must ask you to leave.”
The tall figure has moved across the room to place the sapphire grasshopper on the desk beside half finished report. Delilah realises she only notices them because she saw them move, not because she heard their footfalls. She swallows the nerves down and looks back to the space by washing bastin.
“I do wish I could see your face,” her mother says, almost sounding genuine.
Delilah isn’t fooled.
“How’s that knife wound, mother? Recovered from it yet?”
There is no response. She frowns. Little Beastie hisses again and she turns only to see the silent figure is gone. Delilah waits, listening, but all she hears are the normal sounds of the Fort around her. It is then she realises that they had been blocked, and she bites out a curse.
She starts gathering her things, what few possessions she has out. Rolling up the report, Delilah knocks the sapphire grasshopper to the edge of the desk, but she catches it just as it begins to tip over to fall. Looking at it, Delilah sees it is beautifully made. She wonders that Oziah thought to give it to her, of all people-
Delilah puts it back on the desk. She shouldn’t take it. Just like she should not be thinking about Oziah. But now that her mother knows about her, or thinks she knows, what is holding her back?
“Mrow.”
The girl looks down to see two amber eyes staring up at her. They almost seem to be asking her something, though the girl is not quite sure what the question is.
“We can’t stay here. Come,” the Pale Daughter says, bending down to scoop up the cat. She is about to go to the window when claws dig into her arm.
“Ow! What was that for?”
Little Beastie leaps across to the desk, picks up the grasshopper on the ribbon in it’s mouth and then leaps back to her shoulders.
“You’d better not become like Stripes,” the girl mutters before unlatching the window and pushing it open.
The night is cool, the first touches of winter prickling in the air. It doesn’t deter her though. The Pale Daughter jumps, falls into a shadow, and then is running out of another. Where she is running away from or running to not even she knows.
Delilah puts the quill down and stands up suddenly, startling Little Beastie who was falling asleep on her pillow. The cat gave a hiss in consternation.
“Well since you’re awake, want to come for a walk?” she asks the cat. It just stares at her before stretching out again, getting comfortable. Delilah shakes her head, at herself or the cat she’s not entirely sure. She dons her cloak and is reaching for the handle when she hears the sound of heavy footfalls approaching the door.
Pressing herself against the wall, the Pale Daughter unsheathes her poison dagger, thumb over the jewel that would release the poison down the blade as she quiets her breathing and goes deathly still. The shadows gather around her as she listens, preparing to spring into action if needs be.
There’s a delicate clinking around the lock and she tenses expecting the door to open. Then she hears a voice she recognizes on the other side.
“…so fucking stupid what are you doing fucking hell…”
There’s a pause, a small shuffle of feet, and then heavy footfalls walking away.
Delilah slowly begins to relax.
“Midnight callers, at your door? My, my, have you gone soft my dark bloom?” says a woman’s rich voice.
The girl whips around and throws the dagger in her hand at the point where the voice spoke from. It lodges into the wall just over the headboard of her bed because there is nothing there.
The voice lets out a low, chesty laugh. “Let’s not do this, Delilah. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you and I-”
“Clearly not by the fact that you’re spying on me,” she spits out. Already another blade is in her hand, this time her golden shortsword. Her eyes narrow. “Which you cannot do unless you’re close.”
Delilah turns towards the door. A tall, cowled figure blocks her way. She tenses to attack when the figure suddenly holds out a delicate sapphire grasshopper on a black ribbon. The girl freezes, confused.
“What is that?” Delilah asks, not taking her eyes from the tall figure. She doesn’t know how but they got into her room without her hearing them.
“I believe it’s a gift from an admirer. She’s very pretty, and strong too.”
“She is no one.” Even as she says it Delilah knows she has given away too much, hearing the slight panic in her voice.
There is a soft ticking sound that the girl thinks is a clock, until she realises it is tutting.
“You may think you’re a good little spy wrapped up in your dark clothes, wearing your little mask, but a mother always knows when her child is lying to her,” the woman coos.
Little Beastie hisses at a spot just behind her. Again, there is nothing beside the wash bastin but she has no doubt that there is some kind of magic sensor there. She slowly lowers the shortsword and dagger held up in defence but keeps a firm grip on both.
“You have seen me. Now I must ask you to leave.”
The tall figure has moved across the room to place the sapphire grasshopper on the desk beside half finished report. Delilah realises she only notices them because she saw them move, not because she heard their footfalls. She swallows the nerves down and looks back to the space by washing bastin.
“I do wish I could see your face,” her mother says, almost sounding genuine.
Delilah isn’t fooled.
“How’s that knife wound, mother? Recovered from it yet?”
There is no response. She frowns. Little Beastie hisses again and she turns only to see the silent figure is gone. Delilah waits, listening, but all she hears are the normal sounds of the Fort around her. It is then she realises that they had been blocked, and she bites out a curse.
She starts gathering her things, what few possessions she has out. Rolling up the report, Delilah knocks the sapphire grasshopper to the edge of the desk, but she catches it just as it begins to tip over to fall. Looking at it, Delilah sees it is beautifully made. She wonders that Oziah thought to give it to her, of all people-
Delilah puts it back on the desk. She shouldn’t take it. Just like she should not be thinking about Oziah. But now that her mother knows about her, or thinks she knows, what is holding her back?
“Mrow.”
The girl looks down to see two amber eyes staring up at her. They almost seem to be asking her something, though the girl is not quite sure what the question is.
“We can’t stay here. Come,” the Pale Daughter says, bending down to scoop up the cat. She is about to go to the window when claws dig into her arm.
“Ow! What was that for?”
Little Beastie leaps across to the desk, picks up the grasshopper on the ribbon in it’s mouth and then leaps back to her shoulders.
“You’d better not become like Stripes,” the girl mutters before unlatching the window and pushing it open.
The night is cool, the first touches of winter prickling in the air. It doesn’t deter her though. The Pale Daughter jumps, falls into a shadow, and then is running out of another. Where she is running away from or running to not even she knows.