Fight Like A Girl
Chapter 10
Betrayal
AN: I'm so sorry that I haven't updated in, oh, forever. School is really killing me lately. There's all sorts of complications and things I need to do if I want to study abroad next year, not to mention schoolwork.I won't go into it and bore you all. Suffice to say it's not fun. I'm sorry if this chapter isn't up to par, but I thought I should really just get it out. I'm sorry 'Me' that you've been kept waiting, but I do appreciate the reviews and reminders. Oh yeah - just to disclaimer a bit, Delia isn't really a good person. I don't think she's an evil one either. She's in between, like most people, so sometimes you feel sorry for her, and sometimes you don't much like her. Coming up will be parts where you don't much like her. Some of her beliefs are, to put it bluntly, wrong. But they're hers, not mine, so don't get mad at me.wow, now I've made this seem far worse than it's going to be. Just read the story ~_~
And for a random, obscure Shakespeare quote that is only peripherally related to the story: "Look to the lady!" Banquo, in Macbeth 2.3:122
Major points if you get the peripheral relation ( . Hint: he's talking about Lady Macbeth, who reminds me of Delia a lot on occasion. Like I said, enjoy
~~~
I woke the next morning filled with renewed determination. With purposeful strides, I returned to Ophelia's room and began, with a secretive smile and whispers of 'trust me', to extract her secrets from her. She was a fool; she has always been a fool. She clasped my hands and smiled when she explained how she met here lover at a large rock by the lake, divulged the time and place of her interludes. She named me her truest friend and confidant then, but I kept the vision of David and I together in front of my mind, hardened my heart, and told her she was my dearest friend while I plotted her destruction.
I needed to ensure the appearance innocence in this dirty affair of the ruin of reputations. I could not simply spread rumors about Ophelia's doings - no, then I would be demoted to the role of mere malicious gossip. I wanted to be more than that. I must remain a pinnacle of ladylike conduct, above reproach. And thus I hatched my plan of accidentally happening upon Ophelia and her lover, a plan that could keep me innocent, would underline the difference between myself, the chaste lady, and Ophelia, the unrefined wanton.
I had already taken to leading walks with some of the members of Ophelia and Cybil's circle. Cybil allowed me to lead these walks, noting my usurpation of this slight power with merely a raised eyebrow. That day anticipation and nerves made me giddy, added an extra note to my laugh, made my eyes brighter, flushed my cheeks. In short, it made me more beautiful. No one could have denied me anything in that state. Even Cybil's face gave away the fact that she was impressed with me.
People will always gravitate towards beauty. There is something about it that calls the more drab things of nature. There is a flower whose sweet scent attracts hideous bugs that desire only to be near it, and then snaps shut around those repulsive specimens. Yet the insects always swarm to this flower, even though it brings them death. The beautiful, the powerful, will always attract and turn upon the weak and ugly - that is the natural order of things. I had made myself beautiful, and that day I would make myself powerful. I was the center of the group of girls. I was the vivacious queen and they were all glad to be in my presence. It is difficult to explain the extent of the joy that such a position brings; there is truly nothing in the world as heady as power and ambition combined. As I led them down the garden path, I suggested - daringly - that we take an illicit trip to the lakeside. With my eyes so bright, my posture so engaging, no one could refuse me. Even the most timid girl joined me in slipping through the gate and towards the lake.
Only Cybil looked upon me with reserved, hooded eyes. She reminded me of a snake waiting for the opportune moment to strike, and for a moment I felt a shiver akin to fear, but shook it off. I had this whole group of girls in my thrall - what could Cybil do to stop me now? I giggled and began to spin a tale of the wondrous fairies that lived in the forest. The girls were rapt as ever, and a few of the more fanciful girls gasped in pleasure when I recounted the whimsical details of fairy jewels.
I finished my tale with a mysterious smile and a promise of "And if you listen hard enough, sometimes, on still days like these, you can hear the fairies laughter."
Inevitably the girls closed their eyes and strained their ears for this laughter. I had led them nearby the rock where Ophelia met her lover - inevitably distant a distant giggle reached our ears. I looked as shocked as anyone else, and one of the girls suggested a fairy hunt. We stealthily crept around the forest together, and I smiled to myself when I heard the telltale scream.
We all raced towards the girl who had screamed, and stopped short at the scene we all saw, framed by tree branches, lighted green. Ophelia was pressed against a tree, her head flung back, her eyes rolled upwards, her dress on the forest floor. Her lover - obviously a commoner - covered her with his own bare body.
"Ophelia?" asked one of the horror-stricken girls, as they alternated between covering their eyes with maidenly fear and sneaking looks at the only naked male form they had ever seen. I wanted to laugh at their foolish actions, but held my tongue.
Ophelia opened her eyes slowly, disbelievingly, as her frightened lover made an attempt to retrieve her dress from among the forest leaves. Ophelia had spoken brave words in her chambers earlier. She had claimed that the love she felt for this boy was more important than her reputation, that she could withstand anything as long as she had him. I knew better; she had spent her whole life fretting about her social standing. No so- called love could possibly undo the values that had been ingrained in her since childhood. I saw her horror, her fear, her desperation. I saw when she woke from her beautiful little dream, when she cast her eyes on the boy beside her, awkwardly trying to dress, and instead of her handsome hero saw a common boy. I saw the disgust that flickered in her eyes.
The girls deferred to me, looked to me. I could not have planned that. I thought they would look to Cybil, but no, every one of them turned to me, to see what sentence I, their queen, would pronounce on the errant Ophelia.
Ophelia looked to me too. I knew she wanted some sort of aid. She thought I would save her - in the name of the friendship she had sworn to me earlier? Ha. I wondered at her foolishness. If I asked her to, she would betray this boy now. I saw it in her eyes. She was beast underneath, as are we all. She would turn on him, even though they had sworn love to each other, even though in the confines of her room she could promise to go against the world at his side. I believe that, if she had thought of it, she would have claimed he had forced her, would have cast herself the victim. She is no romantic heroine, no matter how much she might try to be. She is a daughter of the Cloisters, a jackal dressed in silks, and will use diamond teeth to destroy those she loves best to preserve herself. She would not have sacrificed herself for me, nor would I for her. How could she have expected quarter from me, when I was just like her?
"Oh, Ophelia, how could you?" I asked, blanching convincingly, backing away in horror. If I had been born common - Mithros forbid - I should have been a player.
"But-but Delia, I told you-" she began.
"I thought you were telling stories, like my fairy story, like the stories of princesses from long ago. I never thought that you'd actually let a common boy." I trailed off, hiding my shocked face in my sleeves.
No players' troupe could have staged it better. She reached out for me, and I shied away. She whirled around, looking for aid from any girl there. Not one gave her even a kind glance. She turned to Cybil, who turned away, face unreadable.
There stood Ophelia, hair undone, her dress only half-done up, surrounded by the girls of the Cloisters. I stood opposite her, my hair in the latest style from Corus, my green dress pristine.
"We should tell the priestesses," I said. "For her own good."
The others nodded in agreement and we began to ascend the hill towards the Cloisters. Ophelia's lover reached out to hold her; she brushed him off, screamed, "Don't touch me, you filth!"
I can only imagine his shocked expression. Foolish common boy. Didn't he realize she is a noblewoman? That her only allegiance was to herself? That she was faithless as a dog? To be fair, there is only one difference between Ophelia and myself. While she fumbled through life, wanting everything for herself, neither a true friend nor truly befriended, I had one comrade. David and I could conquer the world for each other, with each other, while alone, Ophelia could only fall into shame and dishonor.
When the priestesses locked Ophelia in her rooms, I heard her weeping and cursing like a commoner. Didn't she realize she was only hurting herself by acting in such a coarse manner? Still, when she hurt herself, she helped me. I looked more proper by comparison. What is more, having witnessed this dreadful scene gave me a sort of celebrity. I had never been so powerful at the Cloisters before. I was drunk with the power, the deference, and the worship. I never noticed Cybil creeping up to speak with Ophelia.
In the morning I was horrified to discover from the general announcement given by the priestesses that Ophelia had escaped her rooms once more and crept down to her old trysting place. There she had drowned herself in the lake. I remembered my dream, the way I'd drowned her in a pool of blood and water, the way she'd wrapped her chains around me, and felt ill. My initial reaction was disgust - was I really that weak? But then I began to plot and scheme again, and fell back on the age-old feminine response to bad news - I fainted. Really, couldn't I have been a player?
AN: I'm so sorry that I haven't updated in, oh, forever. School is really killing me lately. There's all sorts of complications and things I need to do if I want to study abroad next year, not to mention schoolwork.I won't go into it and bore you all. Suffice to say it's not fun. I'm sorry if this chapter isn't up to par, but I thought I should really just get it out. I'm sorry 'Me' that you've been kept waiting, but I do appreciate the reviews and reminders. Oh yeah - just to disclaimer a bit, Delia isn't really a good person. I don't think she's an evil one either. She's in between, like most people, so sometimes you feel sorry for her, and sometimes you don't much like her. Coming up will be parts where you don't much like her. Some of her beliefs are, to put it bluntly, wrong. But they're hers, not mine, so don't get mad at me.wow, now I've made this seem far worse than it's going to be. Just read the story ~_~
And for a random, obscure Shakespeare quote that is only peripherally related to the story: "Look to the lady!" Banquo, in Macbeth 2.3:122
Major points if you get the peripheral relation ( . Hint: he's talking about Lady Macbeth, who reminds me of Delia a lot on occasion. Like I said, enjoy
~~~
I woke the next morning filled with renewed determination. With purposeful strides, I returned to Ophelia's room and began, with a secretive smile and whispers of 'trust me', to extract her secrets from her. She was a fool; she has always been a fool. She clasped my hands and smiled when she explained how she met here lover at a large rock by the lake, divulged the time and place of her interludes. She named me her truest friend and confidant then, but I kept the vision of David and I together in front of my mind, hardened my heart, and told her she was my dearest friend while I plotted her destruction.
I needed to ensure the appearance innocence in this dirty affair of the ruin of reputations. I could not simply spread rumors about Ophelia's doings - no, then I would be demoted to the role of mere malicious gossip. I wanted to be more than that. I must remain a pinnacle of ladylike conduct, above reproach. And thus I hatched my plan of accidentally happening upon Ophelia and her lover, a plan that could keep me innocent, would underline the difference between myself, the chaste lady, and Ophelia, the unrefined wanton.
I had already taken to leading walks with some of the members of Ophelia and Cybil's circle. Cybil allowed me to lead these walks, noting my usurpation of this slight power with merely a raised eyebrow. That day anticipation and nerves made me giddy, added an extra note to my laugh, made my eyes brighter, flushed my cheeks. In short, it made me more beautiful. No one could have denied me anything in that state. Even Cybil's face gave away the fact that she was impressed with me.
People will always gravitate towards beauty. There is something about it that calls the more drab things of nature. There is a flower whose sweet scent attracts hideous bugs that desire only to be near it, and then snaps shut around those repulsive specimens. Yet the insects always swarm to this flower, even though it brings them death. The beautiful, the powerful, will always attract and turn upon the weak and ugly - that is the natural order of things. I had made myself beautiful, and that day I would make myself powerful. I was the center of the group of girls. I was the vivacious queen and they were all glad to be in my presence. It is difficult to explain the extent of the joy that such a position brings; there is truly nothing in the world as heady as power and ambition combined. As I led them down the garden path, I suggested - daringly - that we take an illicit trip to the lakeside. With my eyes so bright, my posture so engaging, no one could refuse me. Even the most timid girl joined me in slipping through the gate and towards the lake.
Only Cybil looked upon me with reserved, hooded eyes. She reminded me of a snake waiting for the opportune moment to strike, and for a moment I felt a shiver akin to fear, but shook it off. I had this whole group of girls in my thrall - what could Cybil do to stop me now? I giggled and began to spin a tale of the wondrous fairies that lived in the forest. The girls were rapt as ever, and a few of the more fanciful girls gasped in pleasure when I recounted the whimsical details of fairy jewels.
I finished my tale with a mysterious smile and a promise of "And if you listen hard enough, sometimes, on still days like these, you can hear the fairies laughter."
Inevitably the girls closed their eyes and strained their ears for this laughter. I had led them nearby the rock where Ophelia met her lover - inevitably distant a distant giggle reached our ears. I looked as shocked as anyone else, and one of the girls suggested a fairy hunt. We stealthily crept around the forest together, and I smiled to myself when I heard the telltale scream.
We all raced towards the girl who had screamed, and stopped short at the scene we all saw, framed by tree branches, lighted green. Ophelia was pressed against a tree, her head flung back, her eyes rolled upwards, her dress on the forest floor. Her lover - obviously a commoner - covered her with his own bare body.
"Ophelia?" asked one of the horror-stricken girls, as they alternated between covering their eyes with maidenly fear and sneaking looks at the only naked male form they had ever seen. I wanted to laugh at their foolish actions, but held my tongue.
Ophelia opened her eyes slowly, disbelievingly, as her frightened lover made an attempt to retrieve her dress from among the forest leaves. Ophelia had spoken brave words in her chambers earlier. She had claimed that the love she felt for this boy was more important than her reputation, that she could withstand anything as long as she had him. I knew better; she had spent her whole life fretting about her social standing. No so- called love could possibly undo the values that had been ingrained in her since childhood. I saw her horror, her fear, her desperation. I saw when she woke from her beautiful little dream, when she cast her eyes on the boy beside her, awkwardly trying to dress, and instead of her handsome hero saw a common boy. I saw the disgust that flickered in her eyes.
The girls deferred to me, looked to me. I could not have planned that. I thought they would look to Cybil, but no, every one of them turned to me, to see what sentence I, their queen, would pronounce on the errant Ophelia.
Ophelia looked to me too. I knew she wanted some sort of aid. She thought I would save her - in the name of the friendship she had sworn to me earlier? Ha. I wondered at her foolishness. If I asked her to, she would betray this boy now. I saw it in her eyes. She was beast underneath, as are we all. She would turn on him, even though they had sworn love to each other, even though in the confines of her room she could promise to go against the world at his side. I believe that, if she had thought of it, she would have claimed he had forced her, would have cast herself the victim. She is no romantic heroine, no matter how much she might try to be. She is a daughter of the Cloisters, a jackal dressed in silks, and will use diamond teeth to destroy those she loves best to preserve herself. She would not have sacrificed herself for me, nor would I for her. How could she have expected quarter from me, when I was just like her?
"Oh, Ophelia, how could you?" I asked, blanching convincingly, backing away in horror. If I had been born common - Mithros forbid - I should have been a player.
"But-but Delia, I told you-" she began.
"I thought you were telling stories, like my fairy story, like the stories of princesses from long ago. I never thought that you'd actually let a common boy." I trailed off, hiding my shocked face in my sleeves.
No players' troupe could have staged it better. She reached out for me, and I shied away. She whirled around, looking for aid from any girl there. Not one gave her even a kind glance. She turned to Cybil, who turned away, face unreadable.
There stood Ophelia, hair undone, her dress only half-done up, surrounded by the girls of the Cloisters. I stood opposite her, my hair in the latest style from Corus, my green dress pristine.
"We should tell the priestesses," I said. "For her own good."
The others nodded in agreement and we began to ascend the hill towards the Cloisters. Ophelia's lover reached out to hold her; she brushed him off, screamed, "Don't touch me, you filth!"
I can only imagine his shocked expression. Foolish common boy. Didn't he realize she is a noblewoman? That her only allegiance was to herself? That she was faithless as a dog? To be fair, there is only one difference between Ophelia and myself. While she fumbled through life, wanting everything for herself, neither a true friend nor truly befriended, I had one comrade. David and I could conquer the world for each other, with each other, while alone, Ophelia could only fall into shame and dishonor.
When the priestesses locked Ophelia in her rooms, I heard her weeping and cursing like a commoner. Didn't she realize she was only hurting herself by acting in such a coarse manner? Still, when she hurt herself, she helped me. I looked more proper by comparison. What is more, having witnessed this dreadful scene gave me a sort of celebrity. I had never been so powerful at the Cloisters before. I was drunk with the power, the deference, and the worship. I never noticed Cybil creeping up to speak with Ophelia.
In the morning I was horrified to discover from the general announcement given by the priestesses that Ophelia had escaped her rooms once more and crept down to her old trysting place. There she had drowned herself in the lake. I remembered my dream, the way I'd drowned her in a pool of blood and water, the way she'd wrapped her chains around me, and felt ill. My initial reaction was disgust - was I really that weak? But then I began to plot and scheme again, and fell back on the age-old feminine response to bad news - I fainted. Really, couldn't I have been a player?