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Date Posted: 19:29:02 01/25/06 Wed
Author: Evelance(Darlith)
Subject: And goodness knows, the Wicked’s lives are lonely…
In reply to: Nerilki(Avianyth) Fair of Four 's message, "Fallen angels at my feet" on 21:10:39 01/18/06 Wed

And goodness knows, the Wicked die alone…

Lance, who wasn’t even sure why she was talking, found herself giving a grim smile at the girl’s obvious lack of subject. She waited patiently as the girl had an internal battle with her dragon—the effects showed on her face—and didn’t speak once. Her soft, fallen angel features had a slightly amused, slightly dark look, almost like an obvious demon trying to befriend. She flicked a lock of dark silk out of her icy eyes, which never left Nerilki’s eyes, and when she was sure the rider was listening again, she spoke in the same monotone, softly depressed voice.

“Sullen, to be frank. My love has locked my out of the weyr.” Noticing how the girl would probably misinterpret this, she paused then whispered, “My only love is my Darlith, by the way.” Her serene eyes showed a flicker of rebellion, as if to prove her devotion to the blue. Let anyone second-guess her—she held Darlith as the only being even remotely worth dying for… or, in her case, worth living for.

My sweet, Darlith whispered, seemingly in her ear even from their home. She is a sweetling, isn’t she? The greenrider? Perhaps you shall talk to her more often? The blue’s soft, tenor voice was a mere echo of Lance’s alto, his voice as deft and strange as hers. Both voices always had that sarcastic sort of quality, and often unconsciously gave the impression that they knew more than they let on.

You’re the only sweetling for me, Darling. Her use of his nickname made him rumble in affection. The way the two talked, it was almost as if they were weyrmates rather than lifemates. You know how I abhor the humans. No matter how much Darlith tried, he couldn’t make Lance have a friend. Even though he was the only one who made a difference in her attitude, her life… not even he could change this fact.

Lance had, of course, noticed the symbolic irony of the unlikely humans. The Angelic innocence of the greenrider, the damned air emitted from the Fallen Angel bluerider. The soft, beautiful golden locks that framed a smiling face, the sleek raven silk that hid a pale and depressing sight. Laughing blue eyes that made one melt, the cold glaciers that drove others away.

But, no. While the girl was the Angel to Lance’s Devil, Lance would not—could not—let herself be swayed at all. She remembered again exactly what she went through… all the torture, the pain, and just over one girlfriend. Besides; the girl was probably straight, and then their personalities didn’t seem to mesh at all…

In the past, when Lance was only thirteen and without her precious Darlith, she’d been …in love… with a wonderful girl of fourteen. Her world, her Tirah. Knowing their families view on women as slaves to men, they kept their love quiet. However, when Lance’s father had come home an hour early from work and walked into Lane’s room, he didn’t find a studying daughter, but a black-haired stranger sitting in another girl’s—was that their neighbor’s daughter, Tirah?—lap… kissing. The girl with raven hair wasn’t his daughter… or, not anymore. Lance had somehow managed to get her girlfriend out of the room unscathed, only to have her father pull her back in by the hair, slamming her into a wall. There was wine on his breath, but not even in drunkenness would he forget what he’d seen.

After giving her the worst beating of her life, Lance’s father had given her to man after man, telling them to do with her as they wished. If they could break her, they could keep her. Of course, with a beauty like hers in a small Hold with no women’s rights, there were many eager men. They ripped her, tore her, and shard near killed her… but she remained unbroken…

…or, at least, she remained a rebel. She never would fully trust a man again, and that was broken in its own way.

It just shows, when you’re Wicked you’re left only… on your own…

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