So I really have no clue what I'm doing but what ever happensss leeetsss beegaaaaaaahhhnn
This chapter is rated K-plus.
the lie of the fair
duo: alstromeria
Amaranda – Doudecim
She tugs at her shirt. The chair is supposed to be big but now that the night's gone by and she's 3 numbers older it's a bit less scary or authoritative or big.
She tries to get used to the thin straps now, since that was the only thing they had for kids her size, not quite petite, that was decent. Sursum almost didn't nod approval but let it go anyway. But not without an invitation to that chair.
Amaranda doesn't know where they put Korinna's body or if they moved her at all. The thought of that lifeless hair falling over the table, her lips still parted in goodbye, still lying down if Amaranda ever returns to the place. But things just don't happen like that.
"It isn't good that you had to see that," Sursum Annalisa says, at least. She's leaning back in her chair behind the table, and they're both in a room, and it's much more colorful than where the Fairlies usually stay. Shelves and frames. Chairs with backs. Books. Books aren't common. In her life, at least. But the way they are placed it makes Amaranda think that Sursum doesn't touch them too too often.
Sursum never says sorry. It's always replaced by another word. It shouldn't make sense why she doesn't—she looks just like the other girls, with the brown hair, scars somewhere, blue eyes, gray shirt, chronic scrutinizing look. She may be 16 tragedies old. She's not that old. But all Amaranda's existence Sursum's been the Sursum, the leader, the higher one, the one you "look up to." Maybe there's a book on Sursum's shelf that has the meaning of words and the meaning of "look up to" is "fear".
"I did," is Amaranda's response, as there's no other way to put it. Maybe with numbers come wisdom. Or advancement of language. Because Amaranda's always had a fiery tongue but it seems to enlarge. She's speaking by what she knows and that's that.
"I told you to leave."
"You never stopped me when I didn't."
"This will get you nowhere, Amaranda."
"It's not like I need to get anywhere."
Stumped. Amaranda should feel pride but all that's inside is empty days. Korinna. The baby.
"I bet the whole barracks aged with that. We couldn't afford this."
"What does aged mean?"
Sursum looks over, annoyed. "Nothing you need to know, Amaranda."
She wants to ask why it's so bad that the child's here now. Why it's so terrible. A tragedy. The Fairlies grow by happenings, and it seems like all that's happening are bad things. It's been a long while since Amaranda advanced, but this was too sudden.
If Sursum cared so much about why it's so horrible, why not tell her? Life is a big want and what and wait.
"This is what happens when you step outside." Sursum sighs. "That child should have never been born."
"Why?"
"That was defying the rules." She leans over the table, that Amaranda now sees is a deep brown, and she peers over Sursum's hand to see what that big paper is she's holding down with her hand and Sursum snaps it from her view. "We don't let you go out for a reason."
It was never clear to her. There's all girls in the barracks, there's nothing of this one kind of person everyone whispers about called boy, and Amaranda doesn't know why they're so harmful, so unseeable. So when Korinna snuck out for some reason that may have to do with a boy, and came back through some kind of gateway from the outside, wet, disheveled, somehow looking broken even though in one piece. Like she expected something to go one way…but it didn't. The object of curiosity, with all the "What does he look like?" and "Is it good?" (And why there's no s before he is beyond Amaranda.) But not after Sursum whisked her away to this room.
And for months Korinna didn't know why something was kicking inside her, but once Sursum figured out, she lost that brightness in her eyes. For months it was all hush hush. But now, that the irreproachable occurred…it's all let loose. It's been hours, but Amaranda can feel the gray words in the air about "I knew it was gonna happen" and "What eyes do you think she is?" all when prying ears are gone.
"And the name. How could she pick that name? Seven letters. Expected, coming from a seven lettered herself."
"What's the letters have to do with it?"
"Everything! Do I have to repeat it with you?"
"No!"
"Well, clearly, you forget. Anything below eight is unacceptable. We don't follow her example." And her is sad with all the contempt in the world. A poisonous word, when laced with others that most definitely implies the girl, the reason for all this. The Fairlies have a beginning, as timeless as all seems.
"Amari was the fair princess." Sursum repeats. Amaranda never knew the princess of what, but that isn't important. "She met a male. Though forbidden, she drew him with her eyes. Green eyes. She was never to love but what they did was forbidden so we're forever promised to stay like here."
"Pure."
"Be careful with that word."
"I'm supposed to trust all this happened?"
"Believe what you want," she snaps. Amaranda feels a sting that lingers maybe a bit too long.
"Why is it so bad?" Actually, what they did, whatever that may be, sounds nice. To be wanted. The word love is another colorless word, one of the things you hear every once and a while that it becomes so unimportant to know.
Sursum's eyes say the answer. You won't understand. "And she lied to her surroundings and those she was vowed with. The ones who stayed truthful rebelled. And our side drew into submission and stayed on our own." Amaranda sometimes Amari's side creeping backwards into a building very much like this and staying put. "We became the Fairlies. The Veritans watch windows every day for revenge."
"So we're shamed to never see outside."
Sursum never directly agrees either. "You are not human. Fairlies don't get to be human. And the princess of the Fairlies is not one to admire. A new generation of blue-eyes were born. Non-rebels, valuable, mostly. Every now and then, a green-eyed sees the barracks. But we never want this to happen ever again. So we're careful with our numbers. And we don't go below eight."
Amaranda plays with the silver ring on her thinnest finger. Sursum Annalisa has one too. They all have one. What's the reason of that? Some other tangent Amaranda doesn't want to hear.
"I need you to watch the child."
"Korinna needs me to watch the child."
"Korinna is dead now."
"I know she's dead now, Annalisa!"
It wasn't smart to go down that road. She's silent, and it's the loudest no in the world. "Korinna was supposed to lead with me. As Sursum, I have the final say in who keeps an eye on her." She really doesn't: if the mother said something, that mother's word is what happens, and Sursum's just lucky that what she wanted, apparently, corresponds with Korinna's. "You need to make sure nothing happens."
"Why me?"
"You may be able to try to understand the differences that the child possesses. You're different, Amaranda. While your outside says duodecim, you're older inside, and that's a product of your power."
"My push."
"You're able to push the childlike-ness away. You understand, you're awake. That's what we need."
Amaranda has a tough time thinking that; she feels like all her thoughts now are still young and strange. But there definitely something peeking through the lack of light, something she wants, that she can't quite name yet. Many things, many names. Her power is so meager, just being able to excuse thoughts, but it feels like there's more to uncover.
"You still need to learn, though."
"I can take care of myself."
"You will do exactly as I say."
There really is no free will in this, just yes. But Amaranda doesn't speak. It's almost defeat, but she doesn't let herself belief that.
"And the good thing is the child will age quickly too. It will only take minor tragedies to get you both older. She'll be walking in months. She's already made sounds."
Amaranda still doesn't know what that word means, age. And why doesn't Sursum just use the child's name already? She's called Jesamae, there's no sin in that. Or…
What's a good thing? Her mouth almost makes, but she's sure she's supposed to know by now, that asking questions like that get you nowhere, even though you're not going anywhere, and so on…
"Leave, now." Annalisa waves her away. Amaranda's still playing with the ring, circling it around her finger continuously. "And don't play with that."
With a chilling stare, Amaranda circles the ring one more time and rises from the chair and gets out of that miserable place.
Review. TMITRJSOW. (Tell me if this really shoulda just stayed on Word.)