You are the Handmaid.
You hold so much power to go about and prepare Alternia for your Lord's arrival. However, you have so many restrictions placed upon you. The amount of red tape the Doctor put on you was annoying.
Sometimes you enjoy poking and prodding history's events along. You know the outcomes, you always do. They are but actors in a play you have written and seen a hundred times over. However, there is no real lasting harm in pressing down a bit more than usual.
With the Preacher dead and his followers separated, you nudged fate along to sell the Dolorosa to the Orphaner Dualscar. Along with yourself, of course. It is a bit of an experiment you are running to see how much you can have a direct role in events.
He ushers you two into his private quarters on his ship. He thoroughly inspected you both, ironically respectful and soft. He didn't even demand you remove your clothing to search for weapons. From there, you could see, he became enamored with the Dolorosa. You, however, became smitten by him.
Dualscar performed an awkward courtship with the woman, never daring to touch her or order her about. You were given the brunt of the work as he cooed and wooed her, eager to protect her from manual labor. The weeks pass agonizingly slow to your usual quick pace as the two become lovers.
In some small corner of your mind, you cannot help but feel jealous of her. It's an ugly color to bear, you know. To be jealous of such pathetic beings stuck on tracks and forced to live lies?
You cannot bear the thought!
Yet you do. It crawls in your mind as the months pass on. You grit your teeth every time they kiss as you serve the tea. Your face twists in pain at the sounds of their lovemaking at nights. You hate the Dolorosa in such a vile cruel manner.
Such an ugly color.
Your jealousy and hatred finally get the better of you and you force fate along its path faster than intended. You give the Orphaner's location away to the Marquise in exchange for her to steal away the Dolorosa. Once she is gone, you cannot help but feel happy.
Except Dualscar weeps for her. He sails for Mindfang's destination for their fated encounter, you know, and he's started to drink heavily. The wine, he tells you, reminds him of the nights they shared together. When he passes out at night, your composure breaks and you begin to silently cry.
Days pass in the hot pursuit and the Orphaner's state deteriorates more and more. You do your best to ease his sorrow, but he just repeats the fact that you are not her.
Today he even struck you.
The moment he did, however, he broke down and sobbed like a wriggler. You knelt down and held him close to you, whispering kind, honeyed words to you. Your apparent loyalty to him is rewarded by an apology and a demand to bring him more wine.
This is such an ugly color on him. You, in your infinite patience, slap him about. He hardly offers a challenge to you as you force him to sober up.
Force him to be the noble seadweller you fell in love with.
You know his time is running short when he returns from Mindfang's vessel, his mood dark. He did not order you to get wine, instead he simply locked himself in his mind, staring out at sea.
You took the initiative.
You hired mercenaries to go and assassinate the Dolorosa in his name. This will break his heart further, you know, and make his romance with the Marquise suffer. Yet you do this anyways for this stupid, selfish reason.
Selfishness is such an ugly color.
When he hears the Dolorosa is dead, he weeps again. This time, you try your best to not slap him. Instead, you attempt a hasty courtship as he sends his ship to the Grand Highblood.
He finally gives in and accepts your love for him. You two make love once before he docks in the Highblood's city. You want to beg him to stay, plead on your knees for him not to go. It's such an ugly color to bear, to stoop so low as to beg.
He goes anyways and your move to perform your duties as Handmaid. You know that once he dies, you'll need to go back in time for the Dolorosa as well. But right now he is all you can think about.
You watch him attempt to plead for his life in the same ugly manner you considered. The reward is to be slain by the Highblood.
You work your clockwork majykks to slow time as you cradle him in your arms. His violet blood stains your kimono ans you wipe his face clean of the blood. He looks at his wounds and then your attire and gives a small smile. It's such an ugly color, he says. The mixture of violet and jade…
Far better, he continued, to have violet and maroon, perhaps. He reaches up and pats your face, coating it with his blood. How long, he asks.
You don't answer.
You instead ask if he knew who you were at all. He did, as it turns out, suspect it the moment Mindfang stole the Dolorosa. He humored you, he said, but it turned into something true. You tell him that you love him and he just closes his eyes.
Regret, he says, is such an ugly color.