Clarissa nicked her right index fingertip with her dagger, the keen edge drawing across and into the worn skin with ease. A dull, insignificant pinprick of pain reached her senses as her nerves reacted to the wound.
Not enough.
She moved the dagger away from her hand, now sporting a tiny spot of blood on the edge, and moved it upwards onto her lower arm, no longer protected by her bracer, which laid on the grass beside her with its back face-down on the ground, unwanted and forgotten.
She pulled back the leather under armour, revealing bruised, battered skin lighter than her other, more exposed parts of her body, which did nothing to conceal the motley collection of battle wounds received through self-defense, and through the defense of others. Her mind drifted ever so slightly at the thought, images and vivid moments flashing past.
She gritted her teeth and pushed them away.
Remember what you're here for.
Her mind forcibly blank once more, she let the dagger alight upon her skin, then pushed slightly down, piercing the frail flesh with an effort she barely acknowledged. This time, prickles and stings followed the five-inch line linking her scars together, coalescing into an agonizing throb that renewed itself as blood pulsed through her system and into her new wounds. She winced slightly at it.
Not nearly enough.
She grimaced at herself, flinging the dagger into the ground tip-first with a strength born of frustration, making the first three inches of steel bury itself in the dirt.
"What pain can match this?" She asked no one in particular, letting her voice fade out into the dark of night, away from the warmth of the campfire.
Perhaps a little closer... She thought, nodding slowly when she let her heart convince her head, allowing it control over her actions.
Closer to where it hurts most.
She yanked her dagger free, holding it backhanded now. She traced a line from where she had come – up the palm of her hand where she once held her by, past her wrist where she once made her promise, up her arm where her touch once danced upon her, across her shoulder where her arms once encircled her, drawing to a halt on the spot where she once rested her head, and her heart, upon.
Surely I can feel this.
The tip caused a slight tingling where it touched Clarissa's skin through the chainmail undershirt she wore. She felt a smile touch her lips, of all things.
You're thinking upside down, Clarissa. Her mind, pleading reason, halted her actions for half a second.
My whole world is upside down. She retorted. She didn't need this thrice-blasted argument clouding her judgment. She knew full well what she was doing, what she wanted.
All she wanted was a reprieve from the agony, a rest from the pain that followed her wherever she went, enveloped her in its inescapable torment and strangled her with its tightening noose.
She begged for death but it, in its mercy or cruelty, denied her her escape. She took matters into her own hands, hoping against what little hope remaining within her that flowing blood could ebb the tides washing over her but, as with all the things she wished for, it was for naught.
She still felt her presence, distant, enclosed and withdrawn. She wanted her back, and she would do anything it took to do just that.
Surely she can feel this.
She let the blade descend.
An arrowhead, forged in silverite, tinted with firelight and blurred by blinding speed, struck Clarissa's dagger, overpowering her halting stroke and knocking the weapon from her hand. Clarissa gasped softly in surprise, and no sooner had she reached for her dagger than she felt a shadow, long and lean, take from her the light from the fire. She paid it no mind. It did little to repel the chill that nestled in her before, and it certainly made little difference now that it was gone. She forced a passive expression onto her face as Katja stood over her for the briefest of moments, then sat down beside her.
"What are you doing?" Katja asked, her soft, hushed voice revealing she knew full well what she saw. Whatever her words were, Clarissa felt genuine concern in them, something she did not expect to find.
"Something that didn't and shouldn't have involved you," she said, her tone flat, lifeless and lacking in the vibrancy it once possessed so abundantly. She twirled the dagger in her hands and, the second the tip pointed at her chest, she felt it snatched away from her loose grip. She glared at the elven woman sitting beside her only to have her glare back, her seated form having shown nothing that hinted towards movement of any sort.
"Give it back." She demanded.
"No."
"Give it back! I'll not be treated as a misbehaving child!" Clarissa spat, leaning into Katja to reach for her dagger, who then casually threw it at a nearby tree, the deceptively strong force behind the throw slamming half of the blade into the weathered wood.
With a loud curse, Clarissa stood and stormed over to the tree, pulling the dagger out of its sheath with an anger that fell leaves and urged blood to flow from the wound on her arm.
It's nothing. Nothing a small spell won't cure.
It was what she would've said, had she been here. She would've waved her hand lightly over the blood, give of herself for her mistakes and mishaps both in and out of battle, and smile shyly when she caught her looking at her while the spell knitted flesh and mended skin.
But she's not. She's not here.
Anger fizzled as heartbreak and sorrow filled her once more, drawing tears from her eyes that she hadn't thought she was still capable of shedding for all that she wept for for nigh on two days. She felt hands pull her down and arms wrap around her shoulders as she sobbed drily, heaving uncontrollably. The pain wouldn't relent, however. It knew that, for all the warmth and comfort Katja could provide, she wasn't who its host desired.
She felt eyes running over her arm, taking in the morbid amount of blood that gathered without ebb or pause.
"What have you done to yourself?" Katja whispered, reaching into her pouch and producing a length of cloth bandages. She removed her hand around Clarissa to aid in bandaging the wound, replacing it with the side of her head touching Clarissa's in a gesture of care and intimacy that warmed Clarissa despite her bleak state. The pointy end of her left ear tickled her.
She relished in the feeling of Katja's lithe fingers dancing on her skin, but deep within herself, she knew it wasn't enough. It wasn't her. The bandage was wound tight to prevent infection and it throbbed with the pressure applied on the cut, but Clarissa refrained from mentioning it to the elven woman. She hoped the constant pain would take her mind off of the agony that threatened, day and night, to tear her in half.
"Thank you." Clarissa muttered with unmistakable gratitude in an otherwise low voice.
"What would harming yourself accomplish, Clarissa? Would killing yourself bring Bethany back?" Katja asked, not unkindly. She spoke softly, carefully, as if to prevent from provoking Clarissa again and to encourage her to be forthcoming with herself, to coax answers out of her.
"I... I don't know." Clarissa managed, searching within herself for the answer. What had she been doing? Would a knife to her heart truly have brought Bethany back to her side before she perished because of her foolish wants?
"She was always by my side," Clarissa began, speaking out loud without heed of whoever might hear, "ever since Mother told me she was expecting her and Carver, I've cared for her, watched out for her and worried about her, even with me being so young and Bethany still in her womb."
"Bethany was an apostate at birth, and although she may not have admitted it, she had always treated herself as such. She thought of her gift as a curse, a cause for her be hunted by the Templars and feared by commoners should they learn of her identity. In a way, she was right, but she has always imposed so much upon herself." She said, squeezing her eyes shut as the memories flooded back.
"I was the only normal thing she had. Carver treated her different because of her mage blood, even though the same blood ran in his veins and his cause for it was mere sibling rivalry most of the time. But deep in my heart and his, I knew that he blamed her for us never possessing a normal life, and I know that Bethany blamed herself for it as well."
She felt an arm snake around her shoulders as Katja listened. She kept going.
"She was such a beautiful girl, so pure and guileless. I trusted her implicitly because I simply could not believe her to be even capable of becoming those magi I dreaded in stories. I protected her, holding her closer and tighter than anyone ever did, perhaps even more than Father." Katja could hear how high Clarissa thought of her through words alone. Every word was true and every confession so close to her heart she dared not speak of them in length for fear of breaking the fragile vessel.
A vessel of tears, that's what it is.
"I swore to protect her with my life, and that we, as sisters, would be together for as long as the Maker was willing. I burned that oath onto my bracer, to remind us both that I would never leave her, never forsake her and that I would never, ever hurt her." Clarissa stopped, an all-too-familiar emotion gripping her.
Disappointment. At herself.
"I failed as much times as I succeeded."
Katja tightened her hold around her, as if afraid she might fall into contemplation once more.
"The last few years were... confusing. I loved my baby sister, who was coming of age and maturing faster than I could have imagined. Because of my vigil, I distanced myself from men, romance and all the things a young girl would've lusted after until those desires were beneath me." Clarissa said, pausing for the briefest of moments. Katja thought she heard her chuckle under her breath.
"I was wrong. Spectacularly wrong."
"What I saw within my sister was what any average person would've seen: A young, nubile woman who knew fun when it could be had, understood what her role was and what she wanted in life. She was wise beyond her age, adamant against adversity and compassionate before those who deserved it. I could find no flaw, and before I knew it, my view of her changed."
"I loved her less and less as an elder caring for her young and more and more as a woman finding what she longed for in another person. I gave up most of my life for her. She was the closest thing I had to a soul mate for almost a quarter of my entire life, assuming if I lived that long. I understood her better than anyone else; She understood me more than my parents did me. I fell for her slowly and uncertainly, battling my sense of duty and decency at every turn, but it was a battle I was doomed to win."
"For nineteen years, I did what I thought to be best for her. I shielded her from the harms and wrongs of the world; I lied for her against countless men and women knocking on our door; I lied to her about countless more, if only to keep her safe. I thought it would be best that way. I was wrong."
"You can't shoulder the world as your burden, Clarissa, let alone two." Katja said consolingly. It was the first time she talked throughout Clarissa's recounting, and she'd hoped she'd spoke wisely.
"You don't understand." Clarissa said, her voice breaking.
"I was never a devout Andrastian, unlike Carver and Bethany. It's one of the reasons why I was able to think next to nothing about the scripts of the Maker's word siding against my... less than appropriate thoughts."
"Bethany sinned against the Maker for me. She was my piece of heaven. I didn't want to let her go, so I did what I knew in my heart to be right to keep her at my side. She was my center, the sole reason for my existence. She was the only thing that kept me sane."
Clarissa shrugged off Katja's arm. She let darkness wash over her and coldness invade her. She didn't care anymore.
"Now she's gone because of me." She said on her lips.
My love, my love! Why have you forsaken me? She cried with her thoughts.
There was no answer, save for the soft crunch of grass shifting and a strong arm pulling her close. This time, she was powerless to resist.
/Virtual cookies for figuring out where the last thought was from.
Spike: You could call it spite. But you could also call it something far worse.
Ml33t: I have some ideas regarding the upcoming chapters. Don't worry, it's related to happy, squishy reunions. Totally.
I hope this chapter hasn't been too... angsty, to say the least. Next chapter will be less disturbing. No promises.
.../