She withdrew her hand from his grasp sharply.Then, with a sharp crack, she struck.
Not him.
Her own cheek.
The sound was horrifically loud in the quiet pavilion.A mark bloomed instantly on her dark skin.
She didn’t even flinch.Her eyes remained locked on his, colder than death."Are you done?"
The refusal to give him the reaction he craved doused his arousal like icy water.He stared at her, smile fading, eyes dimming.Eventually, he released her, standing to adjust his robes.
It seemed he had yet to be worth her ire.
It was only a matter of time.
The bowl of herbal soup shattered against the floor.Porcelain shards skittered across the stone, the bitter liquid blooming across the pristine white of her mourning dress, a stain as dark as her rage.
She looked at her hands, her expression darkening.
"Why are you shaking?"she whispered to the empty air, the words a seething indictment.
The fury broke its dam.
A guttural sound tore from her throat as her own hand lashed out, cracking against her cheek.The pain was a bright, clarifying sting.
Stupid.
Little.
Fucking.
Bitch!
Another slap, from the other side, harder.
You dare love that man!
She wailed in her head, the betrayal searing her heart.The physical punishment wasn't enough.It couldn't scour out the disappointment she felt so deeply.Her own body once loved that man.
She struggled to breathe, opening her mouth to scream only to heave and gasp for breath.
Azul hadn’t been trying to protect her father, not at all; she was trying to protect him.
So she hid herself, she hid their past, and she hid their love from herself.From the traveller, the stranger in her body.
Her body seemed to move of its own volition, thrown back, her spine connecting with the wall with a sickening thud.The air left her lungs in a pained gasp.
She slid down but didn't stay.Pushing herself up on trembling limbs, she stumbled toward the low table.Her hair was now a wild mane, framing her reddening face with wild strands.Shaking hands closed around the familiar weight of her silver hairpin.
Spirits should not remain—
She pressed her left palm flat against the polished wood of the table, fingers splayed.The hand was shaking violently, rebelliously, as if it knew what was to come and fought its own master.
She wrestled with it, her body twisting, a ghastly dance of self-conflict as she fought to hold it still.Her jaw was clenched so tight her teeth ached.
In the land of the living!
She raised the pin and stabbed.
