I had some crazy shiz with my job schedule for a while. Triple shifts on the weekends, three jobs, ugly stuff. My schedule is much more liveable now, but I don't really have "days off", so the amount of writing still isn't great. That said, I have been working in bits and pieces on a story that's effectively fan-fiction for this card game. Which I haven't played. Yeah, I know, I'm weird. I hear it's great, though!
Anyway, said work isn't exactly in a state where I'm comfortable posting it on the web. It's largely unrefined, and is coming out in bits and pieces that will ultimately need patched and sewn together into a clean narrative. I do have a single finished "chapter" that I feel pretty good about throwing on here, though. So here it is.
(And no, that doesn't mean I've abandoned my other projects. I'm just a scatterbrain.)
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For He Who Treads the
Space Between
No Peace, No Calm,
From King or Queen
Though Riches Won Are
Riches Seen
True Sanctum Lies With
Conscience Clean
Anani stood in the tavern’s
washroom, eyes fixed on the mirror before her. Her breath was heavy, labored,
her heartbeat erratic. It’d been weeks, and still, his face was so clear in her
mind. His heavy jaw, his broad smile. Eyes that seemed to twinkle with an innocence
unimaginable in a man his age. Eyes that calmed. Eyes that deceived.
He’d deserved what happened to him. He had. She never asked him to come
here. Never asked him to single her out, to croon to her, to whisper sweet
adulations to her ear. She never asked to see what he really was. What he could
really do. She never wanted this. Any of it.
He’d deserved it.
Anani took a deep breath. She let it out slow. Her lips formed silent
letters, yet the words were clear in her mind, her voice strong and unwavering.
For she who treads the space between…
Her heart began to calm. She was here, now, regardless. Here where she belonged.
She was expected, and soon, and she wouldn’t dream of disappointing her
patrons. She’d even dressed up, just for them. Dressed up in this cute little
outfit she made herself, each stitch sewn with love and good intentions. She
closed her eyes. Took another breath.
No peace, no calm, from king or
queen…
She focused on her smile. That special smile. People talked about her
smile. Talked about how sweet she was. How mischievous. Cute. Salacious.
Pristine. It was a smile that meant a hundred different things to half as many
people. It was a smile she’d worked on. Perfected. Love, and good intentions.
Her eyes opened slowly. There it was. There was Anani, tavern wench
extraordinaire. The girl people trusted with their secrets. The girl everyone
knew was clean, and sweet, and chaste, even as they wished she wasn’t. The girl
lonesome husbands pined for, while their wives, so unconcerned, made light. Maybe next week, Darling, or, She’s not into senior citizens, Dear.
And Anani, with that smile, would wink and pour their drink.
Her eyes traced the mirror. Love, good intentions, yes—though perhaps a
hint of selfishness. Was it okay, to want the attention? To seek confidence,
esteem, maybe even gratification in the eyes of others? Did it matter, truly,
if it was? That’s what she was doing. That’s what kept her going. What would
continue to keep her going.
Though riches won are riches
seen...
She shrugged. Eyeing what she’d made for herself, she couldn’t help but
smirk a bit, an impish edge to her smile. Her thumb traced her lower lip as she
considered her outfit. How much was too much? This was hardly more than
underwear. The white top and barred purple-and-black corset she wore atop of it
left more visible breast meat than the town’s resident butcher, especially now
that… now that the wolf had eaten the
poor fellow’s wife. The red skirt beneath was her main concern, however. It was
so short, it could hardly be considered a skirt at all. Any bending in any
direction was bound to share her panties with the world. Add that to the frilly
arm cuffs, the black heels, and the white stockings—topped with cute red
bows!—and she may as well have been selling tickets.
She smiled to herself. It was adorable. She was adorable. Everyone would
love it. So what if it was a little… much? She’d never had complaints. She was
loved by all, feared by none. She was Anani—the little homewrecker who wasn’t.
Anani was Safety. Anani was Harmless Desire. Anani was Mead, Ale, Good Times,
and Good Stories.
True sanctum lies with conscience
clean…
She was ready. Tonight would be good. Tonight, she would drink with her
patrons, until her bubbly cheeks were bright and rosy. They would like that. So
would she. Tonight she would forget, just for a while.
Short fingers pressed the door
open. Slipping out of the washroom, she relished the distinct click-clack of
her heels as she tread toward the tavern itself, knowing they would announce
her arrival long before it came. A quick peek into the dining area showed the
usual suspects huddled around the tavern’s five scattered benches and four
thick, wooden tables. Old, toothless Marty was huddled over a massive glass of
ale, Phillip’s scraggly beard was already full of bread crumbs, and, despite
how improper it was for a lady of stature to frequent a crap-hole like this,
the spindly, well-worn fingers of Margaret, the mayor’s widow, were nursing a
mug of wine in the corner.
Anani smiled to herself, taking
a deep breath as she stepped into the dining area. The tavern always smelled
the same—like old beer, marinated flesh, and bad hygiene. It was a familiar air
that left her feeling at home, six days out of the week.
Marty was the first to spot her. His quivering fingers raised his glass
up high as he shouted some inarticulate cheer. The man closest to him, Jeremy,
quickly reached up, steadying the glass, even as he shouted something his own
greeting—“Anaaniii! We missed you! How are you and the gals?!”
Rolling her eyes, Anani turned away, poised to stalk off. Instead, she
stopped, casting an inquisitive glance at her chest. Reaching up with both
hands, she cupped her chest, giving it a slight heft. Looking back to Jeremiah,
she smirked. “We’re doing well, hon! Good to see you!” Jeremiah’s gleeful cheer
left her smirking, and she eased her way behind the heavy oaken counter,
indicating with a pat to her friend Jafi’s shoulder that she was ready to take
over.
Jafi quickly stripped off her
apron and dropped it on the counter. She disappeared without a word, hands
clutched to her well-covered chest and her steps just a little too hurried.
A small, brief scowl found
Anani’s lips as she donned the worn-out apron. No doubt the poor, modest thing
had dealt with an especially heavy hand of harassment today. Jafi’s
church-mouse attire did little to hide the fact that her cute, freckled cheeks,
glowing smile, and infectious laugh had left two thirds of her regulars with a
crush. The girl left them no choice; they couldn’t help but love her. Yet she
could never handle the repercussions. Truly, this was not the job for her.
Job. At times she had to remind
herself that yes, this was work, and she would be paid, and that meant she had
certain responsibilities. With a light sigh, she began her daily hunt for the
small bin of dirty dishes Jafi was sure to have left behind. She found it
beneath the counter, next to a crate full of stale bread. With a slight huff,
she hefted the thing to her middle, then dropped it behind the counter next to
a basin of clean, soapy water and another basin of rinse water.
Clean. Good. Jafi had taken the
time to drain the afternoon’s filth and fetch more water from the well. That
girl was sweet, but she didn’t always do her job, and Anani had come to expect
the worst—it was much more pleasant to be surprised by the good days than by
the bad ones.
Plucking the plates out first,
then the bowls and mugs, and finally the silverware, Anani made room for
everything in the wash basin, through equal parts force and tact. Satisfied,
she wiped her hands on her apron before hunting down a tray. Tossing it to the
counter with a loud thunk, she cupped her hands around her mouth and addressed
the tavern with a shout. “Alright! Who’s thirsty?! Show of hands, ladies and
lumps!”
The resulting shouting and
waving and hollering made each voice indiscernible from the next, but really,
it didn’t matter. She knew what they were saying. “Me first!” and “Fill me
up!”, and all manner of thinly veiled references to her tits. With that smile,
that perfect practiced smile, she visually ticked off the booze-hungry patrons,
pointing to each as she mouthed their names. Phillip, Jake, Marty, Jeremiah,
Tess, Bethany, Stewart, Jacob, Sol. Grabbing a few pitchers and dropping them
by one of the many kegs on the back wall, she filled each with frothy ale in
turn, before carefully arranging them on her tray.
She cupped her mouth again.
“Here it comes! Freshly-juiced barley! Vitamin A is served!”
The tavern cheered her name.
Anani smiled. Time to mingle.
* * *
Anani’s eyes narrowed, staring
down at the mug clutched in her hands. “Why are you so empty, Mr. Mug?
Shouldn’t someone fill you?”
From her left, Jeremiah poked
her in the shoulder. “Uhh, ‘Nani. That’s your job.”
Blinking, she turned her head
slowly, giving him a blank stare. Then, suddenly, recognition. “Oh. Right.” She
giggled, shaking her head.
Below her lap, Marty’s geriatric
husk shivered with laughter. Spindly fingers pointed to his own mug, still
mostly full. “All yours.”
Anani cooed, leaning forward to
inspect the mug in question. After a moment, she paused, glancing back over her
shoulder at the old man she was seated on. She lifted an accusing finger. “You
just want me drunker. You think I’ll
take things off.”
Across the table, Phillip’s
three bearded chins wrinkled in a mushy smile. “But Anani, we’re already
playing strip poker. Why would Marty get you drunk…er?”
She paused, confusion etched on
her face. Glancing to her left, she watched as Jeremiah gave her a somber nod.
Eyeing him with suspicion, she looked to her right, staring in Margaret’s
direction for a moment before raising a hand in sudden revelation. “Nnoo! This
can’t be strip! Margaret’s a lady.
She has class. She would never play
strip.”
The older woman snorted,
covering her face with her hand as laughter shook her shoulders.
Anani giggled, rosy cheeks
bubbly with joy. Nudging Marty with her elbow, she awaited her hand of cards.
He presented him, and she snatched them up, studying them most studiously. A
moment later, she slammed down her hand with a loud “Ha!”
Phillip stared at her cards,
disbelieving.
Anani leaned forward, pointing
at his losing hand. “Now! Down to your
skivvies!”
All three chins balked at once.
“But this isn’t stri—”
“HAA!! Told yooouuuu!! Pervert!”
The chins groaned in defeat.
Margaret slowly clapped her
hands, smirking. “Handled with grace and class, Anani. Who says you’re not a
lady?”
A bubbly giggle burst from
Anani’s lips. “Nnoooo. I’m too drunk to be classy! I—”
A few tables away, the tavern
door swung open. A lone stranger stepped through, glanced around, and shut the
door behind himself.
Anani sighed, eyeing Margaret
apologetically. “I’m not a lady, Margaret, ‘cause I work in a tavern. Sorry,
gotta do some work at work. God
forbid!” Smirking, she climbed gingerly off of Marty’s lap, allowing the old
man time to subtly adjust himself in his seat as she stepped away. From next to
Margaret, she glanced at the other three. “Sorry, boys. Give Marty my cards.”
As the men protested in unison,
Anani cast them an apologetic pout, excusing herself. Careful, calculated steps
guided her back behind the counter, where she helped herself to a stool across
from the stranger, who was busy digging around in his pouch for coin. When he
glanced back up, he cast her a smile. Payment slid across the counter—more than
enough for anything here. “Chardonnay, please, if you have it. If not, Ale will
suffice.”
Anani blinked, trying not to
stare, even as she cast him her professional Anani smile. Travelers were
nothing resembling news, in this town. Loreza was halfway between two major
cities, and was a popular stop for trade caravans in particular. Even now, the
tavern inn was full, a band of spice traders having arrived at the same time as
those trading in wool. But this stranger looked, in a word, exotic. His dark
skin had a milky quality, almost as if he’d powdered his face, and his eyes
were the brightest blue she’d seen—brighter than hers, and Marty mumbled
something vaguely poetic about her eyes almost nightly. The stranger’s hair was
a light black, so light it seemed to shine purple in the lantern’s light. It
was longer than hers, almost down to his bottom, tied in a ponytail that was
held firm by two long pins. Adorning the pines were green jewels, and those
jewels matched the chest piece of his flowing violet cape.
Anani peeled her eyes away with
a nod, playing off her curiosity. “Uhh… I can try!” Climbing off her stool, she
reached for the least-casual looking glass she had and fished out a bottle of
wine. She glanced at the label, wondering for the first time what kind of wine this might be.
So much for her buzz. A mug of ale and good company was all the placebo
she needed, but this man had made her think.
What a shame.
She turned to the stranger, cheeks pink, though only partially from
embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I, ehh… I know it’s wine. With, like, grapes in it.
I don’t know what kind.”
The stranger chuckled, shaking
his head with a smile. When his eyes found hers again, he waved his hand
dismissively. “It’s fine. I’ll take it.”
Anani bit her lip. Popping the
cork, she filled the glass, handing it over. “I… here. Sorry. Again. We don’t
get many visitors with, umm…” she paused, glancing around as she took her seat
again. She leaned in closer, and lowered her voice. “…refined paletes.”
Another chuckle. “It’s fine.”
The man lifted the glass, nodded it toward Anani, and took a sip. He winced,
lips puckering, blatant dissatisfaction on his face. Eyeing the glass with
obvious hesitation, he made a face and chugged the rest. He finished with a
choke, his face contorting. “Mmnhhhehh. Food. Please. Hurry.”
Anani’s blush spread. “I’m…
here, sorry, let me get you some bread. It’s a little stale but it’s all we
have right now.” She sighed to herself as she rummaged below the counter, her
embarrassment growing with each exchange.
The stranger nodded, and when
the bread was presented, he quickly took a large bite. He visibly relaxed,
shoulders sinking as he washed the taste from his mouth. Swallowing, he glanced
down at the slice in his hand, turning it about like some rare gem to inspect.
“Your baker has talent. I can’t say as much about your vintner.”
Anani sighed, eyeing her taps.
She’d never really questioned their quality. Would the ale, too, make him gag?
Did it matter? Everyone else liked it plenty. So what if this guy thought he
was better. What was he used to drinking, anyway? Some kind of snobby, uppity…
horrendously delicious vintage wine? Her eyes turned back to him. “’Vintner’,
huh? That’s what you call a wine maker?” She gave him a nervous smile, leaning
against the counter. She just learned a new word. How about that. “We always
just called him William.”
The visitor smirked, then
chuckled, a broad grin soon etched into his features. He reached out a hand,
palm down. “Ahh, yes. Ours is Lita. But where are my manners? I am Anzo, a romaja.”
She eyed his palm for a moment,
confused. Then, realization. She’d read about this in stories. “Anani, a tavern
wench.” With a small, childish grin, she placed her hand atop his. Was he
really going to—
He raised it to his lips,
kissing it.
He was. He did. Anani hid the
shiver in her spine as she pulled her hand free, not entirely sure what to do
with it. She eyed it for a moment before slowly lowering it to the counter,
crossing her arms as she got comfortable. That wine of his had to be wonderful.
She tried to imagine how it was made. Lita, he said? Did Lita dip her toes in
sugar before she stomped the grapes?
Anzo’s gaze drifted to her
chest, lingering for a moment before returning to her eyes. “The pleasure is
mine, Anani.”
Anani took a heavy breath,
smiling and pretending not to notice his wandering eyes. She wondered for the
first time if this top maybe wasn’t the best idea. Sure, she enjoyed the
attention, but with her patrons it was all so… frivolous. This man, this… supposed gentleman, had
refined taste. And he was checking out her goods. Then again, she couldn’t help
but inspect the brooch on his cape. Her fingers drummed on the counter, then
squeezed into fists. “No, no. All mine. But what brings such a handsome
wanderer to little Loreza? Are you with your caravan?”
The stranger chuckled at the
compliment, only to shake his head. “I am afraid not, no. I am a scout, Anani.
What brings me here, aside from the opportunity to meet beautiful young ladies
such as yourself, is the chance to scout for… unique trade opportunities.”
Anani tried to stifle the giggle
his compliment brought. Her face flushed red. Beautiful? She was pretty sure
this man spent more time on his hair each morning than she did.
Anzo continued. “The larger cities may have more variety, but little
towns such as this tend to have more interesting wares. More personal. Worth
seeing, and bartering for. We are a very… sentimental, people. So I am here for
a few days, to investigate.”
Anani bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder toward the tavern inn, then
back at Anzo. She deflated a little. She hated turning people away. Much less
anyone so… interesting. “I’m afraid the inn is full, Anzo. We’re hosting two
trade caravans at once. They don’t leave for three days. And this is the only
inn here.”
Anzo shrugged, leaning forward
across the counter. “That’s quite alright. A bed would have been nice, but I
have slept in fields, before. A barn would suffice, or perhaps someplace…
warmer, with company. I will figure something out, I’m sure.” He smirked.
Anani’s ears turned crimson, but
she forced a casual laugh. Lord, he was brazen. Anani raised a finger,
pretending to have remembered something important as she dipped below the
counter. Hefting some containers around fruitlessly, she mulled over the
situation. True, she was no saint. Passersby were fair game, in a way. Without
the… availability, to have a relationship, she didn’t have much choice but to
seek affection elsewhere, however fleeting. But she was the forward one. She
set the rules, the boundaries. She made things safe. She was Anani the
innocent. Anani the pure. The careful. The discreet tavern slut, with loyal
patrons who had never even thought to wonder.
This man had cast her in a different role. Anani the target. Anani the
prize. Anani the object of desire. And she was trying so hard, so very, very hard, not to enjoy it.
Glancing around earnestly below the counter, she found herself grasping
another loaf of bread. She emerged, finding her seat again and setting the
bread on a cutting board. She began to slice it, and cast Anzo a smile. Her
professional smile. “I should warn you, Anzo. Most of the fine young ladies
here, they are spoken for. The ones who aren’t are… saving themselves, you
know. Loreza is… quaint. You may want to look into that barn option.”
The stranger laughed in turn,
only to feed her a smirk. “Ah, but you say ‘most’. Not all. So what you mean,
instead, is ‘you’, yes?”
“Pffft…” Anani waved a hand
dismissively. “Not hardly. Not unless you count my fine feline companion, Mr.
Biggles.”
The stranger arched his brow,
surprise on his face. “Surely you jest! You? All alone?” He leaned back in
across the counter, lowering his voice. “You pain me, Anani. If only I weren’t
leaving so soon. You would have flowers, come morning.”
She raised her brow, fighting
back a cheeky grin as she slid the bread away. “Oh? Forgive me for being
skeptical, Mr. Romaja Scout, but I suspect the brevity is to your liking.
What’s that saying, again? ‘The joy of the tissue—it’s no lingering issue’?”
Anzo stared for a moment, shock on his face,
before laughter burst from his lips. His shoulders shook, his dark cheeks
turning bright red, and by the time he’d regained his composure, his blush had
spread to his entire face. “Aaahhh, ohh dear. Forgive me, Anani, but it’s not
often I hear such… phrases uttered
from such pretty lips. I am… speechless, really. I have no retort.”
Anani smirked, satisfied. “Good.
That means I’m right, and you know it. But you know, I was expecting some
half-assed defense. ‘Oh no, not me, never! I’m a gentleman! Really!’”
Chuckling quietly, he shook his
head. He threw his hands up with a shrug. “No point. You’re too smart for these
games, I think. Is this the part where I give up, and go find a barn?”
With an apathetic shrug, Anani
gave the stranger a soft smile. “Perhaps. You may also want to try the
monastery, if it’s games you wish to play. Most of those girls, they’re… not
the sharpest, you know. Naïve. Seeing as they live a kind of… game, in the sense you’ve used it, you
may have better luck.”
The stranger was quiet for a
moment. “I… do not wish to deceive, if that’s what you think. I simply meant,
you seem immune to my charms. I suspect I’m not your, eh… ‘type’.”
Anani paused, her eyes trailing
across the tavern before her. No one had called for drinks in quite some time.
Most of the regulars had begun filtering out, leaving a few coins by their
respective seats. They knew the rules—she would have cut them off soon, anyway.
Sighing to herself, she looked back to Anzo. He was so handsome. Did he know
how handsome he was? Was that why he was making this so goddamn difficult? He
must have known. What a bastard. She couldn’t help but give him a smirk. “Anzo,
you have no idea. None.” Leaning across the counter, she lowered her voice.
“…but my ‘type’, I’ll have you know, is honest. I don’t respond to games,
charming or otherwise.”
Anzo pursed his lips. He cast
Anani a sideways glance. “You are suggesting I be… straight forward.”
She shrugged, reaching for a
slice of the bread she’d cut. “I wasn’t suggesting anything.” Taking a bite,
she watched him, waiting. She savored his awkwardness. How out of his element
he was. He’d surrendered control; Anzo the Conquerer had been slain. A pauper
stood in his stead, his palms held aloft, waiting for crumbs.
This was better. Much better.
The stranger’s hands came to
rest on the counter, fingers interlocked. He took a deep breath. His words were
barely audible, just loud enough for her to hear. “Anani. You are a beautiful,
charming woman. It would be an incredible honor to share your quarters, for the
next few nights. I find you enthralling, and though my stay is brief, I would
enjoy… getting to know you.”
Anani’s toes curled under the
counter. She shifted in her seat, just a bit. Her smile cracked, melting into
something else entirely. A sly grin. A knowing smirk. She matched his volume.
“Isn’t that what you’re doing, Anzo?”
Another deep breath. He nodded,
cheeks flushing pink. “…Okay. Yes. Fine. I want to… have you. To sleep with
you.”
Anani thumbed her lip pensively.
For a long while, she was silent. Finally, an impish grin bloomed on her face,
and she leaned across the counter whispering to the stranger’s ear. “Can you
be… discrete? I have a reputation to consider. If it were… soiled, the
repercussions would be severe. Very severe.”
A small smirk crept across
Anzo’s features. “My people are… forbidden, from few things. This entire
conversation was one of them. What we’re about to do is another.”
Anani’s grin spread. “Perfect.
The tavern closes in one hour. Return in two. Knock three times, and stop.”
Anzo nodded quickly,
understanding. Leaning back, he climbed to his feet. His voice rose, loud
enough for the closer patrons to hear. “Thank you so much for your hospitality,
m’lady. I’d best be off, now, to seek shelter elsewhere. Take care.”
Anani waved, grasping his empty
glass as she, too, stood. “Take care, hon. Good luck finding a roof. Sorry
again about the inn space.”
“It’s no problem. Best of luck!”
And with that, the stranger was
off.
* * *
The last of the dishes was dry.
Anani knelt beside the wash and rinse basins. Below them was a metal grate, and
below that was a drain that ran below the tavern floor and into a garden behind
the tavern. She yanked the grate free. Reaching beneath the wash basin, she
found a metal cap, unscrewed it, and stepped away. The water poured free, the
dreck and debris from the dishes pouring into the garden. Along with the lye
from the soap, it’d make great fertilizer. With the basin empty, she took a
pitcher of the rinse water and poured it around the inside, washing free any
residual debris. Satisfied, she uncapped the rinse basin. The caps were placed
on the counter, alongside the clean pitchers.
That was that. The tavern was
ready to open in the morning. By her estimate, she’d cleaned up in just under
an hour. Anzo was due any moment.
Anani sighed. This was such a
risk. Always such a risk. Did she really need to? Couldn’t she just… abstain?
Be alone? Go without a gentle touch, a warm kiss?
It wasn’t even the sex. Not
really. Sure, she enjoyed it—thanks to her years with that asshole, David,
she’d long since discovered her taste for carnal pleasures. But that wasn’t the
point, here.
At least, that’s what she was
telling herself. Anani chewed on her lip, mulling this over for the hundredth
time. She knew she was going to do it. And she was going to enjoy it, and if
she regretted anything it’d be that she’d made such a fuss about it in the
first place. That’s always how it went.
Unless it wasn’t. Unless he
was...
No. No, that wouldn’t happen.
Not tonight. And if it did, she would control herself. She would be strong. A
better person.
Besides. He’d deserved it.
They’d all deserved it.
True sanctum lies with conscience clean…
Anani
took a deep breath. Everything would be fine. It—
There was a soft knock at the
door. Once, twice, thrice. She took a deep breath. Stepped out from behind the
counter.
She paused as she reached the
door, glancing down at her outfit. Should she have changed? He’d liked what
he’d seen, of course. But this outfit wasn’t for him. It was for her patrons.
Her loyal throngs.
Oh, well. Too late now. At
least… at least he had liked it.
Really liked it. That wasn’t such a bad thing.
Her hand grasped the door
handle. She turned the lock, opened it slowly. It was silent, well-greased, so
it wouldn’t bother her beloved patrons.
They could never know.
She smiled as her eyes met Anzo’s.
Waving him in, she shut the door quietly behind him. Her hand grasped his, and
she nodded toward the back. “This way,” she whispered. “Keep it down. Don’t
wake the other guests.”
Anzo nodded, silent.
She led him through the tavern
and into a hallway, quietly pointing out the washroom as they passed it. He
would need it, after all. When they reached her door, she fished her key out
from a tiny pocket she’d sewn in the side of her dress. The door fell open. She
pulled him inside, and shut the door behind him.
“Well, this is it. Home.” She
took a deep breath, eyeing the room. It was small, simple. A hair larger than
those for guests, with enough room for another dresser, another shelf or two.
There was a short shelf by the window, with a flap installed where one of the
panes should be. Just in case Mr. Biggles got cold or lonely at night. He
usually did.
Anzo smiled softly. “Thank you,
for letting me stay here.”
“Mm.” She stood for a moment,
silent. Her eyes found his face, and her fingers rose slowly to his sides. They
slid up his shirt, until they reached the brooch securing his cape. With a bit
of fiddling, it fell loose. She fed him a soft smirk. “…Be quiet. If you need
to moan something, call me ‘Nala’. No one here needs to know.”
Anzo chuckled, his smile
twisting into a grin. “Mmm. Yes, ma’am.” His hands found her shoulders, only to
slide to her breasts. He found the lip of her top, and began to pull.
Anani pulled away quickly,
grunting her protest. “Slow. We have all night. Make it special.”
The stranger paused briefly,
then nodded, his lips finding her ear.
When she felt his tongue on her
ear, hot and moist, she gasped softly, a shiver climbing her spine. She leaned
into his chest, fingers curling against the fabric.
His lips traced down to her
neck, kissing, sucking. As her body began to squirm against his, a soft grunt
left his lips, announcing his frustration.
She leaned back, casting him a knowing smile. Her fingers traced his cheeks,
grasping the back of his neck and pulling his face to hers. Her teeth found his
lower lip. A gentle nip.
A low murmur rose to his lips as he leaned in, returning the motion.
Soon, his lips traveled south, pausing to suck at her jaw line, her neck, her
collar.
Anani gasped softly, fingers curling in his hair. She could feel her
breath hasten, her body grow warmer. Her thighs began to squirm.
Another grunt left Anzo’s lips. His hands grasped her bottom, pulling up
at her skirt.
Anani jerked away again, only to
find her wrist in his grasp. She twisted it in a sharp circle, eyeing him with
a scowl. “Slow, I said. Please. Make
it special.”
Anzo shook his head, slowly
closing the gap between them. His hands found her sides, and he yanked her back
to his chest. His face twisted in a grimace, however brief, before he leaned in
to nip roughly at her neck.
Too roughly. Anani squeaked in pain, jerking away. “H-Hey, easy…”
The stranger shook his head. His hands grasped her bottom again,
clenching tight.
Anani jumped, pushing Anzo away with a rough shove. Her brow furled,
confusion in her eyes. “What… what are you doing?
Why are you—”
Anzo scowled, stepping closer. His hands found her hips. “If you wanted
to make it special, ‘Nala’, why are
you fucking strangers in your tavern bedroom? Shouldn’t you find a husband? I
think we both know why I’m here.”
Anani’s jaw dropped. Rage
flashed in her eyes. “Excuse me?!” She pushed him back away, hands balling into
fists.
Anzo took a deep breath, pushing
his hair away from his face. “You needed to get fucked. I stopped by. I’m
attractive. It’s convenient. Is there some part of this I’m missing, girl?
Would you like to explain?”
Her arm rose slowly, pointing
toward the door. She began to tremble, eyes welling, anger coursing through
every vein. “Get. Out. Now.”
The stranger crossed his arms,
standing his ground. “Really?” he hissed, voice still hushed, as though he
expected this to work in his favor. “If you try and kick me out now, girl, and
don’t give me any, you know what I’m going to do? I’m—”
“Out.”
“…I’m going to come back
tomorrow, and tell every one of your tavern buddies what your bedroom looks
like.”
Anani took a deep, quivering
breath. “You have… five seconds.”
Anzo grasped her extended arm,
pulling her close. “Fuck you. I’m having you, you crazy bitch. It’ll be so fucking special, you’ll remember it for years.”
Anani’s voice fell to a growl. Deep. Flat. She
met his gaze, no fear in her eyes. “Let go. You have one warning.”
The stranger leaned in, until
his face was inches from hers. “No.”
The seconds that followed were a
blur. Anani’s free hand dipped into a nearby drawer, left ajar just in-case. As
it withdrew, a five-inch blade clutched firm, she drew it across his cheek in a
single, swift motion, drawing the tip through a half-inch of flesh. As his grip
loosed, and his lips parted to release a scream of pain, her freshly freed hand
balled into a fist and pushed through his open maw, muffling his cry and
leaving him gagging. The blade pressed against his throat, even as her hand
left his mouth and grasped a handful of hair.
Anzo flattened against the door,
his eyes widening in shock as blood streamed down his cheek. “D-Don’t kill me,
Anani. Please. I’m… God, I’m so sorry, I—”
Yanking him by his hair, she
stepped away from the door. She nodded toward the handle. Watched as he opened
it. “You have. Five. Seconds.”
Anzo opened his mouth to say
something, but stopped as she pressed the blade against his throat. Nodding
just slightly, he turned stiffly, stepping out of the room.
Behind him, Anani stared blankly. Her throat clenched, and when she spoke
again, two final words, it came out deep and gnarled. Inhuman. “Anzo. Run.”
The stranger turned to look at her. His eyes widened. Recognition.
Understanding. Horror struck his features. The door clicked shut. Moments
later, the tavern door slammed.
Anani sank to her knees. She
stared at the door, gaze blank. A deep tremble set into her gut. Soon, she was
quivering. Her eyes felt moist. The room was blurry, moving.
He deserved it. They all deserved it.
She didn’t
want this. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t do this to herself. Do this to him.
He’d forced her. He
said as much.
It wasn’t her fault. It was never her fault.
She was the one who
tread the space between.
And he
had
forced
her
.
* * *
Anzo’s hands were trembling when
he reached his white, mottled horse. They grasped at the canvas sack hanging
from its side, only to hesitate after opening it. Slowly reaching in, he
withdrew an ornate mirror, golden, inset with sapphires and rubies.
His mirror. His precious mirror.
The mirror that told him all he needed to know. The mirror that showed the hand
of Death.
His voice trembled as he whispered the prayer. “…s-silem fancta kisvu
gilan…”
When the last, quivering
syllable left his lips, the mirror began to glow. He saw the woods. Saw a young
man running, fleeing, hiding from a beast. Glimpses of fur and teeth. Gasping,
choked, cut short.
His own gasp. He saw blue eyes,
still and dead, his own face unmoving as the wolf tore through his guts. Saw
the wolf removing his insides, playing with them, like some childhood toy.
Anzo’s stomach twisted. Every
inch of his body began to tremble. His head was spinning, his heart racing in
his chest, pounding in the back of his neck, his head. Another prayer left his
lips. He made mistake after mistake. It wasn’t working.
In the distance, he heard a
growl. Was it her? Already?! Again he muttered the prayer, and again, and
finally it worked.
He saw a woman’s face. His
sister. Lani. His only family. The only one who could help. “L-Lani, I need
you, I need you right now, you have… have to h-help me, please.”
A night’s ride away, a young
woman with dark, milky skin stirred from sleep, heavy eyelids lifting slowly.
The glass orb she kept by her bed had begun to glow. Her brother’s face shown
clear, fear in his eyes. She blinked, confused. “…Anzo? What’s wrong?”
“I found the wolf. Oh, God,
Lani, I think I found her. She’s going to kill me. The mirror told me she’s
going to kill me.”
His sister’s face fell. Panic
replaced confusion. “What?! Who?!
What happened? Are you sure?!”
“I… I don’t know, that’s…. the
mirror showed me… oh God, Lani, I
don’t want to die.”
“Her name, Anzo. I need her
name, and her occupation. Quickly!”
“She’s… she’s a tavern girl,
here in Loreza. Anani. Anani is her name. Just… just this cute little thing,
blonde curls…”
His horse began to fidget, its
eyes darting nervously around the field.
Lani’s voice fell to a whisper,
her own prayers falling to the small glass ball with which she was speaking to
her brother.
Anzo watched as true horror
struck his sister’s eyes. “It’s… it’s her, isn’t it. I’m right. I’m dying
tonight, Lani. I’m gonna die.”
Lani fell quiet. Her eyes began
to well with tears, a tremble striking her lips. “How far are you?! Can… can
you make it? Can we help? Oh, god, Anzo, I can’t… this isn’t…”
Anzo jumped as he heard another
growl. It sounded closer. Yes, closer. He was certain of it. “I… I have to go,
Lani. I love you. I have to go. I’m so sorry. Oh, God, I’m so, so sorry…”
The shriek of his sister’s
sobbing pierced his ears, even as the mirror fell blank. He stuffed the mirror
back in his bag, even as he tried to climb on his horse. He nearly fell, once,
twice, but soon his feet found his stirrups. There was another growl, closer
still. He urged the beast forward, and she complied all too quickly. Away from
here. Anywhere but here.
The woods. She was heading
toward the woods. His fingers clutched so tight around the reigns his dark
knuckles went white, yet his horse wouldn’t heed, wouldn’t turn. He heard
another set of footsteps, yet glancing over his shoulder, he saw nothing.
She’d carried him into the
forest. The forest he’d learned was lined with traps, set to catch a prowling
beast. A bear, they’d said.
The same ‘bear’ that chased him, now.
The wind against his tear-soaked cheeks was bitter and cold, even here.
He knew he couldn’t jump free, not at this speed. He’d break bones, render
himself helpless. Instead, he clung tight to his trusted mare.
Her foot fell into a trap. In a
single instant Anzo had left the horse. His arms covered his face as he flew
through the air, but did little to help him as his back struck a tree. The
horse was wrenched to the ground, its leg snapped and gnarled. It screamed in
pain, even as Anzo lay trembling on the ground.
Pain. So much pain. Everything
hurt. He tried to move, but couldn’t. Something was broken. A lot of things
were broken. His mare was broken. His precious, beloved mare.
He hurt too much to cry. He
couldn’t feel his legs. There was another growl, and he couldn’t feel his legs,
and he couldn’t even sob.
He closed his eyes. It was all he could do. When he felt himself being
lifted, they fluttered open again. Above him was a beast. A monster. A
thing. Not wolf, not human. Something in
between.
The monster smiled. “Make it
special, Anzo.”
Anzo closed his eyes again. He thought of his sister, of her face, of her
smile. Of all he held dear.
A soft gasp left his lips. And then, there was nothing.
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