The Loneliest Traid

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  • Rating:
  • Published: 2 Apr 2017
  • Updated: 13 May 2017
  • Status: Complete
Love and death and war and Gods and blood and magic and dancing and rest and revenge and kings and fate.
Don't worry, within these three stories you'll know yourself,
And I will put you back together again.

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69. Count Me Down

Appalla was pacing, grabbing at the dead flowers that were strown upon the floor and wringing their necks.  She was stumbling over words, mumbling curses and finally dropping to the bed, rubbing the skin from her eyes, thinking, kicking.

    “How could this happen?”

    Daphne, was had already been kicked and pulled up over the wall and strangled, lay coughing on the floor, gripping at a tear in her skin where twings popped out like bone.  She didn’t dare ask, because whatever it was, she was sure that Appalla would find a way it make it her fault.  

    She finally stopped, and looked up.  Her eyes were speckled with red, her hands holding a bouquet of dead roses that were almost dush under her nails.  She wanted to scream, Daphne had grown to know her well, in all the time they had been supposedly in love for.  But Daphne held her breath and prayed that she would live now.  If only until she could apologize to Jinmi for everything she had been given, and never returned.

    “If I love you,” Appalla said slowly, every sharp hiss making Daphne twitch and cower despite her best intentions, “Then our love story is completed.”

    “Does that mean that you’ll want to leave me?”

    She stood up, yelling into the hall, “Osir?  Brizo?  No, that’s not what it means, darling.”

    The two Gods came in, one from before not even sparing her a glance.   The other, a new one, gasping as soon as he saw her and her crippled form, but ducking his head before Appalla caught him, his eyes still wide, and somewhat angry, she thought.

    “It means,” she explained, calm only surface deep, “That one of us are going to die.”

    Daphne seized up, “No, no, no-”

    “Oh, I wouldn’t hurt you, lovely,” she said, but did not touch her mangled skin.

    “Then just let me go, please.”

    Appalla smiled, her sympathy a facade, “I am not risking you coming back, am I?  Osir, take her to the lowest room in the house, leave her in, say, three inches of water.  Enough to keep her alive, and not enough to drown in.  We will leave here there until her love comes to save her, I suppose, and Brizo, I want every last one of my people standing attention.  I want this realm to be under my thumb, and if anyone speaks of my death, scalp them, string them up - I don’t care, but I want them gone.”

    “Yes, ma’am.”

    She sighed, and pecked Daphne’s begging lips.

    “Please, don’t, no, no-”

    “I’m sorry it had to go this way, darling, but know this.  I will always, always love you.”

    “No-”

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