A/N: This is my first and probably last Poison fic. I just was struck by the urge to write a drabble for her when I re-read the book. :) I hope you like it
Disclaimer: Chris Wooding I am not.
Wonder
She lay, with her cheek pressed into the rich embroidery of the sumptuous bed, and wondered.
The whole world was a story.
She couldn't help but wonder, what could she write?
She was the Heirophant. What an odd name, for her. Poison from the Town of Gull, master of all life. A pupeteer. A girl with pretty words on her tongue and the weight of having to bestow misfortune on her back. For what was happiness without sadness to equal it? She would have to write heroes, and heroes must die. She would have to write worlds, and worlds must be struck by misfortune to make them hardy.
She was provided with all she needed to change the world - a pen, an inkwell, parchment, and a desk. With those things could she kill loving mothers and make happy endings weep tears. With those things could she change the lives of men and women across worlds - and not only worlds. She could create her own. She could write her father to die a happy man, and she could write Azalia to know her sister to be a good and fair young lady.
But could she do that? It was one thing to make people you shall never meet your puppets, the ink on your pen, but another to take people you know, people you love, and make them bend to your will.
She pressed her cheek into the rich embroidery of the sumptuous bed, and wondered.
And in time, she would write.