Moonlight shines through the clear glass bottle as the wine within sloshes back and forth; Eue-Lysae watches the liquid's color shift between a bright ruby, to deep crimson as it moves to and fro in front of the moon. She takes another sip. Leaning back, she places the half-empty bottle on her bedside table before letting herself fall onto her back.
It’s nearly been three days since ?nnywella’s visit and request, but she has yet to tell her coven; she has to, but she doesn’t want to; if she does, then it's real.
“He won’t; I’ve heard the rumors, I’ve heard the stories; tried to kill the last fool, all because he would let you read his mail. A psychotic woman who doesn’t know how good she has it, Dyder would never. He’s scared—he’s too scared to break her heart; he’s too sweet for his own good; that’s why he’s never writes, never visits; he knows it will crush her. He doesn’t love her the way he loved... loves me... no, he doesn’t love her; the marriage is all but arranged, he stays because his father wants him to. If I were born to the family she was...” She trails off as she shuts her eyes and presses the base of palms gently against them; phosphene visions dance, distracting her from her family.
Her train of thought now finds itself on ?nnywella. Sitting up, she snatches the bottle by the neck, and takes another sip. “You know full well what you’re doing, asking me, ‘Oh, please wed Dyder and Ilsenila, Seliani; I know you will make an exception because you love him, Seliani’. Trying to manipulate me just like your father did to Klerwye. Where is she now, Gods only know—I know you know.” She points to the empty tufted chair by the bookshelf. “Is that how I’m gonna end up, missing? snatched up? another young woman who vanished in the woods? why am I asking; you won’t tell me—secrecy sworn between a goddess and her priestess.” Her mind drifts back to ?nnywella. “I hate that you’re like me; I hate that you handle it so much better; so much more trusting; so much more loving. Just the thought of it: my lover away in a foreign land, seven long years—but you’re calm and composed, I would... I would just hang myself, even at the thought of it; not knowing if he’s drifted away from me. Your eldest brother born to a girl... a girl, no older than ?ppolonia, you trust place so much trust, so much faith in men.” She pauses. “But am I not the same? NO, I am not. I cannot be; she was born with everything, she will die with everything, she doesn’t care, why would she, she doesn’t care if he’s loyal as long as she has an heir to keep her kingdom going; all I want is to give what I could not have.”
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“And how could you?” She stands; rolling up the rug that runs along the side of her bed, she leans it against the wall. “We went through so much, you were all I had, and now you speak to me so formally, am I just some priestess?” She takes another sip as she laps the bare hardwood beneath her feet. “The only—the only man, who I know treats me with inherent respect is the only one I don’t want to; leer at me like your brother; just once. No, no, say my name; I want you to say my name; I don’t want to be High Priestess Seliani, I don’t want to be Gyrshke to you, I want to be your Eue-Lysae.”
“And I can; we can just leave; we could just run away—he offered; he might still honor it. He’s an honorable knight, who always keeps his word to the fair maiden.” She chuckles to herself. “After all these years, would he still honor it? I should just ask, right... infront... of... her... she would run out—cry, and he would be all mine. We wouldn’t even have to run away; we would be run out, just the two of us, just when you protected me back then.” She puts the bottle to her lips—empty; she drops it gently to the floor, and it rolls away.
She flops face first down on the bed and pulls a pillow parallel to her, wrapping her arms around it; she buries her face in it, beginning to sob and mumble. “But I can’t, you wouldn’t run away; you would resent me, you would detest me; you already do, I know it the look on your face when I told you I made up my mind, I—I broke your heart and all these years later, I find that I broke mine then too; the people would hate me too—I would mire the ideals I’ve been chosen to represent, the chosen one of Luhnylla, lusting after a man, a wedded man; the woman who, mothers point at as an example to their daughters if virtuosity. I’m so shameful, if only you knew, if only you knew.” She falls asleep shortly afterwards.
