Author's Note: A portrait of Leene. Because I just can't help liking this obsessive little lady. The ending is bad, so sue me. No. Don't actually sue me.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
"It's no longer a warmth hidden in my veins: it's Venus entire and whole fastening on her prey."-Jean Racine
And that's all that anyone could ever really do, when dealing with Leene. Nothing at all. Ashley is a captain of hundreds. He understands the plight of obsession.
Leene. The young girl who would suddenly rush away from her Pheliostian History lessons without a word to their baffled instructor. The girl that would dash madly to the palace kitchens, and order the servants away in short, often four-lettered words. The girl that would rummage through the cupboards and pour ingredients into mixing bowls in slap-dash estimates, flour spattering her pristine dress like a lady's talcum powder spilling. And Leene was not a lady then, she was a blur of movement that snapped at you with makeshift fangs (a spatula, a pair of tongs, anything would do) if you tried to call her back.
The girl that would wolf through the finished product, usually cookies, as though something lurked over her shoulder that threatened at any moment to take them away. The girl that would mutter nonsensical scoldings to herself afterwards, and stare at her stick-thin body with an expression of pure loathing. The girl that would, come next day, train alongside the palace soldiers, sweat dripping from tapered cheekbones, lips set into a frown of determination. And she would keep up, too, that absurdly tiny girl. She would keep striking the targets long after the last of the soldiers had retired to their chambers. At the end, the girl that would finally lower her fists and shake herself, pigtails whipping like knights' banners. And return to the lessons that day as though nothing had happened. And no one would act as though anything had.
The woman that, when he presents a flawless rose, will look at him as though he is indeed quite mad, and thwack him over the head with whatever happens to be handy at the time. The woman that, when Yuujel asked her to hold a book for one moment while he accomplished some other task, would gaze at it as though it held the secrets of the cosmos.
The woman that would suddenly pounce on Yuujel in the midst of a supposedly dignified event, and entomb his lips within her own. And how fierce she was, able to defy the law of physics by effectively pinning a man nearly twice her size. He would, of course, have to help pry the woman off his friend. He had handled mountain lions that were not nearly so difficult to restrain as Leene. And she would always appear flabbergasted, that her attack had been unsuccessful. But you could always see the next plan forming, even as this one failed. If there was one thing that Leene could be relied on to be, it was "always".
The lady that had suddenly turned to him, on the night of the harvest festival, and said, "Ashley, you're going to marry me. That's what you want, isn't it? So let's do it." She had spoken in terms of fact, not in terms of question, and certainly not in terms of endearment.
And of course, he'd said yes. Though he could not say why, there was nothing he wanted more.
The lady that, for all intents and purposes, it might as well still be that fateful day. The day that Prince Yuujel's chambers had been found untouched, his holy books missing from their proper shelves, one of the emergency lilkes vanished from the palace storerooms. The day that her eyes had glittered with cold moonfire as she spoke the words, "Find him! Find him now!" He had seen the resolve in her eyes, the resolve of the fanatic commander who will drive his troops into battle with whip and chain, if it so suits his purpose. There would be no surrender from Lady Leene.
The woman that is tired from the chase, is running hard on bleeding feet, but refuses to remove her blinders and see more than black or white. The lady whose fingers trail over drops of poison, and wishes that they were bullets. Bullets are so much faster, after all, and Leene cannot stand to have her time wasted. The girl whose eyes cannot help wandering to her quarry, cannot help wondering if she is making a mistake, an enormous mistake. But if you must make a mistake, it is far more impressive to do it on the grandest scale.
Leene is the goddess of chaos, riding beside her brother at the head of the charge, grinning at the glint of sunlight on enemy spears. But there are no spears. The rest of both armies had long retired, long moved on to other (perhaps not better) things. It is only she. Only she.
And she is still looking for the battle.
0o0o0o Where obsession needs to go... 0o0o0o0