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everthewip · 9 months

Text

Ruin

Unedited, unrevised. I wrote this based on a dream I had. I don't have a lot fleshed out for this, not enough to list genre and themes, but I can say it involves sapphic romance image from Pinterest; didn't have a source; will link if i find one

Music echoed from the city center as she guided me away from the crowds. I did not recognize the street she took. Electricity was in short supply and the magic had been focused on the festival, so the street lanterns were dark and cold. There is a reason folk go missing at this time of year; a reason these poorer districts see a rise in theft and murder every festival. Danger always lurked in shadows, but she moved through the darkness like a wraith; swift, silent, and sure of every step. Her hand squeezed mine as if she feared losing me, a silent challenge to the night – I dare you to steal her from me. My fingers were growing numb.

My head was heavy from the festival drinks, my thoughts twisted by incense that wafted from the tents of fortune tellers and witches. I had sought one out earlier in the night, though for what I could not say. An unseen thread had wrapped around my waist, a gentle tug that pulled me from the safety of home and into the throng of dancers and musicians, peddlers and merrymakers.

It was in no hurry. It let me pause to sample what delights the festival had to offer: sweet cakes with honeyed glazes and berries, drinks of every color that tasted of fruit and burned the throat (yet pleasant, despite the sensation), candies imported from lands I had never heard of, hot teas seeped in water from the deepest caverns… There were women from the deserts who sold shawls with sunlight woven into the threads. They shimmered and glowed, a small kiss of daylight beneath the festival stars. Mountain-dwellers showcased displays of exquisite jewelry, the gemstones mined by their own hands; hands hardened enough to wield a pick-axe, and yet steady enough to craft such delicate necklaces and rings.

There were sights still that my eyes had barely touched, but when I came near the witch's tent, the thread allowed my wanderings no longer.

It was silent inside; not even the music of the festival dared enter. A single lantern hung from the roof of the tent, casting a dim light over a round table. At its center sat a bowl, within which incense burned and filled the space with smoke and the scent of more herbs than I could name. It forced its way into my nostrils and down my throat, blurring my eyes.

“Sit,” the witch demanded and I jumped, for I had not seen her seated at the table, watching me. Without a word I obeyed, taking the seat opposite her.

Through the smoke, her form was little more than a shadowed figure, though it is rare witches show their true selves anyway. Her hands reached forward, her fingers long but youthful with sharp nails painted red. The incense smoke twirled around her fingers like ribbons and she began twisting them together, braiding the wisps as if they were solid until she had woven a circle of smoke. It hovered in the air and she lifted a single finger to it, piercing the inner edge to guide a tendril of smoke free like a stray thread. At the center of the circle, she used that single wisp to draw the shape of an eye.

“Look.”

And so I looked and the eye opened, and in its stare I saw a woman.

Her hair was golden and short, cut like a man's with shaggy strands that fell into her face. Her eyes were hazel, then blue, shimmering like sunlight on the open sea. When her lips parted, she laughed a melody.

Then she was gone. The eye closed and the circle faded into normal tendrils of smoke.

“Who is she?” I asked, my voice a whisper.

“Your ruin.”

“Someone to avoid, then...”

The witch's figure shifted and I fancied she had tilted her head.

“If you wish it. Now go.”

I stood, for one must never overstay their welcome in a witch's domain, but despite the dismissal I lingered.

“What do I owe you?” My hand hovered over my purse, but the witch only waved a hand through the smoke.

“Nothing. Fate brought you here. It is He you will pay.”

Her words made no sense to me, but I bit back my questions and left. Outside of the tent, the festival music filled my ears again and I briefly forgot everything the witch had just shown me.

None of that mattered, not as I - hours later - drifted through shadows, holding fast to a hand that refused to let mine go.

We stopped at a building, squished tightly between several more just like it, though without the lanterns I could not truly see where we were. She pulled me through the unlocked door and into an entryway lit by a candle. It sat on a small table beneath a dusty mirror, its light flickering against walls with peeling paper and no décor.

This was not a home.

“Careful,” she whispered, tugging me toward a narrow staircase. We went slowly in the darkness, but she seemed to know every step and I trusted her. At the top, we stepped into a hallway, lit by a similar candle as the one downstairs and nothing else. There were doors on either side – some open, most shut – and from them filtered muffled voices and shifting lights. A man sat on the floor, leaning against the wall with a cigarette poised between his lips. His features were shrouded with so little light, but I could feel his eyes on me.

Without releasing my hand, my companion sought a key from her pocket and used it to unlock one of the doors. Once inside she locked it again and flipped a switch, turning on a stream of tiny lights that were strung up on the walls. They shed a subtle yellow glow, like miniature stars draped around the room. It must have taken barely any magic to keep them lit that night, even though some flickered, threatening to die out at any moment. The room itself was small, cramped, with only a wardrobe to offer any furniture. There was no décor, no sign that anyone lived in it, save for those lights and a pile of cushions and blankets on the floor. They were pushed close to the far left wall, with a sheer sheet that hung from a hook in the ceiling to form a canopy. Even in the darkness I could see a range of hue and fabric, the bed-space creating an exotic rainbow.

We stood quietly until I felt her shift on her feet, her grip on my hand loosening.

“It's beautiful,” I said to break the silence, though it was not a lie. As simple as the room was, there was nowhere else I wanted to be.

“It's nothing,” she laughed. “You should rest, you'll feel better after that wine.”

The wine had come from a land across the seas, bottled by fey (or so they claimed), and was as potent as it was bitterly delicious. I'd only taken a few small sips before I began to feel it – a lightness that warmed my blood and eased my worries, leaving little more in my head and heart than wonder and desire. It hadn't been quite enough to leave me inebriated.

“I'm not drunk.”

“No, but Sylvian wine has a way of getting to one's head.”

“So, you brought me here to sleep?” I almost laughed at how silly it seemed, but then I realized… I'd followed her without questioning why she'd led me away from the festival at all.

My heartbeat quickened as a warning flared in some distant part of me; a fear that I could be among those missing or murdered by the morning…

But it was a warning that went unheeded. Her hand squeezed mine and I feared nothing.

“Aye,” she answered, releasing me. “This was clearly your first festival and there are folk'a plenty eager to take advantage of a woman drunk on Sylvian wine.”

She parted the veil around her bed and eased herself down onto the cushions, watching me with those eyes as blue as the sea and a smile as confident as the sun. It had stunned me when I first saw it in the town center...

I had wandered into a crowd of dancers, with couples twisting and turning, moving to a fast beat that left me dizzy. Dancing had never been a love of mine and I hadn't meant to wander so close, but once I was amidst the merrymakers there was no getting free. Panic took hold of me. My head spun and my vision blurred. I would have fainted and been trampled beneath countless feet, had her hand not found mine.

She'd pulled me against her, holding me close, keeping me upright while her lips left a breathy whisper in my ear: “What's a flower like you doing all alone in a dirty place like this?”

Focusing on her and her alone had kept me grounded...

From the bed of pillows, she held out her hand and I took it without hesitation. I followed her under the veil, aiming to settle at her side, but she guided me instead to her lap. Her hand released mine, replacing it with her arms as they wrapped around me, her hold gentle. Positioned sideways, I tucked myself against her to rest my head on her shoulder, my lips and nose at her neck.

She smelled like smoke, like bonfires in the summer and the crisp burn of sweet wood. She smelled like spring water, a touch of cheap cologne that I'd never smelled on the men from my district. She smelled like heat and yearning, like summer nights and lazy mornings. Like everything I craved and needed.

I knew it was the fey wine giving me such fanciful thoughts. But it was not the wine that made me lean in and inhale her scent, my lips brushing against her neck as I whispered: “I love the way you smell.”

Something changed and my breath stilled. She remained silent, a tension rising that made me regret saying anything at all. It had been such a ridiculous thing to say, anyway, even if it was true. I lifted my head, an apology already on my tongue, but then she let out the softest of laughs.

“Are you a witch?”

“Am I a – no, of course not!” I didn't know a thing about witches beyond that they were powerful and terrifying, beautiful and deadly, mysterious and best left alone. I wasn't sure anyone even knew how to become one anymore, save for the witches themselves.

“I just had to be sure!” she said, her voice still light with laughter. “You are so unexpectedly… bewitching.”

“Says the woman who charmed me into her bed just to 'sleep', supposedly.”

“Well, what does one expect to do in bed besides sleep?”

Before I could answer, our eyes met and it seemed we both realized just how close we were. A gentle quiet settled over us. Her gaze held mine and then dropped, flitting over my face to settle on my lips. When they met mine again, there was a question lurking in the deep blue. I leaned in, my nose brushing against hers in answer.

Her lips were on me.

It was this, I realized, that I had been waiting for all night; perhaps even before I entered the festival. I could still taste the Sylvian wine on her lips and tongue… I drank it in, drank her in, and knew that nothing and no one would quench my thirst like this ever again. My hands were on her face and then in her hair, fingers caught in the short, golden strands. I shifted to straddle her and her hands found my thighs and squeezed. Nails scraped on bare skin and she dragged them higher, dipping her palms back and under my skirt.

I couldn't breathe.

I didn't want to breathe.

I wanted to inhale her, every bit of her, like the smoke of a festival witch's incense; filling my lungs, intoxicating every bit of my existence.

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