Dilemmatic triangle opera
She had walled herself off, hidden behind a veil of rose quartz, her hands folded across her chest, eyes closed, looking inwards.
Her heart thundered, the exposed skin of her shoulders suddenly cold. She had known, Serena thought, pulling at the cloying material of the borrowed dress. Of course, she had known, there was no way she could not have known, they were the same person, separated by an impossible ocean of time, but the same person nonetheless, that was why Prince Demand had kidnapped her—and yet still, she had walled herself off, thrown up a barrier of glittering stone to protect herself from him, abandoning the girl she had once been.
Her cheeks burnt red, her eyes puffy from tears, she stood with her back pushed against the wall, eyeing the four-poster bed before her as if it was an evil thing, a cursed thing, and she could not help but feel a sense of betrayal, the understanding that the woman she would grow to be in the future would turn away, abandon her to this fate rather than face it herself.
Deep breaths, Serena, she remembered her mother telling her. That was how you stayed calm, you drew breath in through your nose, and exhaled through the mouth, and if you thought about that, it stopped you from panicking.
She remembered being nine-years-old and standing on the school field during sports day, consumed by the fear that she would mess up the baton pass, that she would stumble and fall; she remembered her mother imparting this advice to her, and now here she was on a dead world, a prisoner of a man whose behaviour made it hard to tell whether he hated her or loved her.
Everything within the palace swayed to the words of Prince Demand. When he had called to her, so she had found herself drawn to him, when he had kissed her, so she had obliged, one hand at her back, grasping her shoulder, the fingers of the other digging into her neck, preventing her even the pretence of pulling away.
How, with mock grace, he had allowed her the freedom of the castle, the ability to move unfettered about its rooms and halls until such time when he pulled that invisible string and drew her again to him.
All that supposed freedom, and still she returned here, to the bedroom, staring at the scene before her
She drew her hands up close over her chest, crushing the silk of the dress in her hands. The memory was still vivid, and even in his absence, she felt her heart beat twice as fast as she tried to process her feelings, and yet still could not work what exactly she felt.
Confusion gave way to anger, and anger gave way to shame. She wanted to understand what it was she felt as he had held her, as he had laid her down on the bed, as he had placed his lips against hers, and yet at the same time, her skin crawled when she thought of what she had been made to do.
If there were things she wanted, if there was a touch she wished for, a sensation she desired, but these things were only performed under duress, were they still the things that she wanted? And what did this mean for her feelings for Darien? How could she love him so deeply and yet respond so easily to the cruelty of another? It made her feel sick with loathing for herself—both the person she was in that moment and the person she would be, sleeping soundly beneath a firmament of quartz.
She was 15, and had had already been through so much, the recollection of her legs sinking into the snow, her friends at her side, the glistening Illusionary Silver Crystal pushing back against the encroaching shadows of the aged thing that had sought control of the Earth. Yet on Nemesis, in the palace that Demand had made for himself and those of his kin thousands of years in the future, she was unprepared and helpless, the woman she would grow to be willing to throw her to the lions so that her own dignity might be preserved.
On this cold world at the outer reaches of the solar system, where the light of Earth's moon could not be seen, she had been betrayed by herself, left to a fate she was too young to fully understand, and yet too old to pretend would not hurt.
The material crumpled in her hands, her cheeks red, her eyes filled with tears.
In so many ways, she had betrayed herself.