She didn't know why she froze. She could have—should have—done something as soon as she realized some-one was looking at her. Ideally, looking back on it now, run her through with a spear.
This, of course, was not something Mikulia thought of right away. It only occurred to her years later, after all the events of her life directly affected by this night played out. The first thing she had wanted to do at that moment, granted, had been to walk up and slap the smirk—or was it an ambiguous grin…? Slap that smirk off her face.
It looked like a girl from the brothel. She was clearly beautiful….graceful. But As Mikulia raised her head she realized it could not be one of her colleagues. The women she lived with were not exactly undignified, but they knew that most of society would sneer at them if they got the chance, and so usually were cautious and sensitive, ready to jump back into the safety of the night if they felt some one scrutinizing them too closely. This woman was not sensitive or ready to go anywhere. She stood and looked down at Mikulia as though she had a purpose of vital importance and both the power and time to stay there until she fulfilled it. And as she tried to decide what to do, Mikulia felt a chill—either awe of fear—that made it seem like there were innate consequences of not meeting this person right away.
Slowly, she got to her feet. The woman lowered her face and stared at Mikulia with colorless eyes. The sword she was holding dropped to her feet. They stood there for a moment, Mikulia feeling as though the night was pressing in on the place, as though the world was waiting for something to happen. Finally, the woman spoke. Her voice was old, but not the soft or rickety type of babble that Mikulia heard from her grandparents. It was deep and powerful, almost motherly if it were not so cold and inhuman. "Pick it up." The woman extended her arm toward the sword, as though pointing to it, but as it was hidden by her sleeve, her meaning behind the gesture was ambiguous.
Sensing that she should, Mikulia stooped to grab the sword. But the moment her fingers brushed against its blade, a rush of fear went through her, causing her heart to beat wildly and her legs to weaken. Shrieking loudly, she recoiled and fell on her knees a few inches away.
The woman smiled. "You have good instincts, Mikulia. But what is that, really, when what you live for makes a fool of you?"
"What?" Mikulia breathed. Powerful as the woman was, Mikulia was still recovering from the shock of the sword and why she was here, crumpled up underneath the moon instead of sleeping in her bed, inside, that she barely listened to what the figure had said.
"Mikulia. That man who just drove away. Was he your lover? Or your client?"
Mikulia was now more shocked than ever, and while confused, she still felt protective of Pikalte. She could only nod.
"Ah." The woman nodded as well, as though this made perfect sense. Then, with a voice slightly to exuberant to be less than sharp and painful, "So there is no difference for you."
The anger that this conviction induced in Mikulia shook her out of her daze. "Who are you?" She demanded in an unsteady voice.
At this the woman leaned toward her slightly. "You only want love. And men are so reluctant to give it, aren't they?"
Mikulia felt a sour taste in her mouth. "Who are you, and how do you know my name, and what do you want and how could—" The woman cut her off. "You don't want to know my name or who I am. You want to know what I bring. I bring love." She picked up the sword and handed it to Mikulia, who instantly drew away from her. "I'm not touching that!" she shrieked. But the sword was forced into her hands. Instead of pain or heat, she felt nothing but cold. Her whole body stiffened and she shivered, just enough for her to know it was not the natural lack of warmth of metal. It seemed as though all the ice in the world had traveled into her veins. "Some feel warm when they touch this," the woman explained. "Some feel devastating heat. But you—" She reached out, her finger hovering over the blade. "You only feel cold. I can change that."
The woman's eyes, so previously lifeless, suddenly were dancing with color and life. Her skin became pale and soft. Her hair curled around her head in turquoise locks. And without ever seeming to change form, she was a perfect version of the girl in front of her. A prettier Mikulia. "You will find love with all men you wish. You will never be cold again." She touched the sword, and suddenly Mikulia was captivated. She was so….lovely. Superior. "And you will never be inferior again." The nervousness Mikulia felt turned into greed. And something else. Something warm. She didn't know why, but her smile came to mirror the woman's. "Just use its venom. Bring it to your heart. And it has to be the last time you bleed, or you misfortune will replace the power."
So Mikulia raised the sword. She brought it to her heart. And then there was unbearable heat.