valediction

-the act of saying goodbye, especially formally

Dear Cousin,

That is all I write.

Air leaves my lungs in a heave when I put the pen down. I blink into the bright light and grey explodes before my eyelids when I press them together. I feel a small echo of the pondering pain that hasn't left me the last days. I take a moment longer, massaging over my temple as my father always does. My fingers are sweaty. Then I pick the pen up again, tip shaking.

This is my last night as a merry widow.

Do I really need to write it down? I am sure she knows. The pen scrapes over the paper too loud and contorted.

My headaches are getting worse. I may be in need of a healer soon.

What this really says is blatantly clear.

Help me.

But I know no one will help me.

I can only help myself. Because that is the truth, how we live and die alone.

I have reordered all my boxes and animals because I will not leave them behind when I leave the Viper residence.
If in the worst case I am still unable to take them, they are yours to do as you please with.
Attached is a list with their special needs, food, and other intricacies that may be interesting to you when you have to handle them.

I may take some more time to write again. I suppose I won't see you as a witness and guest at my marriage. I am very much fine with that. It will be over fast.

Yours truly,
Daliah

The skittering animals in my boxes and hidden behind glass make low sounds, tapping on it, creeping along it. I put the pen down again, finished this time, and turn around.

The black scorpion shakes his stinger slightly for me.

I open the lid carefully and put my hand inside.

It climbs over me with ease, and I cup it in my hands as careful as I am able to touch anything. The pincers shake and twitch. I slowly touch it's back, handling the creature with care.

Scorpions can adapt very well to circumstances. They can adapt their metabolism, slow it down, so they don't starve. I should take after that.

There is -of course- no visible reaction to my touch. The creature is under my control.

I touch the scorpion one last time and put it safely back.

Wandering around the estate the rest of the night, watching all the life brimming around me. It is in the small things.

You can feel the presence of so many eyes and heartbeats. They lurk, they sleep, they dream, even.

Everyone in this house holds onto leashes to comfort themselves.

I have found out young that you are always alone and can never truly rely on each other. Alienated almost.

We borrow each other time and creatures, maybe comfort, and we act in unity only in public.

We are engraved in that knowledge, and we feel it true the first time we lose something.

My hands claw at each other.

In the end, I find myself alone in the dining room, in front of a flickering screen. I don't watch the flashing lights. It hurts me.

I close my eyes tightly and only sit here.

There is no more repetition of the instance that shook us.

No burning bridges and burning building no more. It is as if someone has deleted the collective memory.

I suppose if you don't show it, it will simply try to be ceased as a threat in heads. Silence is effective as a stylistic choice or a way to protect yourself.

I have so much to do. And I can't find the strength in my body to move again now. Instead, I sit on the dark table, small scratches and other traces proof of its longevity.

I let myself be hunched, hands gripping the armrests of my seat.

Paws click over wood.

The next thing I feel is a wet nose on my palm.

His missing, ripped ear is put flat back against his head. Body and tail lowered, he creeps around me.

In the flashing light, he looks even bigger than usual, brown and grey fur bristling.

So the dog has found me in my desolation and decides to keep me company.

The other two are nowhere to be seen.

"Did you sneak away, boy?" I whisper. "Outsmarting my uncle easily, I see."

I earn a whimper and lean down slow on the creaking chair. His head moves up when I touch it slow. Then I give his head a scratch.

I turn the screen off and sit down again in the complete darkness soothing the pain in my head. The dog's yellow eyes and moving nose follow me through the task.

"It's alright." I lie badly. To a dog. Late in the night. Then I scratch it again. "We knew this would come, yes? We need to make the best out of it now. A little change of plans. But I am not defeated yet."

The dog presses his head into my lap. I continue to pat along its matted fur.

"Not defeated yet," I repeat.

Atara appears silent. She is barefoot with her hair loose and her face smeared, angry streaks of black that used to look pretty on her green eyes.

"I believe there is a gift for you."

"A gift?" I ask.

Her eyes burn a hole in my head. "Do you have some of your bugs in your ears? Yes, cousin, a gift. For you. In the dining room."

It sits on the dining table where I have been sitting half the night with the dog. A large flat box closed with a big green ribbon.

Flattery from my family?

Atara watches me from her space on the doorstep, angry strands of black hair surrounding her green eyes.

With two ripping moves, I untangle the ribbon, open it greedy.

There is no note on top or anything to indicate where this comes from. Nothing.

Under another layer of wrapping my fingers feel over something hard, tiny, and the softest fabric I have ever touched.

The dress is venomous green and black, soft but sparkling, dazzling in contrast to my stiff, bleak black and cobwebs of lace.

I am positive I have never owned any dress this pretty.

Not even when I first got married I wore something this brilliant.

Atara has moved closer. I catch a whiff of something bittersweet when she leans in.

"Oh." She just says. No pricks or mockery. She values beautiful clothes. Of course, she would like this. I unfold the dress in all its length, put it on the table.

Between my fingers, I feel the trickling gems, almost smell the lush green color.

"Someone knows you well enough to choose something that makes you look halfway pretty."

I search the box again. "No note."

"Oh," Atara repeats, moving head curious like her birds. "A secret benefactor?"

Her eyes nail the next figure that dares to almost run along the hallway. The boy has gained a scratch on his face, red blood dried.

"You there. Red." As if it wasn't obvious enough, she reminds him easily of where he stands in this room, below her feet.

"Yes, Lady Viper?" The boy mutters, eyes not able to look at our faces, brushing over Atara's naked shoulder, creeping away again hastily.

"Noticed any colors on the messenger that brought this? Did they say something?"

His eyes are glued to a dust particle in the air floating down in one ray of light falling through the glass windows. "No, Lady Viper."

He shrinks and continues to do so under Atara's eyes until she makes him hurry off with a swatting gesture that reminds me of her father.

"Do you want it? Else I will burn it." I push a strand of hair behind my ear before touching the fabric again.

I don't trust in this secret gift.

Atara wrinkles her nose. "You're not going to wear it?"

"No. Not without knowing where it came from."

She is still not letting go of it until she can drag it down.

"You're marrying today and you don't want to wear the only decent clothing you own."

I don't think about clothing at all. She knows that too well. It is laughable. "Don't worry, you can do my hair if it bothers you so much."

She shrugs. "I guess it is a farewell gift."

"You think you get rid of me ?" I shake my head weakly. "Don't count on it be any different for you now that Queenstrial is over."

The time flows by as fast as the water flows quietly into the tub.
A fragrance hangs in the air, green, sour, and intense. I take another breath and something sweet follows the sour up my nostrils.
I haven't told anyone about what has happened in the hallway. That is why the bruises are the only visible reminder that it truly has happened.
His fingers have left marks along my arm, rings circling around the skin above my elbow, and splotches and spots showing like prints of his thumbs on my wrists.

I don't feel much pain. I have been hurt a lot worse. Atara's kick has hurt more in the long run.

It is that thing with his head that makes me want to scream.

Goodbye merry widow, my face says without a tone in front of the mirror, tasting it. Lady Viper, married again in what...an hour?

I take too long in the bathroom. I scrub my skin until it almost breaks, sensitive and shivering.

My father glares at me when I make it down the set of stairs, fingers lingering over the railing. It take in every bit of this place, store it inside me.

It isn't my home.

But is it better than the place I go?

Undoubtedly.

"Of course you wouldn't wear that dress." He sounds frustrated , eyeing my dark heels and black collar, up to the tips of my hair Atara has curled and braided with green tinted metal out , harshly pulled back. Fathers and daughters, the evil curse.

"Your gift?" I offfer a hand.

"No." He takes the hand. "I have no idea where it came from. I thought it was Larentia's."

I smile. The scorpion sits on my left side, above the stiff black on my upper body like a brooch.

When we make our way outside, into the courtyard, I find the windows filled with figures. Atara stands to the right in her own room, arms crossed. I thought she'd smirk. She probably tastes this victory soon enough. Her brother just leans next to her, and he looks almost smug.

Calpurnia and my uncle have taken position on the bright windows at his study.

Vultures. All of them. They keep their distance to a gathering of more than one mind reader.

My father holds my hand in his palms. The sleeve crumbles and slips up. He looks at the bruises curled along my wrist, half revealed under the slipping sleeve. He moves my hand slightly in his grip. He doesn't say anything about it though. Neutered and silent.

"It will go over fast." He assures me. His voice sounds hoarse suddenly, he barely mutters. "Barely anyone cares with two brides inside a palace."

"Degraded second sons and widowed daughters, only cousins, never too close to power," I sigh, shake my head. "Just say it is as it is."

"Stay calm," he whispers. "I will come by tomorrow for another transaction I have to finish and sign."

I scoff softly and hold my head high. The scorpion shakes its pincers. "I would normally care about what you traded me for. Right now just let us get it over with."

He gives me a look with raised eyebrows. We almost have crossed the courtyard.

I hear the dogs howling in the distance, piercing through the summer air.