Faetrayal

1

Bo took in a deep, slow breath, trying to control the anger that was threatening to engulf her. Tamsin was playing her.

Bo sipped at her wine and went over her encounters with Tamsin of the last few weeks. What the faeing hell did that girl want from her?

She thought of the events prior to her dawning, the events that had in fact been her invitation to the very same. Tamsin had helped her, had even accompanied her into Brazenwood. Why? Why had she done that? Bo could think of no gain the valkyrie could have possibly gotten out of it.

Her stomach gave a painful twinge, as the memory of Tamsin running at her flashed through her mind: the way Tamsin's lips had come crashing down on her own, the feeling of Tamsin's hand on her cheek, and the terrified look on Tamsin's face that had followed.

Suddenly, Bo thought of Lauren, and of how she still had not told her about the kiss, and her stomach twinged again. Then she remembered the reason why she was sitting there in that very moment, drinking wine, and the pain that shot through her abdomen made her drop her glass and bend over, her hands clawing her stomach. She barely took in the sound of the glass hitting the floor and bursting into a thousand little pieces. A single tear trickled down her cheek as she realized that she was alone once more.

She had been lost her whole life, and only recently she'd finally been under the impression that she had found herself, that she had found her place in this world, in this life. I love Lauren, she thought. I do. And she loves me—if I am sure of anything, it is that she loves me. So what had happened?

Bo's thoughts turned back to Tamsin. She had begun to trust her; and Bo did not trust lightly. A new surge of pain shot through her. What was Tamsin up to? She had taken some of her hair, she was sure of it. And the way Tamsin had hugged her—it had seemed so out-of-character and just so awkward. It reminded Bo of the time after their little adventure in Brazenwood, when Tamsin had come over to Lauren's place, and Bo had told her that she was one of the good ones; Tamsin had suddenly acted all strange and, well, awkward, avoiding any further eye contact. She had been hiding something then, and she was hiding something now.

Maybe Tamsin had just been trying to get near to her all this time—near enough to finish her off. After all, Tamsin was Dark Fae, and that alone was reason enough: the Morrigan was only one on a long list of Fae that would pay for her head, she was sure of it.

Bo felt a new wave of rage building up inside of her and she sat up straight, her eyes shining bright blue once more. A little voice in the back of her head reminded her of the moments when Tamsin had seemed sincerely protective of her, sincerely worried, sincerely empathetic. Her growing rage, though, slowly suffocated those thoughts, and finally Bo stood up, crushing the shards of the broken glass beneath her boots, which were splattered with red wine. In the dimly lit room both the pool of red wine on the floor, as well as the drops rolling down her boots, resembled blood—as if silently foreshadowing the events to follow. She pulled the front door shut with a crash and stomped out into the descending night with just one thought in her head: Tamsin was going to die that very same night.

Tamsin did not know how long she had been standing in her living room, eyes tightly shut. Her forehead was leaned against her window, her fists clenched at her side. Millions of thoughts were fighting a fierce war in her head, and it felt as though her mind was about to overflow. But her heart—her heart was silent. Never before had she felt a sadness so deep and final that she was rather sure her heart must have stopped beating in agony.

When Tamsin finally opened her eyes, night had fallen, and she felt a little surge of relief: she didn't think she could have borne to see the sun mocking her by smiling into her face. She stared into the night sky and spotted the dying moon; new moon was probably due in two or three nights.

She took a deep breath and turned around to face her wooden dining table. There it stood, silently, innocently. Even in the darkness of the unlit room the flask was clearly visible; it was surrounded by a weak, golden fluorescent glimmer.

She was suddenly overcome by a wave of hatred, and she had to muster up all of her willpower to stop herself from wiping the little bottle of death from the table.

Tamsin looked down at her hands, only now realizing that they were clenched into tight fists, her knuckles standing out in a deadly white color. She loosened her hands with a sigh, and massaged them to facilitate the long overdue blood flow back into her fingertips.

Tamsin took a few steps forward and her hand slowly clasped around the hateful object. She knew what she had to do. She had come to the decision hours ago—accepting that it was the only way had been the hardest part. Actually making the decision had then been fairly easy. Coming to terms with what that decision meant—that was what had made her heart fall silent.

Tamsin was used to having a wall of stone around her heart, around her core; she had learned a long time ago that it made life a lot easier and, most importantly, bearable. She couldn't help but feel angry at Bo for ripping it down, just like that. She took in a couple of deep breaths and forced herself to let go of the feeling. She couldn't risk some stupid emotions manipulate her decision; her raw heart wasn't to be trusted. She willed her heart into complete silence once more and blinked twice into the darkness. It was time.

Everything felt unreal as she left her apartment, as if she was sleepwalking, or rather as if she was watching someone else's dream from afar. She heard the deep, slow rumble of thunder, but could not tell if there was a storm coming up, or if it was just the sound of the final battle in her mind. A soft breeze blew against her body, and she felt the hair on her neck standing up. The wind subsided and the silence that followed was complete. The thoughts in her head had finally grown silent, her heart had bled out. Death—she had never felt its presence so close to her, so intense. And being a valkyrie, that was saying something.

She stuck the flask into the back of her waistband and walked on through the night. The expression on her face was unreadable; a mask of indifference had settled into her features. A little stray dog was digging around in the trash in an alley, but when it looked up and saw her stride towards him, it backed away and ran off, tail between its legs. Any other living creature would have reacted the same way; the aura of forthcoming death was overwhelming. And her eyes—they were cold, so very cold.

Author's Note:

Tamsin is the first character that I've stumbled across in a while now that made me reeeeally want to write again.

Well, anyway, it's the first story I've written in over two years... Feels good to be back! :)