Chapter Three: Alternation
Whispered words were not meant to hurt, to be overheard.
It is forbidden. It seemed that everything she did was forbidden. She knew for a fact that everything she had done before was forbidden. That was the way of the world. One was allowed to play at being a god, but for that one would also face ridicule and exile. Tantomile refused to be exiled. Refused unless Plato could go with her. And he would not go with her, no matter what.
They were not supposed to fight, not after all she had done to bring them together. Everything was supposed to be perfect now. They fought anyway.
Somewhere along the line, her beloved had decided that it might not be so bad to have two willing queens at his disposal. And, failing that, he would not leave his already-established relationship with Victoria. This simply would not do. Unfortunately, the tom would not see reason.
Tantomile twitched. It was a movement of her whole body, not just the tail as was her usual habit. The motion followed wherever she went and would not leave her alone. It betrayed her turmoil. She grew more and more certain that everything would come into the open, and paranoia just made the twitching worse. The others began to notice, and they did not approve.
She heard whispers wherever she went, but she could never quite figure out who was doing the talking. There was talk of witchcraft, of course, black magics that had killed Coricopat and stolen his sister's soul. No one blamed her, not yet, but soon enough they would. It was only a matter of time.
A few days more, cold gray winter days that bled one into the other like a blur, and there were suspicions of guilt flung her way. She overheard by a cleverly planned accident. Apologies were blurted, excuses made, and nothing at all was solved.
You know what happened to Coricopat, don't you?
Tantomile stewed. All the things they might possibly accuse her of, she had done - all those things and more, she was sure. She had conjured life and soul from nothingness, had given it a name and made a protector of her creation. When it had ceased to be useful, she had killed it without mercy or remorse. She had tried to steal a tom from his sanctioned mate, and would not give him back to the queen he loved even after he chose not to stay with her.
Two more days, and she was summoned before the Jellicle Leader to plead her case. Even Plato refused to look at her.
There was no excuse and no escape. What she had done was part and parcel of who she was, and there was no point in denying it. The truth would come out eventually; one could only hide one's true nature for so long.
Witch. Whispered in hatred, in fear, the title hurt. She had been proud of it once. Not so, now.