Fight Like A Girl
Chapter 12
Cybil's Advice
AN: OK, so this is a little bit short, and I'm sorry about that. But I'll try and come out with another one soon, so I hope that you all enjoy this one in the meanwhile. Thank you to everyone that pointed out the 'Ophelia clapped' as opposed to 'Cybil clapped' bit at the end of the last chapter. I'm sorry I missed that. I guess I'm not very good at proofreading my own stuff ~_~ Anyway, I'll try to replace that chapter with an edited chapter, here's hoping that it works out all right. Thank you again to everyone who nice enough to review, I really appreciate it.
"It is much safer to be feared than loved, when, of the two, either must be dispensed with. Because this is to be asserted in general of men, that they are ungrateful, fickle, false, cowardly, covetous, and as long as you successed they are yours entirely; they will offer you their blood, property, life, and children, as is said above, when the need is far distant; but when it approaches they turn against you" (Machiavelli, The Prince. And as I don't have my copy of The Prince with me here, and I don't know it by heart, I ended up looking it up online, so I don't have a page number, but here's the website: )
~~~
The next day dawned too brightly for a funeral. The knowledge that elsewhere Ophelia was being buried underneath this same sun weighed heavily on me, or would have if I had allowed it to do so. Yet I reminded myself that I was too strong to allow guilt and remorse to keep me from my plans. I showed a face of delicate grief but did not allow myself to feel melancholy. Instead, at the first free moment, Cybil and I retired to her rooms.
She dropped her sorrowful expression as quickly as I did mine, and with the air of practice, checked for eavesdroppers at the door and windows. I wondered briefly at what her life could have been that such practices were second nature, but held my tongue. Questions often reveal more about yourself than those you are questioning.
Once her search for eavesdroppers was complete, Cybil did not waste time with pleasantries. She always had the ability to keep from emotional attachments. I believe she would sell her own parents if it furthered her cause enough. I have envied her this strength, although David once insisted that it was a weakness, and that she must be horribly lonely. At times, when the thought of my friendship with David was my only solace, I was inclined to agree.
But digression is a hideous habit, and I am quite ashamed to have fallen it. As I was saying, the moment Cybil's fear of eavesdroppers had been assuaged she turned to me and said, "Delia, we have much to do. Our skills may be exemplary here at the Cloisters, but the courtiers have more tricks up their sleeves than hairs on their heads."
I was surprised at the immediacy of her change from grieving, delicate flower to detached conspirator, but nodded in agreement. "What do you suggest?"
"My sisters have been writing me letters with advice. I've copied out the best of it, and I suggest you read these," she pulled sheaf of papers out of the bottom of a drawer and handed them to me.
"This is all the advice they've given you?" I asked looking through the papers, my eyebrows raised.
"Of course," Cybil replied with her chilling smile. I did not believe her for a moment. She no doubt kept the best bits of advice for herself; it would not do to be outshone by her companion. There was no course I could take at that time, however, and so I merely smiled back and tucked the papers into my sleeve.
"Thank you. I'm sure they will make most engaging reading," I said with an overly gracious curtsy that had, I will admit, a hint of mocking. I do not know if she did not understand the insult of if she just decided to ignore it, but she immediately continued her instructions, stating, "What is more, we must practice conversation."
This was a bit too much for me. "What do you think we've been doing for the past odd years, Cybil?" I asked, wondering if this was meant as an insult to match my curtsied slight.
"Yes, and you were quite adept at steering the conversation that first day. Nevertheless, the experienced courtiers would run circles around us. We must be so practiced that we can destroy a reputation, make a girl popular, offend, flatter, change the minds of others with a word. And of course the best people to practice on are the other girls here."
The idea of thoughtlessly destroying the other girls in the Cloisters for practice repulsed me, although I did not let it show on my face. I have always desired power above all things, and I always knew that it would have its price. That is why I could betray Ophelia. But, despite what wretched whispers circle the court now, I had no love of cruelty for the sake of cruelty, not then at least, and the idea of denigrating certain girls to keep my tongue sharp seemed to me like a knight cutting down people in the street to keep his sword quick. Yet even as I thought this, I knew I could not allow Cybil to be privy to such thoughts. She would see such reservations as weaknesses, and perhaps they were. Whether they were or were not, she would treat them as such, and use them to destroy me. I had to seem as inhumane and cold to her as she did to me. Nevertheless I did attempt to steer her away from this idea.
"It is foolish to carelessly destroy the reputations of girls here. We cannot know who will be harmless in the future and who will catch the eye of some important nobleman and be in a position to revenge herself upon us. Why make an enemy out of a potential ally?" I argued, thinking myself clever to think of it in terms of politics and chess pieces instead of real people and lives.
"Then we must destroy them so thoroughly they shall never rise again," she responded as carelessly as if she deciding upon colors for a gown.
"And how many times shall we do this? How many times until we are seen as cruel and petty and the other girls hate and fear us?" I argued, appealing to her sense of strategy as I was unsure if she had much in the way of heart.
"Of course they will fear us. That is power, is it not?" she asked lightly.
"It is far better to have the girls adore us. Right now I believe some of those girls would die for us. Fear does not inspire that sort of loyalty, Cybil," I insisted.
"But of course it does! Blaise of Netfeld dotes upon your every word, Delia, but she has never forgotten how you slighted her earlier. She hates you, mark me, but her fear is such that she is the greatest sycophant of them all," argued Cybil.
"And so I watch her, for I know that the moment I am weak she will pounce. I hope for stronger allies than that."
"And those girls that you say adore you, will they cleave to you when you are weak? Will they defend your name, confront your slanderers? Like they did for Ophelia?" Cybil's voice rang out like she was singing a hymn to the Goddess and I could not deny the truth of her words.
"Many hated Ophelia. She was not a kind person," I retorted weakly.
"And many did not, for she could be generous when the mood struck her. Come, Delia, you are no naïve waif. You know as well as I that it is more in human nature to betray than defend a weak friend, and cowardice is more prevalent than valor. Surely you can see that fear is a greater insurance than loyalty," she responded, her voice laced with fervor.
I could not deny the truth of her words. Though I still found her suggestions repugnant, I was forced to recognize their brutal wisdom. I imagined that this disapprobation I felt towards picking girls to terrorize as practice was more evidence of sentimentality and weakness. Such things had to be overcome if I was to become powerful. Foolishly I thought that emotions were like possessions, that I could put them aside when they were in the way and pick them up once more when I had need of them. But I will not dissolve into melancholy fits. Such acts are fruitless. Suffice to say that I agreed with Cybil that day, took her letters, and when I woke the next morning I was sweating from a nightmare I could not remember and groping for phantom chains on my wrists.
~~~
And for fun cryptic foreshadowing, here's the bit of the The Prince that comes a little after my first quote: "Nevertheless a prince ought to inspire fear in such a way that, if he does not win love, he avoids hatred" (Machiavelli, The Prince, same place as the first).
AN: OK, so this is a little bit short, and I'm sorry about that. But I'll try and come out with another one soon, so I hope that you all enjoy this one in the meanwhile. Thank you to everyone that pointed out the 'Ophelia clapped' as opposed to 'Cybil clapped' bit at the end of the last chapter. I'm sorry I missed that. I guess I'm not very good at proofreading my own stuff ~_~ Anyway, I'll try to replace that chapter with an edited chapter, here's hoping that it works out all right. Thank you again to everyone who nice enough to review, I really appreciate it.
"It is much safer to be feared than loved, when, of the two, either must be dispensed with. Because this is to be asserted in general of men, that they are ungrateful, fickle, false, cowardly, covetous, and as long as you successed they are yours entirely; they will offer you their blood, property, life, and children, as is said above, when the need is far distant; but when it approaches they turn against you" (Machiavelli, The Prince. And as I don't have my copy of The Prince with me here, and I don't know it by heart, I ended up looking it up online, so I don't have a page number, but here's the website: )
~~~
The next day dawned too brightly for a funeral. The knowledge that elsewhere Ophelia was being buried underneath this same sun weighed heavily on me, or would have if I had allowed it to do so. Yet I reminded myself that I was too strong to allow guilt and remorse to keep me from my plans. I showed a face of delicate grief but did not allow myself to feel melancholy. Instead, at the first free moment, Cybil and I retired to her rooms.
She dropped her sorrowful expression as quickly as I did mine, and with the air of practice, checked for eavesdroppers at the door and windows. I wondered briefly at what her life could have been that such practices were second nature, but held my tongue. Questions often reveal more about yourself than those you are questioning.
Once her search for eavesdroppers was complete, Cybil did not waste time with pleasantries. She always had the ability to keep from emotional attachments. I believe she would sell her own parents if it furthered her cause enough. I have envied her this strength, although David once insisted that it was a weakness, and that she must be horribly lonely. At times, when the thought of my friendship with David was my only solace, I was inclined to agree.
But digression is a hideous habit, and I am quite ashamed to have fallen it. As I was saying, the moment Cybil's fear of eavesdroppers had been assuaged she turned to me and said, "Delia, we have much to do. Our skills may be exemplary here at the Cloisters, but the courtiers have more tricks up their sleeves than hairs on their heads."
I was surprised at the immediacy of her change from grieving, delicate flower to detached conspirator, but nodded in agreement. "What do you suggest?"
"My sisters have been writing me letters with advice. I've copied out the best of it, and I suggest you read these," she pulled sheaf of papers out of the bottom of a drawer and handed them to me.
"This is all the advice they've given you?" I asked looking through the papers, my eyebrows raised.
"Of course," Cybil replied with her chilling smile. I did not believe her for a moment. She no doubt kept the best bits of advice for herself; it would not do to be outshone by her companion. There was no course I could take at that time, however, and so I merely smiled back and tucked the papers into my sleeve.
"Thank you. I'm sure they will make most engaging reading," I said with an overly gracious curtsy that had, I will admit, a hint of mocking. I do not know if she did not understand the insult of if she just decided to ignore it, but she immediately continued her instructions, stating, "What is more, we must practice conversation."
This was a bit too much for me. "What do you think we've been doing for the past odd years, Cybil?" I asked, wondering if this was meant as an insult to match my curtsied slight.
"Yes, and you were quite adept at steering the conversation that first day. Nevertheless, the experienced courtiers would run circles around us. We must be so practiced that we can destroy a reputation, make a girl popular, offend, flatter, change the minds of others with a word. And of course the best people to practice on are the other girls here."
The idea of thoughtlessly destroying the other girls in the Cloisters for practice repulsed me, although I did not let it show on my face. I have always desired power above all things, and I always knew that it would have its price. That is why I could betray Ophelia. But, despite what wretched whispers circle the court now, I had no love of cruelty for the sake of cruelty, not then at least, and the idea of denigrating certain girls to keep my tongue sharp seemed to me like a knight cutting down people in the street to keep his sword quick. Yet even as I thought this, I knew I could not allow Cybil to be privy to such thoughts. She would see such reservations as weaknesses, and perhaps they were. Whether they were or were not, she would treat them as such, and use them to destroy me. I had to seem as inhumane and cold to her as she did to me. Nevertheless I did attempt to steer her away from this idea.
"It is foolish to carelessly destroy the reputations of girls here. We cannot know who will be harmless in the future and who will catch the eye of some important nobleman and be in a position to revenge herself upon us. Why make an enemy out of a potential ally?" I argued, thinking myself clever to think of it in terms of politics and chess pieces instead of real people and lives.
"Then we must destroy them so thoroughly they shall never rise again," she responded as carelessly as if she deciding upon colors for a gown.
"And how many times shall we do this? How many times until we are seen as cruel and petty and the other girls hate and fear us?" I argued, appealing to her sense of strategy as I was unsure if she had much in the way of heart.
"Of course they will fear us. That is power, is it not?" she asked lightly.
"It is far better to have the girls adore us. Right now I believe some of those girls would die for us. Fear does not inspire that sort of loyalty, Cybil," I insisted.
"But of course it does! Blaise of Netfeld dotes upon your every word, Delia, but she has never forgotten how you slighted her earlier. She hates you, mark me, but her fear is such that she is the greatest sycophant of them all," argued Cybil.
"And so I watch her, for I know that the moment I am weak she will pounce. I hope for stronger allies than that."
"And those girls that you say adore you, will they cleave to you when you are weak? Will they defend your name, confront your slanderers? Like they did for Ophelia?" Cybil's voice rang out like she was singing a hymn to the Goddess and I could not deny the truth of her words.
"Many hated Ophelia. She was not a kind person," I retorted weakly.
"And many did not, for she could be generous when the mood struck her. Come, Delia, you are no naïve waif. You know as well as I that it is more in human nature to betray than defend a weak friend, and cowardice is more prevalent than valor. Surely you can see that fear is a greater insurance than loyalty," she responded, her voice laced with fervor.
I could not deny the truth of her words. Though I still found her suggestions repugnant, I was forced to recognize their brutal wisdom. I imagined that this disapprobation I felt towards picking girls to terrorize as practice was more evidence of sentimentality and weakness. Such things had to be overcome if I was to become powerful. Foolishly I thought that emotions were like possessions, that I could put them aside when they were in the way and pick them up once more when I had need of them. But I will not dissolve into melancholy fits. Such acts are fruitless. Suffice to say that I agreed with Cybil that day, took her letters, and when I woke the next morning I was sweating from a nightmare I could not remember and groping for phantom chains on my wrists.
~~~
And for fun cryptic foreshadowing, here's the bit of the The Prince that comes a little after my first quote: "Nevertheless a prince ought to inspire fear in such a way that, if he does not win love, he avoids hatred" (Machiavelli, The Prince, same place as the first).