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Eska
Left at the Altar
She didn't cry very often. And that was because she never gave herself over to her emotions very often. There was just something...useless about doing so as emotions did not contribute to resolutions, just clouded judgment.
But some part of her at the moment believed it to be appropriate, if not wholly...necessary to give into feelings.
Feelings...More tears…a chokehold on the flowers in her hand…
Bolin.
She was supposed to have been wed by now. "Icy bliss"…that was the phrase she had used.
"You seem to be under emotional distress, Eska."
She stared about the empty chapel and meeting Desna's eyes. Her brother walked towards her, eyebrows furrowed and jaw tight and wiped against her cheek, showing a wet streak of blue on his fingertips…her eye make-up. It was a move of confusion and even...disapproval, a subtle hint of how out of character she was acting. Over bumbling, immature Bolin no less.
They were out of sync; she...felt out of sync. Overwhelmed with unnecessary, doubtful, and betrayed...feelings. Again some traitorous part of her wanted to shout, "I am under emotional distress," but there was no point in being redundant. Or shouting. It was likely plain on her face; she just noticed the priest was grimacing. The embarrassment of it all unnerved her.
And then she heard it—the sounds of shouting and screaming. The Avatar, "Kor-ra" as she heard her cousin's name pronounced in that Southern Tribe inflection, performing what she clearly believed were her Avatar duties, albeit in that volatile, impulsive manner of hers. Letting her emotions getting the best of her. Creating chaos.
Kor-ra.
Korra.
Bolin.
And then it all clicked.
Where Bolin had gone; who he was with.
And why she felt the way she did.
Bolin had refused her love. He had refused the decision she had made to save their relationship. He had chosen Korra over her and her feelings.
She didn't feel sadness—just a...pang in her heart at the emotion. There was anger; there was the hot flash of betrayal that warmed her face.
She didn't speak, just turned on her heel, detaching herself from her twin and dropped the flowers at the chapel floor. Her footsteps were sure; her hands moved of their own will, clearing her path of the southern people and northern footmen. She was a force much greater than chaos; much more lethal than any military coup or being was capable of. Her path brought her to the dock and the yacht within her sights. Her hands rose in a sweeping arch, bending the water to her will.
Her face grimaced. To be more frightening, more intimidating. Bolin responded to fear; he had forgotten that he was powerless in his fear of her.
And yet, deep inside of her, there was calm, a reminder of what she had said she would do if Bolin ever left her.
…Dolphin piranhas…
The grimace that grotesquely stretched her face felt genuine. Familiar.
Her feet left the dock.
Bolin would be hers again.
Or he would be no one's ever.
A quickie…