Djinni has always been a good liar.
It's why she believes herself when she says she doesn't care about the others, about Karaugh and Luster and Charlemagne. She is no fool; Stillwater's lingering scent on the golden mare had made her all the more appetizing. It's why she believes herself when she decides that it was a fluke that taking the magician had made her feel empty.
So it had been a surprise when she'd so easily given Luster what she has hidden away; Djinni had convinced herself it wasn't true. She'd convinced herself she was not like her mother, yet even now Walter's gentle face is fading from her mind (how Aseret could commiserate!). All she wants is to flee to the terribly damp cave where she can tease a reaction from the black stallion that will make her forget this all.
But she can't use Stillwater to forget Stillwater, and even as she grapples with that truth the little thing inside her kicks again and she winces as Luster tells her that she 'chose to love him anyway.' The words sting, but she is a liar: they must hurt because she pities the girl, not because she envies her (not because it shreds her inside to think that she is not special, not because the child inside her was an accident and not planned, not because of the truth).
And she sees it now, sees what he must see in Luster, why he had chosen her. The blue girl is wild and captivating all at once; Luster has no need to bind others to her: anyone would surely throw themselves on to a sword if just to satisfy her. A small part of her wonders if she had been a distraction, if he had only been waiting for the girl's return and occupied himself with Djinni to pass the time.
No - she is not so good a liar (or possessed of low enough self-esteem) to believe that. There was something, something unnamed, something perhaps one-sided. She'd loved him even as the water was turning red with her blood - and it terrified her.
Luster presses her, and for a moment Djinni accepts the chastisement, lowers her bright eyes. But then she is back again, saying: "No. No." Her voice is firm, her eyes hard again, hard and brown and she is angry because she is tired of lying, because she has finally admitted she has tricked herself worse than she has ever tricked anyone else. "You do not get to tell me what love is. You are a child. You are a fool." Her voice breaks, and she all but whispers to herself: "We are both fools." I am a fool and a liar.
"Leave me, Luster." She tells the girl softly as she turns away. There is too much to feel now, too many emotions that she had never bothered with before the Reckoning. Before Stillwater. Her only friend has cautioned her away from him, he has spilled her blood, he stays only because she has chained him, he's now given her the only thing she has never wanted...
Yet as that very thing kicks at her a third time she knows that she loves it too, just as irrationally as she loves its father. She wants it gone as surely as she wants her freedom back, but she is chained now - by responsibility, by emotion, by the knowledge that she would gladly turn herself inside out and back again for a tiny creature that has never even seen the sun.
"Leave me." Djinni says again, and hates the brokenness in her bold voice, hates the fear even she can plainly hear.
It's why she believes herself when she says she doesn't care about the others, about Karaugh and Luster and Charlemagne. She is no fool; Stillwater's lingering scent on the golden mare had made her all the more appetizing. It's why she believes herself when she decides that it was a fluke that taking the magician had made her feel empty.
So it had been a surprise when she'd so easily given Luster what she has hidden away; Djinni had convinced herself it wasn't true. She'd convinced herself she was not like her mother, yet even now Walter's gentle face is fading from her mind (how Aseret could commiserate!). All she wants is to flee to the terribly damp cave where she can tease a reaction from the black stallion that will make her forget this all.
But she can't use Stillwater to forget Stillwater, and even as she grapples with that truth the little thing inside her kicks again and she winces as Luster tells her that she 'chose to love him anyway.' The words sting, but she is a liar: they must hurt because she pities the girl, not because she envies her (not because it shreds her inside to think that she is not special, not because the child inside her was an accident and not planned, not because of the truth).
And she sees it now, sees what he must see in Luster, why he had chosen her. The blue girl is wild and captivating all at once; Luster has no need to bind others to her: anyone would surely throw themselves on to a sword if just to satisfy her. A small part of her wonders if she had been a distraction, if he had only been waiting for the girl's return and occupied himself with Djinni to pass the time.
No - she is not so good a liar (or possessed of low enough self-esteem) to believe that. There was something, something unnamed, something perhaps one-sided. She'd loved him even as the water was turning red with her blood - and it terrified her.
Luster presses her, and for a moment Djinni accepts the chastisement, lowers her bright eyes. But then she is back again, saying: "No. No." Her voice is firm, her eyes hard again, hard and brown and she is angry because she is tired of lying, because she has finally admitted she has tricked herself worse than she has ever tricked anyone else. "You do not get to tell me what love is. You are a child. You are a fool." Her voice breaks, and she all but whispers to herself: "We are both fools." I am a fool and a liar.
"Leave me, Luster." She tells the girl softly as she turns away. There is too much to feel now, too many emotions that she had never bothered with before the Reckoning. Before Stillwater. Her only friend has cautioned her away from him, he has spilled her blood, he stays only because she has chained him, he's now given her the only thing she has never wanted...
Yet as that very thing kicks at her a third time she knows that she loves it too, just as irrationally as she loves its father. She wants it gone as surely as she wants her freedom back, but she is chained now - by responsibility, by emotion, by the knowledge that she would gladly turn herself inside out and back again for a tiny creature that has never even seen the sun.
"Leave me." Djinni says again, and hates the brokenness in her bold voice, hates the fear even she can plainly hear.
D J I N N I
genie | rose gold tobiano dun | trickster