01-21-2025, 06:06 PM
Some time later...
Consciousness came back in slow and uncomfortable waves. The remnants of the ijiraq’s hold stayed with her in those moments, churning her stomach. She could feel her eyes were saltcrusted, and refused to open them, because she could also hear the murmur of voices behind her. For a while she only breathed under the blanket, hating that she was forced to feel such vulnerability in a room of strangers. Oriena’s reputation preceded her; no one would ask if she was okay. And it was probably better that no one did. But it didn’t make it feel any better.
Where ironclad oaths and brutal force had not worked, now the ijiraq tried a communication of guilt to sway her hand to the action they desire of her: to break the tablet that would free them, to kill those responsible for an incarceration of eons – to save what was left of this hive. Ori remembered waking up in the tunnels the last time this happened filled with vengeance. Now it was only despair left inside, a reminder that she would feel each loss as her brethren were inevitably cut down for Atharim justice, just as they had both felt it at the ball. They do not love you, Lady of Strife. You are worthless to them and you owe them nothing. You will always be alone. But you have us.
When she did open her eyes the first thing she saw was the packet of drugs. Abruptly she remembered Sasha and the rain and the way she’d wanted to make him run. Her brows narrowed low at seeing what he’d left. Surprisingly it hurt, though it was a feeling she stamped down on, as hard as a boot crushing down on a chest.
“Rise and shine, princess.” A foot nudged her own. She felt Zeke climb over her, settle himself down against the wall she faced. Ori didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at him, though her jaw flexed.
“Payment for the fuck,” he said, grinning a wide grin at her, and flicking the packet closer to her nose like she hadn’t already seen it. “Didn’t care for those ugly scars. Certainly didn’t think you were worth the effort of healing after. Fortunately I was around to look out for you.”
He whispered it all pleasantly, yet as knowingly insidious as the ijiraq’s words winding through her skull. His gaze glittered intently, absorbing her reaction, testing the sharpness of his words. Ori pushed herself up. Her eyes were red and raw, and something in her emptiness made Zeke flinch, though his brows rose too like it quickly transformed into an avid fascination for her pain. She didn’t look away, but for a moment she contemplated doing something stupid to wipe the expression from his face. Instead she only swiped the clothes and shucked off the blanket.
“Fuck off, Ezekiel.”
She didn’t say anything else, and she didn’t look back. She’d go where she always did when she felt this hollow. To see Nadezhda.
Consciousness came back in slow and uncomfortable waves. The remnants of the ijiraq’s hold stayed with her in those moments, churning her stomach. She could feel her eyes were saltcrusted, and refused to open them, because she could also hear the murmur of voices behind her. For a while she only breathed under the blanket, hating that she was forced to feel such vulnerability in a room of strangers. Oriena’s reputation preceded her; no one would ask if she was okay. And it was probably better that no one did. But it didn’t make it feel any better.
Where ironclad oaths and brutal force had not worked, now the ijiraq tried a communication of guilt to sway her hand to the action they desire of her: to break the tablet that would free them, to kill those responsible for an incarceration of eons – to save what was left of this hive. Ori remembered waking up in the tunnels the last time this happened filled with vengeance. Now it was only despair left inside, a reminder that she would feel each loss as her brethren were inevitably cut down for Atharim justice, just as they had both felt it at the ball. They do not love you, Lady of Strife. You are worthless to them and you owe them nothing. You will always be alone. But you have us.
When she did open her eyes the first thing she saw was the packet of drugs. Abruptly she remembered Sasha and the rain and the way she’d wanted to make him run. Her brows narrowed low at seeing what he’d left. Surprisingly it hurt, though it was a feeling she stamped down on, as hard as a boot crushing down on a chest.
“Rise and shine, princess.” A foot nudged her own. She felt Zeke climb over her, settle himself down against the wall she faced. Ori didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at him, though her jaw flexed.
“Payment for the fuck,” he said, grinning a wide grin at her, and flicking the packet closer to her nose like she hadn’t already seen it. “Didn’t care for those ugly scars. Certainly didn’t think you were worth the effort of healing after. Fortunately I was around to look out for you.”
He whispered it all pleasantly, yet as knowingly insidious as the ijiraq’s words winding through her skull. His gaze glittered intently, absorbing her reaction, testing the sharpness of his words. Ori pushed herself up. Her eyes were red and raw, and something in her emptiness made Zeke flinch, though his brows rose too like it quickly transformed into an avid fascination for her pain. She didn’t look away, but for a moment she contemplated doing something stupid to wipe the expression from his face. Instead she only swiped the clothes and shucked off the blanket.
“Fuck off, Ezekiel.”
She didn’t say anything else, and she didn’t look back. She’d go where she always did when she felt this hollow. To see Nadezhda.
![[Image: orianderis.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/orianderis.jpg)