Miss Pixel is hereby back again.
The chapter's a bit short... but then again, the last one was a bit long. And plus, Karin's ramblings are just fun to write.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Karin Köenig had no qualms about killing.
She could stand the sight of blood, and she did not find death rattles or screams of pain unnerving in the least. Hell, she sometimes preferred the din of some good violent bloodshed to being alone, if just to put some excitement into her otherwise unremarkable routine of getting out of bed, bathing, and – oh, going to Zurich to see Yuri's dead girlfriend? That was only a small damper on her day, and the rest was simply delightful the moment she got her blood pumping with a few simple swordplay exercises.
She was beginning to think that nothing more could scare her, for not once had she leapt onto a chair and screamed at the sight of a rodent or danced on her toes in fright in the presence of arachnids, and she couldn't remember the last time she had flinched from a faceless enemy on the battlefield. In the parks of her old town, she had been the one to fight with wooden sticks among the boys while her peers sat and watched obliviously… and when she thought about it, she realized that her family hadn't raised her to be a soldier – she had been a soldier since the day she came into the world, destined not to marry off into a wealthy family but to lead men into battle, spilling ribbons of blood with quick cuts and deft slices and never blinking an eye at it.
So if she was the great Lieutenant Köenig – a warrior woman, an Amazon – then why was this thing about love driving her so insane; why were these events of the past, these fleeting moments among so many, stealing so much of her time and thought?
For God's sake, was her only thought as she trudged up the first unfamiliar stone stairwell she came across in an effort to find something that might otherwise occupy her. For a grown woman to be sulking and lingering with such a distant memory, and a dream at that… what would her friends think of her? Never mind her friends, what would her family think of her?
But it was not entirely her fault, she reasoned, for in her defense it hadn't seemed at all like a dream; more like a vision, in truth, for it had been vivid and clear and had taken place in the very last place she remembered speaking to Nicolai as a friend… why would her mind choose any other place if it wanted so badly to torment her with guilt? And as if God – or at least her own sense of shame – had intended it, she remembered his words and his gestures, the pleading expression in his eyes and the helpless tone of his voice as he called and begged as if all he wanted were her presence by his side… all of them as if they had happened in reality.
At first she had thought that he was blurting out the first things that came to his mind – that they were meant to be together, that he could give her the love she deserved. And he was right, she'd realized as she hugged her bare arms in confusion, for she knew better than any other that Yuri was simply incapable of moving on from his angelic Alice, and that his devotion was with his former love, never to be torn away by a passing lovesick crush.
Even when her every sense told her to close her ears and move away, Karin had known beyond a shadow of a doubt that even if the dream-Nicolai's intentions had been foul and clandestine, his words were painfully true. And she'd thought: how stupid of her not to realize that she'd been happy during their short months together, and that what he'd been doing then – giving her his attention and his friendship – was no different from what she so badly wanted from Yuri. Wasn't it time to break her stubborn connections to him, and pledge her love instead to Nicolai, who so ardently wanted and desired her and for whom she harbored such deep-seated affection?
But if that was the case, something akin to madness must have unseated her confidence, for like a child she'd stepped capriciously back from his touch and recoiled from the warmth of his body. She hadn't gathered the strength to resist when he came close enough to her to put his arms about her bare shoulders; to whisper to her his devotion, the sweetest and most valuable thing he could give her… but once her sense of fear and justice had jostled her fantasies out of the way, the thought had come with a jolt that he was a frighteningly good actor, for even though his words were false and foul, they had nearly brought her to tears. And to this day she could not determine what it was that had kept her caution alive… was it the challenge in bringing Yuri happiness once again, or just the lingering affection she had for him?
But perhaps it had been the constant knowledge that just behind her, Yuri lay on the stone, fast asleep and dreaming of more pleasant things… and that if she yielded to her heart, she would in turn become a traitor and regret it to the end of her days.
"You manipulate people's hearts," she recited to the echoing hallway, tightening her traveler's cloak around her shoulders when the feel of the words against her tongue sent shivers down her spine, and continued silently, following the conversation through in her head because it frightened her too much to speak out loud.
You think you can hide your true self behind your smooth talk, and –
She encountered the same pause – the same hesitancy, the same half-gasp, half-hiccup that had stitched her throat as she tried to sort out the haze of thoughts in her unconscious sleep-thought. She wondered if Nicolai might have had the same problem, if the dream had also been his – would he have stopped and stammered and acted upon the muddled logic granted to him by sleep?
– and your good looks, she'd blurted without thinking, wondering as she said it if that was really his true self: a conniving moneymaker out for fame and fortune… because once, she had believed so completely in him, and to think that it had all been a façade just might strike the finishing blow on her decaying heart.
Not that it mattered any longer – although the image of his expression, angry and confused, remained burned into her memory when she awoke in a cold sweat, the only explanation was that it had been a dream and nothing more. After all, the next time they'd met, at Apoina Tower, his gaze had been firmly fixed on his hated Godslayer, never once meeting her searching eyes or suggesting that he had, not long in the past, spilled his heart out to her with the intention of whisking her away like a knight in shining armor.
She nearly tripped on a stone step in the darkness – her oil lamp had conveniently extinguished itself, and somehow she had taken no notice – and realized that she was suddenly faced with two sets of stone steps, one leading upwards and the other downwards, both into pitch darkness.
But she had been here before, hadn't she? Her small party had been intelligent about it, of course, leading to the formation of Yuri's most brilliant idea in years: splitting up. She'd volunteered to take the lower level, and she and Lucia had searched that floor through and through to no avail when they'd found nothing but a set of empty cells and what they'd thought with much terror must be the spirits of a thousand vengeful ghosts.
Karin squinted upwards, following the very slight outline of the steps upwards with her gradually adjusting eyesight, and struck a match into her lantern, taking the first strides up the dirty steps towards the landing. And as she reached flat ground, brushing spiderwebs out of her face, she began the next ascent, drawing ever closer to what looked like a small, enclosed hallway above and unable to shake the suspicion that she was headed towards a dead end. She sorely hoped not – this place was already pounding on her nerves, and descending into utter blackness wouldn't be nearly as comforting as going up into it.
As she walked, boots clicking unpleasantly loudly on the floor, the shivers through her body seemed to grow in magnitude, and for a moment she thought in jest that perhaps she had a sixth sense that told her when she was headed for certain doom. But as she continued, she realized that it was not because of her fear that her arms were quivering, but because in the past few moments alone, the air had taken on a different quality, subtle but distinctive enough to make her hair stand on end – the musky coldness was suddenly touched with a faint pleasant scent, the origin of which she couldn't quite place. Quickening her pace, she traversed the length of the short hallway in mere seconds, flying through the dark enclosure until a large mahogany door loomed before her.
It was a plain door, devoid of markings or ornamentation that would help her to locate the corresponding key, and so she began searching, fumbling with the ring as the infuriatingly familiar aroma invaded her senses.
What was it, exactly? An intangible sense of elegance, of refinement; the sense of sanctuary she'd always felt while nestled in the arms of God during her prayers… and then there was a more corporeal perfume – the dusky scent of curling parchment, of pen and ink, a studious and scholarly smell she encountered in the deepest sections of churches and libraries where academics bent their heads into books and scrolls.
If it had been as simple as that, she would not have scrabbled with the keys so haphazardly, but there was something more to it than the musty fragrance of old books and churches… something cool and clean, permeating this dismal place of death like a beacon. Even though it felt icy in her lungs, the quivers it sent down the length of her spine were warm and soothing, and that indescribable uniqueness was what made the memory so near to her that it hovered on the tip of her tongue. It had been not long in the past that she'd encountered this, and when she had, simply breathing had become a luxury when each breath was graced by the sight, the sound, the scent of…
Her hand brushed the cold gleaming surface of the twelfth key on the ring, with a body of smooth silver, graceful and pure unlike its fellows of bronze and copper. With a start she realized what it was that the aroma reminded her of, and because it made her heart hurt to think of it, she swallowed down the lump in her throat and slid the key into the lock, turning it forcefully and hearing the sharp click of tumblers as they released and allowed her to push swiftly through with too much force for its delicate hinges.
Yes, somehow Karin's last name magically sprouted a diaeresis (ö). It just looks more German that way.
By the way, MikoNoNyte, if you're reading this, that entire section about the 'familiar aroma' was pretty much inspired by your minty Nicolai in Love Unrequited. Just giving you a heads up :-)
In the next chapter, I will MOST DEFINITELY get to the story's namesake.