( alina's imagination has always been an overactive thing. to her benefit, mostly, under ana kuya's strict watch — marching her pencil across the page, so that she might only ever imagine the brutality of the frontlines, a soldier more valuable for her maps than her trigger-finger. she can't say it's to her advantage, now, as it fills in every horrific, grotesque detail alicent can't bear to share, like the very taste of it in her throat might open it.
as alina's had. as embry's must have. her mind fills in the details of a blank canvas for her, in shades of gore and viscera — embry, shattered like a stained glass window. embry, bleeding into the basin of an altar. embry, made into a sacrilegious carving, at home in the vicious pages of the book of saints. her throat bobs, choking on nothing but air and frothy bile. scoffs through it, like the saliva clogging her mouth doesn't taste like sputtering up blood, the unforgettable stain of copper on her teeth, on her tongue, on the knife that kissed her that night. )
And I thought Nikolai held the title for most seasoned liar I've met.
( for days, the blood in her veins has coagulated into thick sludge. now, she can hear the rush of it in her ears, feel new rage revive the clamminess of her pulse. it kicks to life beneath the trap of alicent's thumb, thundering like a drum. it's hardly the first time a man has set her on fire to keep himself warm — revolting, still, is the reminder that this is all she'll ever be. the lamb you lead to the altar in offering to please an angry god. the sacrifice that needs to be made.
alina's mouth twists into an angry, snarled knot. for all that she tries to restrain it, her temper has always burned bright and incandescent. )
And he said nothing? ( her fingers blanch into fists, tight enough she can feel the bone creak. ) So it was my head under the executioner's axe, and not his?
He said nothing. [ her voice firms and sharpens in turn. justice for embry, denied. alina, endangered. rhaenyra, killed. ] He begs forgiveness, but I have none to offer, as I know you do not.
[ she still harbours softness in her heart for him — for the one who tim loves best — but it seems a tainted thing, shaded by the knowledge that his duty is only to his his own. alicent doubts he would count her among that number. and she cannot have faith in his judgment now, besides. ]
One who thinks nothing of women is as dangerous as an obsessive.
[ for their carelessness will always cost the most innocent among them. hawk watched alina turn and turn in search of her attacker; tim listened to her draw the parallel between alina and embry. cruel, fanatical precision ended them both. ]
Tim will accuse him this night and another will name David. One of them is responsible, I know it. [ venom on her tongue. ] Your suffering in this game will end, Alina.
[ alicent doubts there is anything to be done about the suffering that will continue beyond it, but she can do this — support the accusations and spread the votes. like a politician. like hawk. ]
( self-loathing bleeds her more than the sharp curve of a knife ever had. the darkling. hawkins fuller. david collins. danny johnson. every man she hadn't taken for a wolf until it was too late to ignore the glint of canines in the dark, oblivious to an obvious threat. she shakes her head, like it might shake free the wool from her eyes, her permanent blindness to their intentions.
her fingers drift from alicent, a slow fall — like even that small uptick in energy exsanginuates what's left of her strength. when the rage empties, all she has is — this. too much space to fill inside of her. the invading grief that follows like an overgrowth of weeds, strangling anything else that tries to grow. the feeble cold that tries to seep into her bones, her warmth smothered under the thin layer of merzost lingering in her soul.
she drifts to the window, sifting her fingers beneath the straining october sunlight, just to feel its kiss on her skin. just to watch the light refract from paul's father's ring, turning metal-warm, as she spins it around her finger )
You were wrong to say I haven't sacrificed. ( numbly matter-of-fact, resigned to the truth wedged between them like a double-edged sword. alina can't move forward without impaling herself on it, without thinking of alicent's cutting condemnation. ) I thought I could escape it here. I thought ...
( her voice trails off, a pensive heartbeat of thought. )
I thought I could be free from making the hard choices, the decisions everyone else seems to suffer for. But the shadow of it follows me everywhere.
( it should be me, she doesn't say, but the truth remains: there isn't a single soul that hasn't met their punishment for following her. genya, marred. nikolai, monstrous. mal, fated for death. every fallen grisha crumpled under rubble, every soldier she couldn't save from the darkling's slaughter. wetly, she exhales. )
Thinking I could be anyone but who I am — it's never worked. I don't know why I thought it would be different for me, this time.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cw for violent/gory imagery
as alina's had. as embry's must have. her mind fills in the details of a blank canvas for her, in shades of gore and viscera — embry, shattered like a stained glass window. embry, bleeding into the basin of an altar. embry, made into a sacrilegious carving, at home in the vicious pages of the book of saints. her throat bobs, choking on nothing but air and frothy bile. scoffs through it, like the saliva clogging her mouth doesn't taste like sputtering up blood, the unforgettable stain of copper on her teeth, on her tongue, on the knife that kissed her that night. )
And I thought Nikolai held the title for most seasoned liar I've met.
( for days, the blood in her veins has coagulated into thick sludge. now, she can hear the rush of it in her ears, feel new rage revive the clamminess of her pulse. it kicks to life beneath the trap of alicent's thumb, thundering like a drum. it's hardly the first time a man has set her on fire to keep himself warm — revolting, still, is the reminder that this is all she'll ever be. the lamb you lead to the altar in offering to please an angry god. the sacrifice that needs to be made.
alina's mouth twists into an angry, snarled knot. for all that she tries to restrain it, her temper has always burned bright and incandescent. )
And he said nothing? ( her fingers blanch into fists, tight enough she can feel the bone creak. ) So it was my head under the executioner's axe, and not his?
no subject
[ she still harbours softness in her heart for him — for the one who tim loves best — but it seems a tainted thing, shaded by the knowledge that his duty is only to his his own. alicent doubts he would count her among that number. and she cannot have faith in his judgment now, besides. ]
One who thinks nothing of women is as dangerous as an obsessive.
[ for their carelessness will always cost the most innocent among them. hawk watched alina turn and turn in search of her attacker; tim listened to her draw the parallel between alina and embry. cruel, fanatical precision ended them both. ]
Tim will accuse him this night and another will name David. One of them is responsible, I know it. [ venom on her tongue. ] Your suffering in this game will end, Alina.
[ alicent doubts there is anything to be done about the suffering that will continue beyond it, but she can do this — support the accusations and spread the votes. like a politician. like hawk. ]
no subject
( self-loathing bleeds her more than the sharp curve of a knife ever had. the darkling. hawkins fuller. david collins. danny johnson. every man she hadn't taken for a wolf until it was too late to ignore the glint of canines in the dark, oblivious to an obvious threat. she shakes her head, like it might shake free the wool from her eyes, her permanent blindness to their intentions.
her fingers drift from alicent, a slow fall — like even that small uptick in energy exsanginuates what's left of her strength. when the rage empties, all she has is — this. too much space to fill inside of her. the invading grief that follows like an overgrowth of weeds, strangling anything else that tries to grow. the feeble cold that tries to seep into her bones, her warmth smothered under the thin layer of merzost lingering in her soul.
she drifts to the window, sifting her fingers beneath the straining october sunlight, just to feel its kiss on her skin. just to watch the light refract from paul's father's ring, turning metal-warm, as she spins it around her finger )
You were wrong to say I haven't sacrificed. ( numbly matter-of-fact, resigned to the truth wedged between them like a double-edged sword. alina can't move forward without impaling herself on it, without thinking of alicent's cutting condemnation. ) I thought I could escape it here. I thought ...
( her voice trails off, a pensive heartbeat of thought. )
I thought I could be free from making the hard choices, the decisions everyone else seems to suffer for. But the shadow of it follows me everywhere.
( it should be me, she doesn't say, but the truth remains: there isn't a single soul that hasn't met their punishment for following her. genya, marred. nikolai, monstrous. mal, fated for death. every fallen grisha crumpled under rubble, every soldier she couldn't save from the darkling's slaughter. wetly, she exhales. )
Thinking I could be anyone but who I am — it's never worked. I don't know why I thought it would be different for me, this time.