A/N: This just started out as a one-shot about the possible feelings between Aphrodite and Stevie Rae, but now I'm thinking I should let it develop into a longer piece. Read, review, let me know if I should continue. I own none of House of Night. Enjoy.
"Sometimes, I think of the sun and the moon as lovers who rarely meet, always chase, and almost always miss one another. But every once in a while, they do catch up, and they kiss, and the world stares in awe of their eclipse."
As shallow and controlling as she might present herself, Aphrodite only lied when the situation reflected life or death in her choice. Otherwise, she was frankly crude and brutally honest. She held no reserves for other people's feelings; why should she? It wasn't her life; it wasn't her pain. So why was she lying to herself now, when the whole ordeal was very much her problem?
Of course, Zoey probably knew already, what with the whole Imprinting episode the night before and Darius's amused smirk as she wallowed in over-played revulsion and discomfort. But she had told Zoey (in a noticeably faint attempt at her usual bluntness) that the Imprint was nothing in her mind, and that she wished everyone would just let it go and drop the subject altogether. The truth was, however, that despite how much she had played up her disgust at having Stevie Rae for an Imprint, the only real emotions she had be subject to at that moment were shock, wondering, and . . . yes, (though she despised the thought of it), a light, airy sensation in her lower abdomen that she could only describe as joyful. It was almost . . . happy.
Whatever. She had had enough of Zoey and her stupid intuition (even though she had some of that, too). It was high time that she stopped lying to herself – and to everyone else incapable of reading her pretty little mind. It was, she decided, staring at her ceiling, like Maleficent. The large, fluffy, fireball of a cat had come to her in a time when she thought that all others had given up. And yet, in a time that she was feeling so readily accepted, Stevie Rae had obliviously blasted her world to pieces with a jolting explosion that she was sure was still ringing in her ears.
Again with the brutal honesty.
With a determined little noise of exuberance, Aphrodite hoisted herself up into a sitting position in bed, dislodging Maleficent, who hissed at her, yellow eyes narrowed in stern displeasure. Aphrodite ignored her, swiftly striding over to her bureau and yanking out a pale button-up blouse and dark miniskirt. She touched up her makeup briefly in the hanging mirror on the wall, gave her shimmering golden locks a snarky toss, and set off down the hall, hips swinging and skirt swishing purposefully.
It was an Aphrodite thing.
O-O-O-O-O-O
Stevie Rae stirred restlessly beneath her pale blue comforter. Even with the dim, faintly glowing light pulsing from her lava lamp, the dark seemed to creep in around her. It was an unpleasant feeling, and altogether unfamiliar – in the past months, she had been accustomed to the dark. It was even in her nature now to despise the daylight – not only for its sudden, almost hysterical-seeming break of dawn every day, but for its persistence in displaying all the brutal truths that somehow seemed lesser in the dark. She hated facing her fears, now even more so than usual.
Lying with her eyes trained on the dusky ceiling, she blinked hard into the impenetrable darkness, attempting to clear from her eyes the imprint of gold that lingered there and that had absolutely nothing to do with sunlight. Aphrodite's hair was like the sun, Stevie Rae mulled ruefully; it emitted its own brilliant light that was different even from the glow of the eyes that peered out from beneath its silky tresses. Her own was nothing of that nature; now that she thought of it, hers could be the moon, if necessity called for it to be labeled.
Yes, she thought in satisfaction, that was it. She was the sad, pale moon, always changing, reflecting others' light, never belonging; always bringing with it the shadow of the dark. And Aphrodite – Aphrodite was the sun, that dazzling, blinding presence that had the strength to both nurture and to raze. She was flaming truth and smoking, charred cinders of lies and flashing, brutal honesty. The echoing memory of her heat in the room was almost palpable; the smaller blonde on the bed could almost feel the radiating glow of warmth and searing reality that struck each time the girl made her presence known. She was unwilling to allow others power; the potential for disaster was too great, and yet she suddenly found the draw to be irresistible. Aphrodite was the sun, and when her force finally found its center in the other girl's mind, the young vampyre found that she could either burn, or she could grow.
Staring up into the endless cave ceiling, seeing flashes of hectic blonde instead of the darkened rocks, Stevie Rae decided that maybe she liked the daylight, after all.