Poor, poor Celaene... She just can't seem to understand herself, can she? As usual, I hope you like it, please review.
Chapter Seven: In Which Escape Seems Depressingly Unlikely
Celaene was still wiping tears out of her eyes when she arrived back in West Tower fifteen minutes later. Sylvia seemed fine, but she had been so scared… Bastard, she thought angrily. She deposited Sylvia on her bed—the cat fell instantly and calmly asleep, as though nothing had happened—and proceeded up to the top of her tower. Only the stars could calm her now. There was something soothing about the stars… Lyra and Vega, directly above her, rotated towards Andromeda as the moon on the other side of the sky blotted out several other stars and Severus kissed her neck…
NO. She was not daydreaming about the man who had just faked killing her cat. It was not possible. Celaene looked up at the stars that twinkled innocently above her and asked them silently, Why me?
"He faked poisoning Sylvia, Eleanor!" Celaene complained loudly in the staffroom the next morning.
"Why?"
"I have no idea."
"Maybe he's flirting…" Sprout suggested mischievously.
"Shut up, Sprout," said Celaene grumpily. "His hate for me is matched only by mine for him."
"Denial," muttered Sprout.
"Cut it out," Celaene warned.
"I'm sure he's really very nice, once you get to know him… And he seems like kind who's really good in—"
Celaene walked out of the staffroom before Eleanor could finish her sentence. She was sick of her friends trying to set her up. If she wanted a man, she was perfectly capable of talking to him. If she hated him, why couldn't they just let her hate him in peace? Why could she not control her own mind? Did everything have to turn against her at once? Thank the Seven Sisters she still had her cat.
Sylvia greeted her with a faint meow and sprang lightly into her lap, rubbing her furry chin against Celaene's fingers. She pulled a stack of parchment towards her, ready to do some lesson planning to distract her from her life.
No sooner had she picked up her quill than a soft rap came at her door. "Sinistra…"
"Go away, damn you."
"No, Sinistra… I need to know when Venus is going to make a right angle to Saturn so I can predict the next eclipse for Veritaserum."
"August twenty-seventh. Now go away."
"Thank you," said the dark, silken voice. "You are ever so polite."
"You want to know how polite I can be?"
"No, thanks, I prefer not to accept sexual favors from my coworkers…"
"Fuck you!"
"No, dear, that's what I'm saying," he said patiently. "It doesn't work like that."
He was gone before she could think of a witty comeback.
Celaene rested her head on her desk, cradled in her arms. She was suddenly struck by an insane urge to run after him… I must be sick, or tired or… something.