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White Rose	By : CeeCee Category: X-men Comics > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 10605 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men fandom. Marvel Entertainment owns these characters. I make no money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Harsh Light of Day
Summary: A dream. An escape. A rescue. Amends are made. Plots are schemed.
Author's Note: The last chapter exhausted me, but I had fun with it. Yes, Ororo is a bitch in this, or more accurately, a beast. Get ready for a throwdown!
"Emma?"
She almost thought she was imagining things when she heard the high-pitched, faint mew, followed by low, rhythmic purring.
"Jenny?" She didn't recognize the sound of her own voice, it was so haggard and hoarse, too old for seventeen.
"Aye, sweet. I'm here with you."
"I'm so cold. I'm so lost." Emma lost track of time, counting the scratchy skittering of rat's paws in the dust.
Her palms were raw from her attempts to work at the rusted lock and to feel around for a flaw in the cold stone walls. Emma spent hours pondering and puzzling how to get out. She screamed. She negotiated with the Wind-Rider until her vocal cords strained. She reached out with her mind, but found herself ignored, mute and helpless in the dark in every way.
She collapsed and wept in despair, and bitterly, Emma wondered what kind of bargain she would need to make for her freedom.
Jenny crept into her lap, nuzzling her, letting her whiskers tickle Emma's cheeks as she settled against her for warmth. Emma instinctively stroked her soft fur, hungry for the contact, and Jenny's paws kneaded her neck as she purred, and purred, and purred. Emma's rapid heartbeat gradually grew more even, matching the slow throb of the feline's. Jenny squinted up at her, content with the change in the young woman. "I won't leave you, dearest."
"I'm all alone. She despises me, Jenny. I've lost all hope."
"Mistress doesn't hate you at all."
"She must. She certainly still hates my father."
"Nay. She was frustrated with him, surely, Emma. He violated the sanctity of her home. She was bound to get her feathers ruffled. You know from firsthand experience that this isn't just any house. There are secrets that need protecting."
"Aye. You all seem bent on keeping those secrets from me. Forgive me for being a goose, but if you wish me to stay here, a kept pet, then I should have all the same privileges of the animals roaming around under her roof."
"A kept pet? Hardly." Jenny huffed and kneaded Emma's chest, stretching and yawning as Emma stroked her ears. "You underestimate your worth."
"I'm in a cage. I've estimated correctly, sweet." Jenny sighed and nudged her with her paw.
"She needs to trust you."
"Yet clearly, it doesn't matter that I cannot trust her."
Jenny mulled this. "There were others before you."
"Others. Did they end up here?"
"Typically, no."
"That doesn't comfort me."
"All of them lived to tell the tale, dear heart. But they were sworn to secrecy."
"I can't imagine why," Emma deadpanned.
"Mistress treated them well. She showered them generously with gifts. Every prospect who entered here was shown the greatest level hospitality she had to offer."
"She didn't drop them from the sky?"
"Not typically," Jenny told her dryly.
"Bad cat. Don't tease me." Jenny purred, continuing to knead Emma.
"She likes you."
"I wish the feeling were mutual."
"Could it be? Ever?"
"Jenny, I... I honestly don't think so."
"You're certain."
"Look around you. You tell me how certain I am." Emma tsked in disgust. "No captive likes their captor."
"Forgive me. I won't beg you to reconsider," Jenny told her soberly. She gave a very feline sigh and her eyes squinted nearly shut as Emma scratched her ears.
"Surely I'm not the first person to cross the threshold to keep your mistress company."
"Nay. There have been many who came before you. All of them fell short of her expectations." Emma felt that sense of only being given bits and pieces of the information that she sought.
"What does she expect?"
"Something genuine. And someone honest to a fault."
"I'm an open book."
"She would be hard-pressed to believe that of a woman who can read minds, herself."
"Not hers, for the most part."
"Really?" Jenny was intrigued. "You can't read her thoughts like you can with the rest of us?"
"I'm not even certain how I'm able to read yours, dear heart. Then again, I never had the reason to read any beastie's mind before."
"Pardon me," Jenny told her haughtily. "I'm hardly 'any beastie.'"
"Forgive my impertinence," Emma chuckled rustily. She dashed at her cheeks, hating how her cooling tears made her skin itch. "But your mistress' mind is closed to me. The only emotions I can read from her are anger and mistrust." Her sigh was heavy. "Was she always like this?"
"That's not something I'm at liberty to discuss," Jenny admitted.
"I see."
Jenny replied with a low huff, squinting up at Emma with irritated blue eyes. "They say cats are curious to a fault. You put me to shame, darling."
"Am I being too nosy?"
"Aye."
"Will you tell me what I need to know, anyway?"
"Aye. Yes, yes. Within my own discretion, of course." Jenny stretched and snuggled against her, smacking Emma's hand with her paw to make her continue scratching under her chin. "She wasn't always so dour, per se. Quite the contrary."
"I will admit... she has a rather... sick sense of humor."
"That much hasn't changed, bless her heart. When her family was still alive-"
"Her family?" Emma was surprised.
"You didn't think she just fell from the clouds one fine day, did you? Of course she has a family. Or she had one," Jenny corrected. "But Mistress was a different woman altogether until they died."
"Oh. I'm so sorry."
"It was rather tragic. They were killed by robbers who invaded the castle one night. Mistress was the only one spared."
"They wouldn't dare attack her, she would have torn them to shreds," Emma mused.
"They never saw her."
"Why not? Wasn't she here when they entered the castle?"
"Aye. But she was down here. Underground, well out of sight." Emma blanched.
"Oh, my heavens. Tell me, Jenny... was she... like she is now?"
"Aye." Jenny already sensed she had said too much, but Emma was bursting, giving her curiosity its full momentum. She hungered for answers that the feline wasn't sure she could give.
"Emma... please. Don't get ahead of yourself. Mistress... her family... they couldn't accept her the way she was."
"But-"
"I can't tell you anymore."
"Damn." Jenny nipped Emma's hand, making herself clear that she'd had enough of being caressed, and of being pumped for answers. Jenny dozed on Emma's lap soon enough, and Emma decided to let the matter rest for a while.
*
Her mind took Emma to a safe haven while she slept, plunging herself deep into her subconscious. Here, there was light and warmth, and she was fully in control.
She walked through the fortress confidently, calmly, completely at peace. Every window opened to sunlight and open ground. Every room was comfortable, featuring mementos of happy memories and visions of those who were dear to her.
Emma heard strains of music playing, a complex melody rendered by flutes and violins. It as beautiful, bringing a smile to her lips. She found herself humming to it, and it lightened her steps, following it down a long corridor.
Emma smelled roses and wildflowers, and she felt a draft of fresh air sweep through the space around her, as though someone opened a window. The breeze stirred her hair, lifting it from her neck, but she didn't shiver. The music grew louder as she neared a tall oak door. She knocked, but no one answered her. Curious, indeed. She tried the knob, and it turned for her with little effort. She opened the door the merest crack and peered inside.
"Oh. My."
The music was uninhibited, as were the guests occupying the enormous room, a ballroom, if Emma wasn't mistaken. Sheer chiffon panels draped from the corners of the ceiling to meet an elaborate, beautiful crystal chandelier. Damask and velvet curtains and valances dressed the tall windows in lush blues and purples, coordinating with the upholstery of the gilded chairs and ottomans. A small four-piece orchestra played on the corner of the room, dressed in finer garb than any that Emma had ever seen, wearing silk waistcoats and black velvet breeches, and kid leather shoes with silver buckles. None of them looked as though they had ever worked a day in the field or in a barn, Emma thought enviously. They were well-practiced and dignified, but they were playing the jaunty piece with relish.
The room was packed to the rafters with guests, and Emma felt out of place, despite the fact that this was a room of her mind's making, and she assumed she was the hostess. She smelled the mouthwatering aromas of roast hens and beef, the astringent tang of dry wines, and the sweetness of custards and finger cakes. Her stomach growled, but she didn't know who to ask for permission to eat.
The guests swirled around her, rapt in their abandon of all except the celebration. Women chatted and gossiped, sipping spirits from goblets and dainty cups. The men boasted and leered, signing dance cards and sweeping giggling partners up from chaises for a fluid, waltzing turn around the floor. She felt disembodied, still out of place, and Emma gasped as a lady in an extravagant dress approached her, seeming to look right through her. "Excuse me... oh!" Before Emma could move out of her way, the woman walked right through her! Emma glanced after her, shocked.
"That didn't just happen... did it?" Emma stared down at herself, holding out her palms. Strangely enough, they were glowing faintly, and she could see the floor tiles and her own feet through her fingers. It was as though she were made of the same substance as light itself.
She didn't have time to ponder the impossibility. A bawdy, uninhibited laugh assailed her ears, startling her. Emma turned toward it, wondering who felt the need to draw so much attention to herself amidst this highbrow crowd. She wandered closer, wading through a flock of perfumed, elaborately coifed women. She noticed them preening and gesturing, flicking, lace-trimmed elegant fans, even though the room wasn't stuffy. She craned her head around them from the back of the crowd, until she had a brainstorm.
Emma gradually walked through each person, not stirring so much as a molecule of air around herself. She still had a sensory connection to her surroundings, sights, smells and sounds all completely intact. She just couldn't feel anything, which unnerved her.
She reached the nexus of everyone's attention, and her mouth went dry at the sight of a dark-skinned woman, taller, more elegant, and ten times more beautiful than anyone in the room. She was stunning, taking Emma's breath away.
Her voice held a lilt of amusement, and droll humor danced in her eyes, which were impossibly blue, the hue of the sky on a perfect day. Her skin - so unique! - was the color of cinnamon and smooth as velvet. Her smile was broad, revealing perfect, pearly white teeth. Her features were classic; her eyes were large, slanted, and rimmed in long lashes, her cheekbones were high and sharp, her nose long and straight, and her eyebrows held a natural arch.
The most striking aspect of her appearance, outrivaling the opulence of her garments, was the long, thick, lustrous waves of white hair fastened back from her high, intelligent forehead. It reached down to her narrow waist and was dressed in strands of tiny pearls. Her gown cinched in at the waist, and the skirt fell in graceful folds down to the tops of her platinum satin slippers. The heart-shaped neckline plunged almost indecently, revealing the hills of her full, ripe breasts. The gown was lovingly crafted from a rich, midnight blue velvet, with a bodice piped in white satin, and the puffed sleeves ended at her elbows, emphasizing slender arms.
For Emma, time seemed to stop. Her heart pounded and the other sounds around her seemed to fade away as she watched this vision, listening to her speak, understanding why the crowd fawned over her. A huge bear of a man - that was the only way Emma could describe him, he seemed to lumber rather than walk, and his body was massive - dressed in livery offered her a goblet filled with red wine.
"Keep it flowing, Santo," she murmured, winking up at him. The long-suffering servant nodded and disappeared to do her bidding, while another man in a similar uniform appeared, bowing low. Emma was impressed by this one. His smile was enigmatic, and he had swarthy, tanned skin and eyes so dark they were black. His sable brown hair was clubbed back from his face and he possessed a fine physique.
"Mistress, your mother wishes to see you in the parlor before you open your gifts."
"Why can't she simply come down?" Emma was amused and appalled at the way she pouted with her full lips, dark as plums.
"She wishes to speak with you in private. In the library."
"Very well," she sighed dramatically. Her friends tittered as she stood and gave an exaggerated curtsy. "I shall return!" she announced before sweeping out. "My major domo is kidnapping me." She nodded to him. "Thank you, Manuel."
Santo. Manuel. Emma frowned, wondering why the names were familiar to her. She watched the object of her interest walk away. She didn't trip over the long gown, and the crowd parted for her, curtsying and bowing in her wake. Emma was curious about her mother, wondering who could have given birth to such a magnificent creature.
More than anything, however, she was just intrigued by her. Emma's feet carried her from the ball room, and she was almost sad to leave behind the strains of music and the revelry.
"Mother does remember that this is my birthday ball?" Emma noticed that her voice took on a slight edge, and she winced.
"She certainly does," Manuel assured her cheerfully.
"I do hope she picked out something decent to wear, instead of those old black rags of hers. You'd think she was dressing for a funeral instead of the day that her only daughter comes into her own."
"Lady N'Dare is the picture of elegance, no matter what she wears, not unlike her daughter, no?" Manuel tried to pacify her, but Emma sensed his irritation, despite his fondness for his mistress.
"You're being too generous, Manuel."
"Mistress Ororo, might I make a suggestion?"
"You're allowed to make it, surely. That doesn't mean I plan to take it seriously." His dark eyes burned and he pinned her with a sardonic look.
"You're too kind." She chuckled and slapped his arm with her fan. "Go easy on your mother."
"I'll be the perfect lady, as always."
"Now, now, senorita, sheathe those claws."
"Yes, yes." She waved him away impatiently as they reached the library. Emma wondered why it looked familiar to her. Her mind was creating an atmosphere drawing from bits and snatches of things she had seen, places she'd been, but she wasn't certain she belonged there.
Manuel knocked on the door, and he opened it as a deep voice that belonged to someone older and female beckoned them inside. "Enter, daughter."
"You called for me, Mother?"
"Sit." She beckoned to the comfortable-looking chaise, and Ororo - Emma mentally rolled the name around on her tongue, deciding she liked it - obeyed, assuming correct posture and politely tucking her feet beneath her skirt. "I need to discuss your prospects with you, darling." Ororo wrinkled her nose in disgust.
"Ugh... Mother, please."
"Don't 'Mother, please' me. We've been over this before, and I get nothing from you but impudence and disrespect. Your father and I won't live forever."
"No. You will, just to vex me. I'll hear your voice in my ears every night for the rest of my life whenever I retire, telling me I need to find some prospects."
"Plenty of them have crossed our threshold, but you make little to no effort to consider them."
"I consider all of them a waste of time. I'm not ready to get married, Mother. I find the entire institution overrated."
"Do you? Do you find the prospect of providing your mother with grandchildren equally unnecessary? Or even continuing our bloodline over future generations?"
"Blah, blah, blah. Bloodlines. You'd think you were talking about horse flesh, Mother." Ororo waved away the thought with a slender hand. But her mother, a handsome woman of middle years, looked vexed. Piqued. She banged her fist on the escritoire, and Ororo had the decency to jump back.
"Listen to me. Listen closely. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of your profligate, carousing ways and bad behavior. You're not a child anymore. You're twenty-one years old, more than old enough to make a suitable match. Instead, you run loose with questionable acquaintances, and I've heard rumors..."
"Rumors. Please." Ororo snorted. "Rumors are just a nice name for things that are already common knowledge that people are too polite to admit."
"Common knowledge. It breaks my heart to know that my only daughter finds it amusing to shame me. You're a wanton. A harlot." Ororo's smile faded and she folded her hands in her lap, shrugging.
"Speak your mind, Mother. Don't mince any words on my behalf."
"Oh, but I won't. I see the way you flirt and cavort under my own roof. I know you've taken partners into your suite after hours. Sometimes more than one. Not all of your lady acquaintances are 'ladies' in the proper sense. You've had questionable relations with them, or so I've been given to understand. And you don't limit your activities to our home. Townsfolk speak of a white-haired noble woman who frequents the taverns and gaming hells. Your lack of discretion is impressive."
The blood drained from her daughter's face.
"I've turned a blind eye on your behavior long enough. I bade your father to stay out of this. I wanted to address this with you, without his interference. He's indulged you too much over the years, and I blame that, and my own compliance with his wishes, for the result. You're haughty, spoiled and indolent."
"Don't forget thoughtless. Careless. Inconsiderate. Improper." Ororo ticked off each damning word on her fingers. "Indecent. Indelicate."
"You mock me."
"No. I'm listening, Mother. I've always listened to you berate me, lecture me, and tut-tut over my wicked ways and shortcomings. I'm a horrible daughter. Terrible." Emma marveled at her deadpan expression but felt irony radiating from her. "Are we finished?"
"You won't sweep me under the rug. You will hear me out."
"I think I've heard enough. My guests are waiting."
"You've plied them with plenty of wine. They'll wait a few moments longer." Lady N'Dare reached into the desk drawer and removed a scroll. The red wax seal was already broken, and she unrolled the parchment, tapping it. "Prince Remy is interested in a meeting. I've arranged a luncheon for the first of the month."
"Oh, that's rich. Mother, he's not the one for me."
"You two haven't even met!"
"I don't need to meet him! He'd damaged goods. Anna threw him aside already." She spoke of one of her rivals, Anna Raven of Darkholme Downs, whom she kept uneasy, careful company with when she went to court.
"Then how about Silvercloud?"
"Jonathan Silvercloud? Don't make me laugh. He's maimed. I have no use for someone crippled." Her mother was aghast.
"He was a soldier. He served his kingdom proudly and protected his borders. He would make a fine husband. He's a man of sterling character."
"Next." N'Dare narrowed her eyes dangerously.
"Prince Warren?"
"Vapid. Too pretty." Warren Worthington was also a rake, more shameless than Ororo herself. Vainly, she mused that she didn't want to have to compete with her husband for potential partners. "You'd hate him, anyway, Mother."
"Manuel! Fetch me a tonic!" she called out. Manuel bowed and ducked out of the library, glad to get away from the tension between them.
"Mother... this won't work. You want me to keep up appearances. You simply want to shoo me down the aisle in a white dress with a perfect husband to please the rest of the world."
"And you simply wish to continue to embarrass your father and I and whore yourself about to the general public, free of any meaningful commitment or responsibility."
"I'm not made for it. For commitment. It's tedious, Mother. And so is this conversation. I have guests awaiting my return." Her mother drew herself up and nodded grimly.
"Then hurry back. Enjoy your party."
"You won't wish me a happy birthday?"
"Daughter," N'Dare said. She crossed the room and met her daughter where she stood. She took her soft hands in her own, leaned in and kissed her cheek. "This might well be your last happy birthday, if you don't change your ways." Ororo stiffened and tugged her hands free, and N'Dare swept past her from the library. "Manuel, bring my tonic up to my suite. I have a headache," she called out. Ororo heard his voice drift up from the stairs and sighed bitterly.
Emma felt the swirling, conflicting emotions within her, anger and indignance warring with amusement and surprise. Emma, more than anything, felt appalled by her behavior. How could such a beautiful woman act in such an ugly manner toward her own mother? Emma pined for her own mother ever since her passing, mourning the loss of her affection and sage advice, her stories, her ladylike demeanor and gentle touch, her humor and decency. It boggled her mind that a daughter could treat her mother so poorly, take her so much for granted.
She watched the princess re-enter the ballroom, and the music was faster, this time, not the lilting waltz she heard before. The guests partook of the wine and sweets and began to lose their discretion. Dance cards were ignored, partners were stolen at random and dragged teasingly onto the floor. Graceful steps gave way to less practiced maneuvers, and Emma felt the heat rise up several notches in the room.
She watched Ororo join the fray, swept up by a dashing, rakish man in a red waistcoat and tails, and she laughed like she hadn’t a care in the world.
Emma knew she didn’t.
*
�@
She didn't know how long she'd slept, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of Jenny's soft bulk against her chest. Emma woke with a start and a crick in her neck, dismayed to find that her situation hadn't changed.
The dream made little sense to her as the final impressions faded from her mind. But why did it feel so real? Emma felt as though she were seeing it all through someone else’s eyes.
She dragged herself back to the matter at hand. She was still trapped. She mulled what she had been told, taking stock of what little she knew about the Wind-Rider.
Her family had locked her up in this stinking hole. No wonder she was so bitter. Emma shuddered, wondering how long she had resided down here, in this space devoid of light and fresh air. The Wind-Rider seemed to crave open spaces, which made sense, given her enormous wings. Being trapped in a cell like this one was perhaps crueler than keeping a song bird in a cage.
So why, Emma wondered, was she so devoid of empathy? She knew how horrid it was to be trapped in the dark. How could she do the very same thing to her father, an elderly gentleman, who needed warmth and shelter on a miserable night?
The cat had left out too much. Emma decided right then and there that she would need to dig for more information on her own, with more discretion. As if Jenny sensed her traitorous thoughts, she yawned and stretched, nudging Emma's chin with her forepaw.
"How did you get down here?"
"Through all of the ins and outs and tiny spaces that only cats can ease their way into, Emma dear. I know my way through the castle and can be quieter than a fly on the wall."
"I'm surprised the flies haven't begun speaking to me yet."
"Don't be silly. The flies can't speak here."
"Well, pardon my ignorance."
"Perhaps this once," a familiar, dulcet voice chittered at her, the accent unmistakably French. The tiny monkey tumbled into the corridor, dropping to the floor in front of Emma's cell.
"Oh! MARIE!"
"Hush! Don't shout," she chided, but the delicate held out her paw between the bars plaintively. "Are you all right, mamselle?"
"Well, how do you think I am?"
"Filthy. Desole, mamselle. I was afraid something dreadful like this would happen. You should never have run off with one of Mistress' mares."
"I realize that, now."
"Are you cold?"
"I can't feel my toes." Emma had stopped shivering once Jenny had lent her compact warmth, but it wasn't sufficient.
"This won't do at all," Marie-Ange tsked. "Mistress will be furious with me when she finds out I have come down here with you."
"And you suppose she'll spare me her wrath, then?" Jenny deadpanned, flicking her tail as she crawled down from Emma's lap. "Don't be such a silly bint. Why'd you risk coming down here?"
"I couldn't sleep, knowing Mamselle was down here alone. It reeks horribly, no place for a lady. Even the mares in their stalls, sleeping amidst their own ploppings, have more dignity than the poor soul who ends up trapped here."
"That makes me feel ever so much better." Emma was growing irritated with the "sympathy" her guests were extending at this point. They didn't need to belabor the obvious, did they? "You don't have to stay, Marie-Ange, and neither do you." Jenny mewed.
"I don't plan to stay, mon ami." Marie leapt up and scaled the wall adjoining the cell, making no effort to join Emma inside. Emma heard her chittering, her small digits scrabbling over the stones. Suddenly, the monkey leapt back down to the floor, and she held up something shiny in triumph. "And neither should you."
"You minx!" Jenny meowed in alarm. "You didn't!"
"I most certainly did." Marie-Ange swung up onto the bars, finding purchase with one paw while she used the other to manipulate the small iron key in the lock. Emma watched in disbelief, hearing the small clinks and rattles against rusted metal, and she held her breath until the lock gave way. Marie leapt down and shoved against the bars with all of her might, barely budging it, but the door squealed open before Emma finally sprang to her feet.
"You wonderful, lovely, amazing little creature! I could kiss you!"
"It wouldn't hurt to stand on ceremony, this time, mamselle, since I have a better suggestion."
"Aye?"
"Oui. Run. Quickly, now."
"She'll skin us alive," Jenny reminded her friend, but both animals ran ahead of Emma, who found herself stumbling in the dark, not planning her escape, merely giving in to her feet's desire to move her out of this cramped space. She stumbled about, feeling along the damp walls, heart pounding in her chest. Emma was euphoric but terrified. She was free!
"I don't want anything to happen to you if I leave!"
"We don't want anything to happen to you if you stay," Jenny pointed out. "I just wish..."
"What?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Come along." They moved through the maze of corridors, and none of it looked familiar to Emma, which unnerved her. The beast's home was far too vast! Hope still sprang into her chest; she could make her way back to Chris, or even to Jean-Paul. There was still a chance to save her brother, and herself.
"This way," Marie ordered tersely. "This is the laundry chute. All you have to do is climb up, and you'll end up in the wash room. It adjoins the kitchen."
"She'll find me," Emma hissed. "What good will that do?"
"You can hide in the clothes until we tell you it's clear. Then you can make your way outside. Not to the stables, this time."
"No. That would hardly help me," Emma said bitterly. It frustrated her to have worked so hard before and to have gathered no ground, only ending up back where she started in the space of a day.
"Do you still have a mirror with you?" Jenny inquired. Emma brightened, reaching into the pocket of her skirt. She wanted to laugh out loud when she found the cold, hard object, wrapping her fingers tightly around it.
"Yes. Yes!"
"Then you'll make your way home," Marie-Ange confirmed. "We wish you well."
"Godspeed," Jenny added, but Emma felt sadness from both creatures, and she was torn. Pangs of guilt over the risk they took in angering their mistress nagged her, twisting her gut. But Emma was terrified at the thought of remaining a prisoner, and she had no idea how long the Wind-Rider planned to keep her there.
Her cell smelled of sickness and death. Her skin crawled.
"I'm sorry," Emma blurted out. "I'm so sorry. I don't know why you need me here... I know there are things you don't want me to know-"
"Don't ponder them. I'd like to say, 'Remember us fondly,' Emma, but I know that isn't likely at all. It would actually be best if you struck us from your mind completely.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I could never forget you.”
“I mean it. When you leave here, don’t look back.”
“Jenny-”
“This won’t be the first time that things didn’t work out. It won’t be the last,” Jenny said flatly. But Emma felt a wrongness in what she said, feeling the cat’s doubts and a cloud of despair that settled over her.
“You feel it will be the last. Don’t you. You’re giving up hope,” Emma accused.
“Hope only exists in a heart where it’s allowed to grow.” Jenny ran ahead of Emma too quickly to allow her to press her for more answers.
Emma found the laundry chute. It was cramped and darker than the corridor, triggering her panic again, but she crawled up, up, seeking out any sliver of light or draft of fresh air. All she heard was her rapid pulse and the creak of wood beneath her hands and knees. She reached the tiny door ahead of her, wanting to laugh aloud with relief, but she couldn’t allow herself to make even the merest sound as she pushed her way through. She breathed in the musty scent of the laundry room in shallow draughts, shivering inside the chilly space.
Emma peered around, searching with her mind for any trace of the others’ thoughts. She found traces of their voices throughout the estate, but they were all coming from the second and third stories, too far away to hear or smell her presence. She moved quickly, grateful that her cloak was still hanging on the peg. Emma wasn’t worried about the rest of her belongings, since she’d brought along so few. She made her way to the back door of the kitchen and stole outside on light, quick feet. She shivered, victim to the cold gusts of wind that stole beneath her skirt and whipped her hair off her neck.
Emma ran, mindless of her path, only seeking to put distance between herself and her captor. Her hostess, she corrected herself bitterly. Emma made her way into the deep woods, frustrated that very little of it looked familiar. The moon was partially obscured by clouds, so her way was poorly lit. Emma reached into her pocket for the mirror, and she was relieved to see it begin to glow, surface swirling as it sensed her desire and destination.
“Take me home to Adrienne and Cordelia,” she bade it, “and quickly.” The mirror glowed more brightly, compensating for the encroaching darkness. Emma smelled a hint of rain on the air, and dimly she wondered if it was a natural storm approaching, or if it was the Wind-Rider’s handiwork.
She wouldn’t stay to find out.
*
The large gray wolf’s haunting silver eyes watched the blonde human curiously, then with growing interest. She was young. Ripe. Supple.
Prey.
The creature huffed and growled low in its throat, and the three juvenile males surrounding it pricked up their heads, scenting the air. Their tails wagged and they followed their leader from the den, slinking through the brush.
They were hungry and lean, but their coats had thickened gradually with the shift to autumn. Small game was growing more scarce as the forest’s creatures fortified their nests and found hollow logs and other dens to hole up for the harsher climes. The young adult female was a tempting prospect; they could feed off the scraps for two days, maybe three.
They padded after her softly, covertly, staying downwind and out of sight. She was so absorbed in what she was doing, wending an uneven, awkward path through the trees, that she didn't notice their progress toward her. The alpha licked his lips in anticipation.
The kill would be quick and neat.
*
�@
Ororo sensed a wrongness within her house. It woke her from a troubled sleep. She climbed down from her perch and rattled her wings, stretching them. She crossed the room, ignoring the chill in the room resulting from the dying embers in her hearth. Ororo slept nude, shunning the need for garments when she wasn't affected by intense cold. She shook herself, scratching the myriad places on her body that itched thanks to her thick coat of fur.
She felt what she could only describe as a gap, an emptiness. The darkness around her seemed to whisper to her, encroaching upon her, filling her with uncharacteristic dread.
She'd learned not to fear the darkness anymore, or the loneliness. Rather, she embraced them, keeping them close, easy bedfellows. Those first few days after she was cursed, she'd nearly gone out of her mind... Memories of the cage swamped her in a mad rush. Pain. Anguish. The scrape of rusted metal sliding across the floor. Cool shackles clapped around her wrists. Despair. Hatred.
Alone.
The thoughts rushed at her, unchecked for several seconds, and Ororo growled, clawing at her temples in an attempt to tear them out. "No," she rasped. "NO! Not now!" She drew uneven, harsh gusts of air into her lungs through her flaring nostrils, growing dizzy from the effort. "Won't get the best of me," she insisted.
"Mistress?" She smelled Manuel and heard him scratching at her door. She snarled at him to give her a moment while she rummaged for her black robe, an unadorned shift that tied at her waist.
"What is it?" she roared.
"I'm sorry to wake you," he began. He wisely waited for her to open the door to him, and he cowered when he saw her fit of pique. Her eyes were narrow, dangerous slits. "I see I disturbed your beauty sleep."
"Imp. And I was already awake."
"Mistress... there's been a slight, er, mishap."
"A mishap." She slapped her forehead and sighed heavily. "Is one of my mares loose again?"
"No, senorita."
"Robbers in the garden?" She welcomed the opportunity to tear them to shreds, or at the very least, scare them out of ten years of life.
"Is anyone under my roof giving birth to a litter? Is anything on fire?"
"Mistress..."
"Wait." She didn't like his demeanor. He was entirely too fearful, certainly nothing new in their exchanges, but there was something about his hesitant manner, his wince and pained tone that vexed her. "Has something of mine been lost?"
"S-si, Mistress."
"Something... valuable?"
"Regrettably. Something most... precious. I-i-irre-p-p-placeable."
"I see. And how did this... mishap... happen, pray tell?"
"Well, I'm not certain as to 'how,' per se. Just when."
"WHEN?"
"Roughly an hour ago. Give or take."
"You went down there. Under the house," she pressed.
"Si. Er, I was concerned. I was afraid that the senorita was cold."
"That was something you felt you could help her with? You wished to comfort her?" Ororo deadpanned. She was seething, however, and it was all she could do not to bowl him down the stairs with a swift kick.
"She isn't there," he finished. "Her scent is growing cold."
"That explains it," she muttered under her breath. There. That was what was missing, Emma's presence in her mind, or at any rate, hanging on the fringes of it.
"How can I assist you?"
"Get out. Leave me be."
"Oh. Of course." He hesitated, nose twitching.
"OUT."
"Si!" He scurried away, leaving her fuming.
Ororo growled, snarling with more intensity until her voice reached a full roar that resonated through the rafters and threatened to shatter every glass and ceramic trinket in the suite. Anger fueled her, surging through her body and making her hair stand on end. She flung open the curtains and shutters and dashed up onto the sill. The wind whipped her hair about and ruffled her feathers. Emma couldn't have gotten so far away that she couldn't catch up to her.
It hit her in that moment that she didn't know what to do with Emma once she found her. Ororo was flummoxed.
Build a stronger cage? Chain her up to the wall? Ororo mulled that, excitement humming in her belly. The thought appealed to her, particularly when she remembered how tempting Emma looked during her bath.
She shook herself. No, no. Stay focused.
She leapt from the sill, flinging herself into the bitter night. Moonlight limned her feathers and white hair, and the wind tore the sounds of her growls from her throat, muffling them.
She flew over roughly an acre before her eagle-sharp eyes picked up a small flash of light. She began to descend, and she gradually picked out a flurry of movement. Someone was running below her, winking in and out of the trees.
*
Emma was freezing, heartily wishing that she had worn an additional coat beneath the cloak. The air felt damp, and a faint drizzle began to mist her cheeks. She blew on her hands to warm them and did her best to keep moving. Her legs burned from the effort, but she kept running, knowing that any misstep or delay would land her back in the cage, or worse.
Or worse.
She hated feeling so unsheltered and vulnerable. She hated the Wind-Rider for forcing these circumstances upon her. Emma resented her father for being so stubborn and hell-bent on finding his fortune once again, for being desperate enough to bargain her away like a length of silk or a jar of spice. She was a simple farm girl. She didn't belong cooped up in a castle, let alone a cell.
Emma felt a strange chill sweep over her that went beyond mere cold. She was being watched.
"Oh, dear," she murmured, clutching the hood of her cloak more closely around her head. She mirror sang at her, and it showed her the next bend in the path, making her wonder why it wasn't beckoning her toward the cave nestled in an outcropping of rock. It was tempting to huddle inside until the weather settled down, but she had the feeling that wasn't her best option.
It was best to just trust the mirror. It hadn't failed her before.
*
�@
The wolves whuffled and panted, closing in on her softly and licking their chops. Close. So close.
She smelled delicious.
*
�@
A flock of sparrows chittered and took flight. Their rustle of wings startled her, and Emma flung up her arms over her head instinctively. Emma wasn't fond of birds, hating how destructive they could be to crops, devouring grains and freshly sown seed and corn as soon as she could plant it. Their only virtue was that their droppings fertilized those same crops, but it wasn't a share-and-share-alike relationship.
"Go away, little monsters," she hissed under her breath. She stopped, panting raggedly. Emma leaned against the trunk of a large oak, wondering how far she could make it. The village seemed too far away, and home was never so precious, or more appreciated than now, when she stood so close to losing it.
A bone-chilling growl made her hold her breath and freeze on the spot. Emma's blue eyes widened and she shivered, not wanting to know what could make that sound, or why it sounded so close. She turned slowly, not wanting to make any sudden moves.
Four pairs of gleaming silver eyes pinned her, sizing her up. And they were hungry...
*
�@
The shining object that had caught Ororo's attention stopped glowing. She cursed over the loss of her beacon, but her eyes adjusted to the darkness and lack of adequate moonlight the lower she flew. There. She caught the familiar scent of young female flesh on the wind, and Ororo knew she was going in the right direction.
She sniffed again and growled. There were other creatures nearby whose scents were confusing her, mingling with Emma's. Beasts. Lupine. She catalogued the characteristics that she recognized, weighing her chances if she had to confront them. Males. Young, probably juveniles.
"They're not mine," she realized, and a frisson of unease ceased her. "This isn't good."
Her wings beat the air, and Ororo raced the wind, flying hell for leather toward her prized possession.
No one stole what was hers. More accurately, no one devoured it but her. Her heart pounded and Ororo tasted fear on her lips, acrid and bitter.
*
"N-nice... doggies," Emma murmured, hoping to placate them. They were unfamiliar beasts, and she prayed that she didn't look threatening. "Look, see? Nice Emma. Nice wolfies." One of them yipped as they made their way out of the shadows. "Oh, dear. Please. Can't we talk about this?" Their only response was to bark and growl. The largest of the three scrunched up its muzzle and snarled, bearing wicked, ivory teeth. Its black-rimmed eyes swallowed her up. Emma felt dangerously close to wetting herself.
They weren't like Rahne and Dani. They can't talk! Her mind raced with possible solutions, wondering how she could drive them away, or at the very least, reason with them. "I'm not very tasty," she whimpered. She reached out with her mind, trying to touch their thoughts.
Nothing. At best, she could read their emotions, but there were no coherent thoughts, no way of exerting her influence over them. They advanced on her. Emma scrambled back against the tree, not wanting them to have access to her back. Her blood pressure and adrenaline spiked and she felt dizzy, unable to breathe. Emma's tears streaked down her cheeks, freezing against her skin. "Please, Lord. Help me."
And for once, he heard her. And he helped her in a way she never expected.
Emma's blue eyes gleamed in the darkness, filling with an odd, glittering silver light. The wolves' hackles rose, and they chafed at the charged air surrounding their prey. Something didn't seem right.
Emma's fingers gripped the bark of the tree, digging into it. Her nails tore splinters of it up, all the way down to the bare, raw wood. She was too scared to scream.
*
�@
Ororo struck like an eagle, swooping down silently, her taloned fingers extended. She caught the first wolf by the scruff of its neck and flung it away, hurling it into a tall pine. It bounced off the trunk and whined, reeling with the pain of several broken ribs and a deep gash in its neck. It yelped and shied away as the interloper attacked the members of its pack, ruining his chances of dinner.
The creature before them was no wolf, yet not human. She was bigger, still female, and she had an odd musk that they had never encountered before. Their senses were confused as they tried to sort out the reptilian, leonine and avian influences in her make-up. She roared at them, and the remaining three wolves bayed and growled back, asserting their dominance.
She landed and stood her ground, opening up her wings to their full span. Emma gasped as it fully dawned on her what she was seeing.
So she wasn't free. Ororo had followed her. She was doomed, bound to be imprisoned forever. Angry defiance sprang into Emma's spine. "Get away from me!" she demanded.
"So you can get eaten? Will you give me no end of trouble this night?" Ororo didn't meet Emma's eyes, too distracted by the creatures before her that growled and gnashed their teeth, hackles raised.
"I don't belong to you!" Emma railed.
"You're missing the point! Wolves? You don't see the wolves?" Ororo accused as the rangy black one charged them, desperate for a first bite of either one of them.
"I'm not going back with you!"
"There won't be enough of you to go back with me if you don't. SHUT. UP." Ororo lurched back as the wolf leapt at her, pouncing squarely against her chest. Its maw slavered and gaped at her, set to cease her throat. It's head snapped and worried back and forth, and Ororo roared as her fist lodged itself between its teeth. She wrenched her hand free and clouted it sharply in the muzzle. The other two wolves, emboldened by the struggle before them, joined the fray initially, meaning to take down the stronger one, first, and then feast on the other. They would eat well tonight.
Pain lanced through Ororo's wing, and she beat it furiously to dislodge the wolf who clamped its jaws around the cartilage and pinions. The other charged her, huffing as it clawed her, tearing a burning path down her side. Ororo's roars ululated and changed into hoarse screams, and Emma had never heard such an inhuman, haunting sound. Her blood curdled and she felt sick.
Ororo thrashed the wolf to the ground, neatly forcing it onto its back. She bared her teeth and lunged for its throat, the very method the beast planned to take her down with. It yelped and whined, legs flailing and beating the air. She ignored its claws and closed her jaws more firmly around its neck, growling at the sizzle of its foul blood as it pooled around her teeth. She was revulsed, unable to stand it, and she rose up indignantly, giving the beast a kick that sent it rolling into the brush.
The remaining two considered their odds, deciding that a joint approach would work the best. Both of them lunged at her, tearing at whatever limb they caught first. Ororo screeched as her wing was once again seized and bent until she heard fragments of cartilage and marrow snap. Iron jaws snapped around Ororo's forearm, and she felt its hot breath and sharp teeth pierce her flesh.
This prey wasn't as tempting as the first, but it was certainly tasty, reminiscent of fowl, and the wolf agitated her limb, trying to tear it free. It danced on its hind legs, parrying and pushing at her, driven to take her down.
"NO." Emma read Ororo's anger, how appalled she was at the lengths she had to go to in order to protect her. She felt her revulsion... at herself. She hated herself. Emma didn't know how to react to this revelation.
The woman couldn't face this beastly side of herself, being reduced to behaving like an animal. It went against her sense of dignity. It was a graceless state, shameful and demeaning, and the Wind-Rider was on the brink of despair.
All I have to do is let them take me, and end it. My suffering will be over...
"Oh, no you don't!" Emma cried. The energy around her grew charged again, and she felt a tingle run through her body that gave her goosebumps. It thrummed through her, making every molecule spark and burn.
Her skin caught the moonlight, holding it captive, and Emma began to glow. She cried out as the light, and heat, invaded her. Her awareness of everything around her changed. The wind no longer bit into her flesh. She no longer felt the ache of her throbbing feet and burning lungs.
The wolves reared back, and Ororo shook them free, cursing and growling, but she was distracted critically by a flash of light off to her left. She confronted it and gasped, shielding her slate-gray eyes from the bluish white light that threatened to blind her.
"Oh, my," Emma gasped. She held up her hands, inspecting them. They weren't her hands anymore; they weren't even flesh. Her skin glittered up at her, a riot of fractals and prisms of light, more brilliant than a gem stone.
Like a diamond.
Emma grew dizzy, but adrenaline drove her movements, manipulating her into action. She reached for one of their lupine attackers, not caring about its gnashing teeth. She gripped it by the scruff of its neck, no mean feat then the girth of its neck was wider than her head, and Emma flung the beast away. Its bulk sailed through the air, crashing against a large rock. The beast collapsed, lifting its head one last, desperate time before it breathed no more.
His brother turned on Emma, no longer holding back or treating her like a weaker opponent, but Emma stood her ground, not falling back when it leapt up at her and planted its forepaws on her shoulders. She ignored its snapping teeth, grasped its legs and twisted them until they snapped. The beast howled pitifully, and she shoved it away, satisfied when it dragged itself away, yelping pitifully. Emma's breathing was harsh, unable to keep up with her heartbeat. The glow dancing over her body grew in intensity as she tried to compose herself. She stared down at herself again, and Emma noticed that it wasn't just her flesh that had transformed. Even her clothing glittered, and it was rock-hard.
"What was the meaning of that?" she heard a forgotten voice demand behind her.
"Pardon?"
"How long... have you been able to do this?"
"I... well... never."
"Never." Emma slowly faced the Wind-Rider, wishing she didn't have to confront her or meet her judgment. "You can read minds."
"I thought I made myself clear in that regard."
"But not in this one," the beast reminded her gravely, nodding at her body. "Except for your appearance. I can see right through you."
"Oh, dear." Emma realized she was right. "This won't do at all."
The Wind-Rider's only reply was to lunge at her. Emma yelped as two large, furry hands fastened themselves around her throat. "DON'T!"
"No one keeps secrets from me under my own roof!"
"This... didn't happen...under your roof!" Emma rasped as she fought with her, but the Wind-Rider drove her back against the sturdy oak that Emma had previously clung to, knocking loose more of its abused bark.
"Deceiver!"
"MONSTER!" Emma screamed, and rage squeezed her heart. She resented this woman, if she could indeed call her that, so much. She tasted bile and metal as she gave her anger its head, welcoming the release of her inhibitions. Emma wasn't going to plead with her anymore for mercy or permission.
Her hand flew out in a smooth arc, and Ororo saw prisms of light when Emma's palm found her jaw. She barreled backwards through the air, wind rustling through her tortured feathers as she sailed through more protruding tree branches than she could count. Each of them slapped her, adding insult to injury and leaving her hair hopelessly tangled and littered with leaves and needles.
She landed with a miserable thud, feeling as though she'd fallen beneath a carriage's wheels. "Ow..."
All right, then. Perhaps she should have expected that.
She laid there for a few seconds, incredulous and reeling. A diamond. The merchant's daughter, a mere slip of a farm girl, was a diamond. Oh, it was rich. Ororo would have laughed if it didn't make her feel like monkeys were stabbing her innards with hot pokers.
Emma's chest heaved. She felt horrified, yet exhilarated. She was strong. Very strong. Wait...
"Wind-Rider?" she called out, realizing what she had done. "Oh, dear. I didn't mean... wait. I did, but, you forced me..." Emma reasoned with herself and with her mistress as she hurried forward, rage flagging and draining from her, but she still felt wary of her. She hesitated, pausing for a moment, then followed the path of the Wind-Rider's less than elegant landing.
She didn't notice that her body wasn't glowing anymore. She ignored the feel of the long grasses brushing against her ankles, the lumpy stones beneath her too-thin soles. The wind bit into her again, whipping her long blonde hair.
Ororo struggled to remain conscious, and it hurt to inhale; she wondered if she'd broken a rib or two. She smelled Emma's approach and heard her light steps, but she wasn't ready to move yet.
She only opened her eyes when she felt gossamer-light hair brushing against her face. She stared up into Emma's clear blue eyes, which were limpid with tears. Her skin... her fair, smooth skin... was blotchy and wan, now, no longer glowing. Ororo sighed, almost bereft at the change. For mere minutes, she had been fearsome, awesome, and more beautiful than ever.
Now she was just Emma Frost, scared little farm girl, and she was staring down at her with pity. "Don't lock me up again."
"Shouldn't you be running away right about now?" Ororo coughed, and the wracking pain felt like knives.
Before Emma could reply, a low, sinister growl cut through the darkness. Ororo's pupils dilated and all of her senses went on alert. Her body stiffened, every muscle bunching and coiling with an untapped reserve of energy. Emma cried out as Ororo rolled upright, knocking her aside, and the creature's wings snapped open, shielding Emma from the attack of the gray wolf.
The hunter leapt up, aiming for the Wind-Rider's throat. They struggled, locked in a savage waltz as the wind buffeted them, stirred up by one beast's rage. Ororo was weakened but determined. They fought, and she felt the warm stickiness of her own blood dribbling down to her chest from the puncture wounds in her neck. The wolf huffed and snarled, triumphant in its drive to taste her, and eventually, to consume her.
He brought her down, and they rolled, limbs clashing and flailing. Ororo's talons dug into its neck and closed around its muzzle, but she was blacking out from the pressure around her windpipe.
She saw a flash of movement above her and heard a sickening thud. The jaws around her throat weakened and lost their grip, and she felt one last gust of breath bathe her flesh. The wolf's body collapsed across her chest, and Ororo opened her eyes, staring up at the stars that began to peek out from behind inky charcoal clouds.
Emma stood weeping over her, and she threw aside the large rock before she reached for her.
Ororo moaned, fighting to keep her eyes open, but the darkness consumed her.
- 10
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