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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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Into the Belly
Summary: Scurrying feet. Beating wings. Eyes glowing in the dark. And confronting the thing that goes bump in the night.
Author’s Note: *listens to more crickets* Hello? Anybody there?
I hope the last short update didn’t cheese anyone off. I don’t always have time to update anything, since my PC is always occupied, or I am. And don’t even get me started on tapestry syndrome or writer’s block.
If anyone was wondering, Emma’s family here in this story actually are Marvel characters from Grant Morrison’s run. I almost never use original characters, since I suck at them, but I’m improvising them off the top of my head, since there was little source material from the comics to base Emma’s family on. I had the impression that Christian was a little flamboyant.
Emma stirred from her half-doze in the wagon when thunder rumbled in the distance. She didn’t realize how dark the clouds had grown, and the wind was biting her through her heavy coat. “She knows we’re coming,” her father muttered.
“How far away are we, Papa?”
“There’s the tower; you can just see it from over the trees.” She followed his hand and made a sound of awe. The structure had to be huge! She saw birds nesting in what appeared to be a belfry, and a flock of them took wing at the next boom of thunder. Their cheeps almost sounded fearful, which didn’t help Emma’s worry.
Winston reached again for the mirror, withdrawing it from his coat pocket. “Take it now. It’s yours. You’ll need it.”
“Won’t you need it to find your way back?”
“No. I won’t forget. And I must leave you soon. The Windrider despises me now. She won’t take kindly to me crossing her threshold again, darling.” Emma was aghast.
“Surely she would offer the horses a place to rest-“
“I know firsthand that she won’t.” Her father’s eyes hardened. “I won’t infringe on her hospitality again.” Emma remained silent for the rest of the ride, staring down miserably into the mirror. Slowly, her reflection disappeared in the glass, and she saw a copse of pines materialize in its surface. As she looked up, she noticed the cedars and elms giving way to pines nearly a half a mile ahead.
It was already telling her where to go. Emma shivered and burrowed more deeply into her coat. The air soon smelled of ozone, a sign of impending rain. Emma thought bitterly that the weather didn’t approve of her travel plans…
Then it occurred to her. The beast controlled the weather, her father said. Was she threatening them?
Emma opened up her psychic awareness of their environment, searching for any mental signature or flicker of human emotions around them. It was difficult to focus around her own unease and frustration, and her father’s tension was palpable. But Emma closed out the other external sounds, like the gusting winds and birdcalls and the rustling trees, and she was rewarded by a flicker of emotion. She caught a fleeting thought, furtive and impatient.
I’m waiting.
“Goodness,” she murmured. Impatient, now? The owner’s psyche was female, as Emma’s father had mentioned, and there was something haughty in that brief communication that almost amused Emma.
“I can go no farther. You will need to make the rest of this journey alone, darling. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Her father’s voice was quiet as he brought the horses to a halt. Emma covered his large hand with hers, squeezing it, and he gripped her fingers so hard she thought they would snap. His breath shuddered from his chest.
“I’ll see you again. I’ll come home one day.”
“Emma… I must tell you something. Forgive me for leaving it out. It’s been hard…”
“I know, Papa.”
“The creature stipulated that you must stay with her forever.”
Emma’s heart sank like a stone, seeming to lodge itself in her feet.
“You told them it was just for a while.”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” he replied in a small voice. Tears leaked from his eyes and made the layer of chalky white stubble along his jaw glisten as they ran down his cheeks. “Emma, I don’t…know what I’ll do without you.”
Don’t make me go! She wouldn’t let the childish words leave her mouth. Emma resolutely stiffened and pulled her hand free, giving her father a slight pat on her way down from the wagon. Winston followed suit and retrieved her bag, handing it to her, but she had to jerk it from his grip, too, as though he couldn’t bear to let go as long as she held it, as long as he held some small part of her.
“I love you, Papa.”
“Godspeed, darling. Remember me. Remember that your Papa loves you.”
“Be kind to Chris,” she blurted. “Please, Father. He needs you.”
“All right,” he conceded reluctantly. As she retreated from him, he gave her a jaunty salute. She waved, and her hood blew back from her hair, letting loose tendrils whip loose from her long plait. Her cheeks and lips were rosy from the cold, and her eyes watered slightly from the wind, but their expression was cold. She couldn’t show Winston weakness, or he’d never let her go.
He had to let her go.
Emma spun and ran into the woods. The mirror caught the reflection of the first bolts of lightning, bluish-white and crackling, and the sound of thunder made the hairs on her nape stand on end. Her legs burned from the jolt to her system as she hurried toward her uncertain destiny. The wind tore at her skirts, making them whip around her ankles, and the drafts bit through her wool stockings.
Only when she was certain that her father was far enough behind her did she let herself weep.
Winston climbed back into his wagon and guided his matched horses home, feeling dead and cold inside. His daughter reminded him of a fleeing, broken angel. A glass of rum called to him, and he longed to crawl into bed and never, ever wake up.
“Be kind, Windrider. Be kind.” His whisper was soft and hoarse, snatched away by the wind. Emma heard his sentiment in his thoughts.
That frightened her most of all.
*
The mirror almost seemed to speak to her. It pulsed and glowed in her hands the closer she came to the castle. She felt a faint pull when she seemed to be going in the correct direction, and she was grateful that her trip was almost at an end, because her feet were freezing. Emma lost count of how many puddles she trod through, and the hem of her dress was a mess. She didn’t see what appeal she’d hold for the creature if she greeted her looking like a drowned cat.
But perhaps it didn’t matter.
Emma had no clue what the beast wanted with her. Christian’s accusations that her father “whored” her out still rang in her ears. Was that indeed what Emma’s host expected? Worse, what on earth was she supposed to do to please it? Emma scoffed at the notion. She was borrowing trouble. Perhaps the beast only wanted a servant, and Emma would be no worse off than if she’d stayed behind with Adrienne and Cordy. Miserably, she pondered her life’s direction and wondered why heaven and the fates decided to forsake her visions of doing something loftier and more meaningful than being a simple farm girl.
“At least I won’t just be a wife,” she muttered. She recoiled at the thought of being married to a man like Sebastian Shaw or any of the other idiot villagers who gawked at her when she wandered through the marketplace. The image of Shaw in Christian’s memories sickened her, especially since he’d been so effusive and polite the last time she encountered him. Even being in the rain and mud was better than letting him trap her in his stifling gilded carriage.
The mirror showed Emma a creek up ahead that was growing swollen with the rainfall. She steeled herself when she felt as though she was being watched. Emma spied fox kits burrowing into a hole and a squirrel skittering up a tree, but not before it stared back at her with curious, beady black eyes.
“She’s waiting,” it chittered in an almost elfin voice.
“Bloody hell!” She froze. “You talk.”
“Get used to it. And get moving, eh?” It fled up into the oak’s swaying branches, and Emma shivered from surprise as she continued toward the creek.
“I’m losing my mind,” she muttered. “That beastie didn’t just talk to me and tell me ‘how do you do.’”
“I would hope not,” a voice interjected from several feet to her left. A gray hare stood on its hind feet, nose twitching charmingly.
“I beg your pardon!”
“You might have to remind Angelo to watch his manners, but he’s a good lad,” the hare informed her smugly. She hopped up and stared up at Emma. “Aren’t you a sight, lass. You’re cold?” The creature’s voice was solicitous, still doing little to reassure her.
Animals were <i>talking</i> to her.
“Er, yes.”
“Step lively, then. You’re going the right way. Watch the creek, the rocks are a bit slippy.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
“You came alone?”
“As I was instructed to do.”
“Smart girl.” The hare nodded and then cleaned her long, floppy ear with her forepaw. “Carry on, then.” The hare scrambled off in the same direction that Emma was headed, and she chose to follow it until she reached the creek. The water rushed in foaming wavelets, goaded by the rain as it began falling in nearly horizontal sheets. Emma’s cheeks felt numb as the wind continued to whip her hair and make her eyes water, but she pressed on. She heeded the hare’s warning and braced herself, gasping with her first steps into the frigid water. Thankfully, it never reached any higher than her knees, but she still managed to soak her skirt, even lifting it as high as she could above the currents. She hurried to the bank and kept up a quick pace, following the flashing white puff of the hare’s tail.
The castle awaited her at the end of a long, winding gravel path. The mirror flashed, catching her eye, and she saw a door with a large, ornate knocker, telling her where to enter. Emma was hungry again despite the crude, remarkable dinner that Adrienne and Cordelia fixed, and her stomach growled its discontent, overruling the complaints from her feet. Her feet squelched inside her wet shoes and her stockings were a lost cause. Emma looked and felt like a drowned rat.
At least she would have shelter, and she still had her sack of belongings, glad that she didn’t drop them in the creek. In the distance, Emma heard the low whicker of horses; she wondered if there was a stable nearby. As she neared the castle, lightning flashed, illuminating the silhouette of the turrets and exquisitely carved stone gargoyles. Thunder heralded her arrival and she sighed.
“I’m not feeling any better about this,” Emma muttered aloud. “That doesn’t help.”
“D’ye always talk t’yuirself like that?” Emma turned, feeling a chill ripple up her spine at the sound of a voice that was distinctly female, but half-growl. She turned and nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of the large, russet-furred wolf that stared at her with gleaming, yellow-green eyes.
“Oh, not you, too.”
“Well, excuse me, then, if ye dinna want tae spare a moment tae chat,” the creature sniffed haughtily. She huffed and shook herself, flicking rain from her fur. Emma wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“I’m freezing, starving, and my feet are killing me. Excuse me if I’m not feeling very social right now.”
“All right, then. Dinna blame me, lass, I’m na’ the one making it pour out.” The wolf prepared to run off, but Emma called out.
“Wait! Do you have a name?”
“Rahne.”
“I know it’s raining, beast.”
“Nay, ye ninny. Rahne. That’s m’name.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Why? I like it just fine. Ye’d best be getting inside, lass.”
The wolf loped off, leaving Emma to her musings. She wandered up the path, chased by the rain and wind, and by the time she reached the door with its demonic-looking brass knocker, she was too knackered to care. She reached for the large ring and rapped it three times against the heavy oak. She was breathing hard and her fingers felt numb; the bag she carried felt leaden after holding onto it for so long.
The door’s hinges creaked and squealed as it opened, but Emma was greeted by an empty foyer. “Hello?” she called out softly. “Anyone home?” She realized it was a silly question as soon as the words left her mouth. Emma let herself inside, but as soon as she took two steps, she realized that she was tracking mud inside; belatedly she removed her wet shoes, barely able to feel the cold marble floor beneath her frozen toes. The home was drafty, not that it was poorly made, but because the ceilings were so high, and the room was so airy and open. There were few furnishings, but they were rich and of fine quality. It smelled clean, but there was a faint mustiness, as though it had been closed up for a long time. Emma wrinkled her nose and slowly made her way down a long corridor. “Hello? I just arrived,” she informed her absent host. “It would have been nice to have someone meet me out front.”
“No need to scold.” Emma turned and braced herself for more madness, and she wasn’t disappointed. Another hare, this one brown with a white underbelly, twitched its nose at her. “And we did send Rahne to greet you, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“I meant…er…”
“Someone human?” he scoffed. “We’re as close to that as you’ll find around here.”
“What’s your name?” Emma murmured as she knelt down closer to the hare’s eye level. Clearly, he appreciated it, because he hopped forward and gave her an elegant bow.
“Manuel de la Rocha,” he informed her crisply. “And you’re honored to make my acquaintance.”
“Scamp,” she chuckled. Emma reached out and stroked his long ears for a moment before they twitched, shaking off her touch. He was adorable.
“You look cold, hermosa. I can warm you, if you like.” The creature’s voice was smug and suggestive.
“Well!” she huffed. But before he could plead any further for her affections, a low, hunkering growl emanated from the corridor, and Emma shivered.
“She’s waiting,” Manuel explained grimly. There was a hint of sympathy in his voice. “Come along, senorita. We’ve kept her long enough.”
“But I’m a mess, can’t I just-“
“It doesn’t matter,” he replied quickly. He pointed his left paw toward a dimly lit room. “In there.”
“That’s it? She won’t even make herself known, or seen? What kind of civilized person acts like that when they’re expecting company?” Emma accused as she made her way toward the room. She smelled a hint of smoke and cedar, and she wondered if someone had just lit a fire. That quelled her unease; she was more cold than curious, now, and she needed to warm her sore, numb hands and feet. Emma heard another almost cavernous growl echo through the corridor, which was devoid of rugs or other insulation. A scant few framed portraits dressed the walls, staring at her with sympathetic eyes. She didn’t take the time to study them in detail. Her hand shook as she reached the door and pushed it the rest of the way open.
Empty. Emma expelled an exasperated – yet relieved – breath and covered her fluttering heartbeat with her palm. She scolded herself for being so childishly fearful, but she remembered her father’s impressions of this so-called “Windrider.” How much worse could she be than the verbose, cheeky little critters she’d met so far? Emma noticed a peg on the wall adjacent to the door, and she hung up her coat, glad to be rid of its damp bulk.
She meandered inside the room and groaned in pleasure at the warmth that enveloped. A fire crackled in the grate, and there was a cozy chaise nearby, upholstered in soft, decadent red velvet. Emma sighed as she ran her hand over it, and it was just bouncy enough, just firm enough when she sat down and laid back. The heat bathed her sore toes, making them tingle with returning sensation. She sat her shoes atop her satchel to avoid leaving them wet on the fine floor. Her eyes drifted shut in a mixture of pleasure and exhaustion. Finally…
She had perhaps dozed a few seconds when a low curl of wind blew through the chamber, sweeping out some of the luscious warmth.
“You’ve found your way.” Emma’s eyes snapped open and she sat up, fully alert and shocked. Her eyes darted around the room, which she now realized was a library, its walls lined with shelf after shelf of leather-bound books.
“Who’s there?” she demanded.
“It’s not obvious?” the voice purred from behind the heavy tapestry curtains. “You’re father boasted to me that you were smart.” Emma’s cheeks flushed scarlet.
“I’m hardly deficient,” she sniffed.
“I’ll give you one chance to convince me.” A low, howling wind swept around the castle, bringing its chill in through the window. It stirred the curtains enough to make them flutter away from the wall, and Emma noticed a set of brown, bare toes peeking out from beneath their hem.
“Only one chance? You expect much of me.”
“On the contrary, dear; I’ve learned to expect very little of everyone. It was an unpleasant lesson.”
“That doesn’t reassure me.”
“You’re not here to be reassured. You’re here to atone for your father’s crime.” The voice was the same one in her mind, when Emma made her way through the woods. The tone was smoother before, but now, it held a slight burr, a low, underlying growl.
Yet it was female.
“I would walk through the gates of Hades for my father.”
“Bold words.”
“You’re the one hiding behind the curtain.” Emma’s pulse raced, and she knew she was tempting fate with sounding so cavalier, but her heart was pounding in her chest. If she didn’t own her bravado and flaunt it, the beast would know that she was petrified.
“Nay.”
The wind howled, invading the chamber, but Emma couldn’t tell if it came from the window. Great gusts swept inside, snuffing out the fire in the hearth, to Emma’s dismay. She was freezing again, skin covered in goosebumps, but one stray blast of wind knocked the curtains aside, revealing the figure behind them. Before Emma could process what she saw, the chamber went completely black. “OH!”
She felt, rather than saw, a rustling several feet ahead of her. “Why are you doing this?” The creature didn’t reply. Emma felt an odd tension from her, drawing a taste of her emotions. She attempted to pry into her mind, but felt herself being blocked.
“It’s not polite to pry,” her hostess reminded her.
“Then make me a proper greeting,” Emma challenged. “I would meet you face to face.”
“Would you, now?” The voice chuckled at her, vexing Emma.
Emma hated the dark. “Please. I’m cold. I’ve traveled a long way. I’m here, as my father promised. You can do me this one thing, grant one request.” The wind continued to how outside, even though it stilled within the chamber. Emma’s teeth chattered and she hugged herself. She almost wished she’d taken up Manuel’s questionable offer…
She was at the creature’s mercy, and she hated it. Christian’s memories of his own ordeal haunted her, and she wanted to cry for him, wondering if this was how he felt.
“Very well.” Emma heard the shift in the tapestries as they were drawn away from the wall. In the moonlight sneaking inside the window frame, she saw a silhouette of something round and curving above what had to be the creature’s head. She stood taller than Emma, if her estimate was correct, and her body appeared broader than she imagined.
A ball of sparking, bluish-white light – lightning! – materialized out of nowhere, dancing in the palm of her mysterious hostess. It illuminated the room, throwing shadows haphazardly across the furnishings and walls. The flickering glow lined the features of a face that would haunt Emma’s nightmares.
She was stunning. She was hideous. She was impossible. No one looked like that, or stared with such horrible, intense eyes that devoured what they saw.
They were horns. Long, curving horns of a ram, sprouting from the head of a lioness. She rustled wings – wings! – of downy white feathers tipped in black. They contributed to the illusion of her having a broad trunk at first glance, making her hunch slightly, but she bristled and stood to her full height, squaring her muscular shoulders. She huffed and whuffled as she appraised Emma.
“Dirty little baggage,” the creature mused. “Your father also boasted that you were beautiful.”
“Let’s not talk anymore about my father.” Emma’s voice shook. The beast’s calm demeanor evaporated. She drew back her lips from short, sharp snags and growled, bunching back her short muzzle. Her wings unfolded, beating the air menacingly.
You don’t make the rules! I’m the one in control of this house!” Emma nearly tripped over her feet as she scuttled backward. The “Windrider” reached out one long, bony clawed finger and shot one long, sizzling bolt of lightning into the fireplace, reigniting the logs. The fire burned more brightly than it had before, but unfortunately, now Emma could see her much more clearly, and the fury in the beast’s eyes was undiluted and focused solely on her.
She was <i>furry.</i> It intrigued her and reviled her at the same time. Her garment was nondescript, a long, flowing robe of indigo blue silk, belted at her hips with a length of snuff-brown cord. It had long, lantern sleeves and a cowl neckline with a hood that would allow her to conceal her face if she chose, but the creature hid nothing, now. “I’m the one who will give you light if I choose it! I’m the one who will take it away if you defy me!” Those eyes changed from murky, slate blue to brilliant white, swirling and glowing with power. Outside the thunder boomed and rocked the castle to its foundations. Emma screamed and cowered in the farthest corner of the library that she could reach. The creature advanced on her, growling a bitter laugh. She heard the rustle of her wings and her clawed toenails scraping along the floor with each step. Emma felt lost and abandoned, cursing the fates that brought her father into the creature’s grasp and the storms that drove him for shelter into the home of a demon. She had no weapon, no way out, unless she could double back around to the window, and she was on her own even if she made it out of the castle. The creature’s growls seemed to reverberate through her, and she could almost swear she could feel her hot breath rushing over her skin…
She tripped over a small step stool and landed in an ungainly heap, skirts bunching up and baring her creamy skin and long, shapely legs up to the knee. Emma smothered a sob, annoyed at herself and losing hope for her safety. “Please. Please.”
She felt the creature crouch over her, wings still spread, and the long fingers curled around her upper arm, jerking her around to face her. The Windrider stared down at her quizzically. Her warm breath misted over Emma’s face, stirring the tendrils of her hair. “Are you all right?”
“Please.”
“Please, what?”
“Don’t hurt me.”
“Lesson number one: Don’t run from me. Ever.”
“I promise.”
“Your father made me a promise. You must see it through.” Those unsettling eyes swirled gradually back to blue. The halo of static that suffused the creature’s hair and made it rise now dissipated from it, allowing it to fall back down along her back.
“I will.” Emma dashed the tears from her eyes before they could streak down her cheeks. “But I’ll do it on my terms.” The beast huffed, narrowing her eyes evilly.
But to Emma’s surprise, she rose to her full height, threw back her horned head and laughed. “Proud boast.”
“I won’t obey you unless I choose to. And you might rule this house, but I don’t belong to you. I only belong to myself.” Emma rose to her feet and stood her ground, heat rising into her face. She was still cold and tired, and so far the hospitality had been less than satisfactory. “You made my father a promise, too.”
“Twasn’t a promise. It was a threat.”
“You agreed to send him on his way and not to rain down your fury upon our land, correct? If I came to you?”
“There are conditions.” Before Emma could press, those long fingers snapped around her arm again and she jerked her against her, earning a breathy gasp. The beast cocked her head and leaned down, regarding her at her leisure. Her nostrils twitched and she breathed in Emma’s scent, mulling it over. Emma shivered at her closeness, but she was grateful for the warmth that the creature seemed to radiate, pressed along her body.
“You’re getting a bit familiar.”
“You’re shivering.” A claw flicked back a tendril of Emma’s hair where it fell into her eyes. “And you’re filthy.” Her voice was low and soft at close range, free of its earlier growl.
“It couldn’t be helped.”
“I hope it’s not a habit.”
“So says the one covered in fur.” But the creature didn’t seem to mind her grime enough to let her go. She closed in on Emma’s scent, muzzle grazing the crest of her cheek and exploring the crest of her ear. Butterflies took wing in Emma’s stomach at the fleeting contact, and she shut her eyes at the sight of that leonine face leaning in so close to hers. Yet she couldn’t help be fascinated at the feel of that short, sleek fur and infinitesimal brush of her whiskers.
The creature’s withdrawal from her was sharp and almost unwelcome. Emma felt disoriented as the Windrider backed off, pushing her away with a little shove.
“You’ll need a room. You won’t have to sleep here tonight.” It took Emma a moment to realize that by “here,” she meant the library, not the castle itself, and she didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.
Emma instinctively followed her as she swept out into the corridor. “Show her to her room!” she roared, to no one in particular, in Emma’s opinion. But in the dimly lit hall, she saw eyes glittering and shapes lurking in the shadows. Several animals crept forward, watching Emma expectantly. “Put her to bed!” the Windrider growled. “And give her a bath, she’s ripe!” The beast strode off, too quickly for Emma to follow, seemingly finished with her.
“Well!” Emma snapped. The creature turned and growled at her in warning.
“Lesson number two… stay out of my garden.”
“It’s dark out, anyway-“
“STAY OUT OF MY GARDEN!” Thunder rolled overhead once more.
“All right,” she murmured, watching her retreating back and feeling the sting of her scold.
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White Rose