Selene
He'd been assiduous, diligent, dedicated, and thorough in his crude action of smoothly—oh, so smoothly! — piercing the flesh, as a butcher slides his knife into meat—the sight is almost satisfying, the sound, though lethal and deathly sounding, a pleasing ring to the ears. The knife had elegantly brushed past the arteries, touching them but far from inflicting any real harm. He'd been deliberate, had ensured my soul remained caged in my body even as the blood oozed out like sand creeping through the narrow gaps between your fingers. You clasp and grasp and try! Oh, you labour and toil! But it never surceases to leave you. Like the uneven, bristling waves of the sea our ship galloped above, I felt timorous, confidence of my life's certainty slipping away, I was suddenly humble before the powers! Faint-hearted, and ready to yes, oh, yes, weep! For so great was my agony. A singeing and scorching heart! A burning side, wet with crimson! – Oh, gods! What else! What more do you ask of me? I had endured! I had suffered! I knew, I knew now!
But no thunder rumbled near in the sky, nothing clashed and boomed, nothing abruptly changed, it all remained still and motionless until the door burst open, panicked footfalls reaching me a frenzy of seconds when every moving thing was a flicker of ever fainting light. Then a hand tenaciously gripped my side, a persistent touch, since it lingered when I groaned to express my profound agony. The blue, sizzling orbs with gleaming charm were suddenly, eerily hovering over me, like twin moons reflecting sheer glory; every fibre in my frame melted and dissolved into their solace and support. I had expected the juicy voice of my King, of heart and soul, but it was the thick and high voice of Kaios, speaking incoherent words of comfort and shaky assurance.
And I slept.
It had begun simply.
The days of summer when the sky charred and seared in the atrocious and absolute heat of the ruthless sun, I was a young child living comfortably, protected, and yes, pampered as every royal princess is (I blush as I pen this). My siblings, five in total, two brothers, and three younger sisters, blended and melded with me, not missing a single oppurunity to make my cheeks burn with mock chagrin. Their giggles and airy laughs ring lucidly in my ears even now, a perfect melody to soothe me on melancholy days, to amuse me at dreary times, cheer me in bleak winters when the crops died and the nation stared in the face of famine and imminent death.
It wasn't until I was a woman, a mere girl but woman indeed of thirteen, that it began.
It.
It altered the very course and flow of my thoughts, changing them from innocent to vicious, malevolent, malignant, horrendous, malicious, and baleful. What had triggered it, I do not recall—perhaps the death of my eldest brother, Colvir, or the untimely death of my mother, that had left the island nation of Galma in a vast and endless darkness.
It was before the country of Narnia had risen out of her den, had rebooted her trade with the southern Empires, and had, finally, in the third year, acknowledged, with great pleasure, our small island off the coast of their grand Castle and the Great River. We were balancing cautiously and precariously on the brink of another disaster, a tragedy, it would incite in the Kingdom, if the crops were to be lost again to the early snows. Narnia had salvaged us with only a small fraction of her rice, produced in the North, by the bank of Shribble, and some wheat from the Western Mountains. But for us, it was enough to survive—like vultures on Carrion—but survive, and slowly—very slowly—thrive as well. The eldest Sovereigns had visited the Castle of Galma, but in those bare days, I was still locked in my luxurious yet unbelievably monotonous and wearisome chamber, boredom reflecting off its sea-blue walls. I was under the protection of our now former Captain, Raviar, and was rarely allowed to leave the borders of my rooms, or step past the boundaries marked by laces, laid elegantly at the doorstep, lest my mind should betray me again. But I had caught just a glimpse—hardly real in his surreal beauty—but I had seen him, mistaken him for the High King, and the innocent part of me had, quite seamlessly and instantaneously, fallen I love with him. He was not the King, and yet he was my escape.
He was everything.
And he was torn away.
The dream began fading, the luminous edges dimming, as bubbles of consciousness floated over it, hiding his face—Damn you! I yelled, damn you for leaving!
The voice came in the form of a timid whisper, "Rest."
My eyes, that had never unclosed, held beneath them my rapidly moving blue orbs of hazed black tinted within them, a trait I shared with Peter.
It had begun simply.
A King unprotected and leisure in his chambers, wrapped in the stupor of wine, and senses hardly efficient. A perfervid love and vehement passion. A fervent wish and a well-executed plan. It was all we needed. And it had got us thus far, easily, smoothly, and harmoniously. The Narnians were well behind us, climbing on the first step of the flight of stairs we had built. The plan was brilliant, the resources laid in front of us—we were equipped. And yet, we had failed, flawlessly. My heart sank, my spirits fell, and every fibre in my frame possessed the same demonish fury when he didn't accept me—I had kept it bay, and the fiend came back yet again.
No matter, I had told myself, I can still have him.
And I did.
A petty matter to steal him. But to smuggle him from under the noses of his subjects spread like the stars in the sky, present at every corner of the country, was not a simple task—It was intricate, every process and phase weaved like fibres into yarn, every man, every flank necessary.
And we had accomplished it.
We had fooled the Queens—and the King, as seen.
They chased after a Trade Ship that was sailing to Wkhall, a Galman Colony.
We had won! We had untangled the ravelled ends of the unsolvable puzzle! We deserved Victory! Not failure! No! Not failure!
I deserved love!
I craved love!
But betrayal was what I received, was what was gifted to me.
And I craved revenge to an equal degree.
The cold, singeing touch of ice on my forehead roused me. It was Felana, tending to me. "The King?"
"In the servant chambers."
I was already at the door, swaying with the ship's gentle rocking.
"Sel, he's—he's already—"
The door shut with a clamp behind me.
OOOO
Author's note: So, I hope you this helped you understand Selene better? If you've any questions, drop a review or PM me!
And no, I'm not nice, and no, Peter did not escape. Because, well, where's the fun in that?
Response to P: You were right! And indeed, since we have a way to go, Peter wasn't going to get out that easy. Thank you for taking the time to review!
With love,
~Pacifia