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heygrrrlhey · 2 months ago

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more class swap laudna

Matilda dreams of a red storm.

When Laudna meets Imogen, her heart wakes up and says: I know you. Laudna is drawn to her like a moth to a light; she can’t stay away. Imogen feels like a house she could live in. Like a real home. Not the hovels that Laudna has been squatting in, but an actual home – filled with people who love you, who know you, who share that special something with you. She feels familiar.

Laudna tries to bring it up, this feeling, but she’s too frightened to say anything. What if Imogen doesn’t feel it – that tether that stretches from Laudna’s heart to Imogen’s, so taut and red that it feels like a real piece of her body? There is no way that Imogen would be able to feel it. It’s just Laudna. Laudna is a moth, and Imogen is the first light she’s seen in her whole life. That’s all.

But still—

“I’m sorry,” Imogen croaks. It’s some disgusting hour before dawn; Laudna has coaxed the campfire back to life, is frantically stewing the scraps of tea leaves she’d managed to save from the last – no, the one before that – well, anyways, a few towns ago.

“Don’t be sorry,” Laudna says. “You’re so frightened. Why should you be sorry? Here, tuck the blanket in—”

She pulls the threadbare blanket tighter around Imogen’s shoulders. It’s a balmy night, but Imogen is still shivering – tea, she needs tea, she needs tea.

“I’m sorry,” Imogen says, “because this happens a lot. Too much. I get these...dreams—”

Something in Laudna’s heart flips over.

“What sorts of dreams?” she says.

“There’s a storm,” Imogen says. “This horrible storm...and I hear...sorry, I shouldn’t – it isn’t that frightening, really. It’s just – something about it – do you ever have dreams like that? Where it’s just – where you just—”

“I don’t dream,” Laudna says, and Imogen’s mouth closes with a snap.

Then: “Really?” she says. “I see you – sorry, this is so rude, but I see you twitchin’. Sometimes you make noises. In your sleep. You aren’t…”

“No,” Laudna says. “No. I think, before I died, I used to…” Her mind wanders away from her. She is staring at the teapot in the fire, the place where the heat is turning the dented tin red. She did dream. Matilda dreamed. Matilda dreamed of...Matilda dreamed…

Shh, Delilah says. Shh.

“Wait,” Laudna says. “What do you mean, shh? Did you take it away from me? Why? What was it? What was I dreaming about?”

“What?” Imogen says. “I didn’t say anything. Laudna, are you alright? I’m sorry I brought it up, I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” Laudna snaps. “Not you, you’re perfect, you have nothing to apologize – Delilah, answer me.”

I didn’t take anything from you, sweetheart. It’s only that...you know how you get when you think too much about your death.

Red.

“Stop it,” Laudna says, “stop it stop it stop it—”

Red.

“Laudna?” Imogen says. “Laudna, oh my god, are you—”

Laudna.

It was red. It was all so red. She was lying on the ground and her blood and the red and that voice, she can almost remember that voice, she needs to know what it was saying to her—

LAUDNA!

Delilah sounds frightened, which is so jarring that it snaps Laudna right out of it. Laudna, Delilah says again, suddenly casual, the kettle’s boiling over. You’re going to scorch the tea.

“I’m going to scorch the tea,” Laudna says, and she reaches out and takes the kettle off the fire. When she closes her hand around the handle, it burns and blisters the palm of her hand – but she’s dead, so the skin can’t turn red anymore.

“Yes, at certain times the moon grows bright—”

Matilda’s mother crouching down, solemn. Her face swimming into view like a moon.

Matilda, listen to me.

“��without warning. Decades between, sometimes mere months.”

If someone asks when your birthday is—

“Some believe, and have long believed,”

—tell them Unndilar. The 25th of Unndilar. Do you understand?

“that it is a portent of – of disaster to come.”

No, Matilda says, I don’t understand. You want me to lie?

“When children are born under the light of this moon—”

Not lying, sweetheart. Just – just bending the truth a little bit.

Why?

“—they are themselves referred to as—”

Because you’re already...you’re very unique, sweetheart. People don’t always like that. Sometimes it frightens them. They don’t need to know that you’re—

“—Ruidusborn.”

—oh, never mind. Just repeat after me. You were born on the 25th of Unndilar.

I was born on the 25th of Unndilar.

The middle of the day.

The sky was blue.

The sky was blue, Matilda.

Okay. The sky was blue.

The sky was blue.

The sky was—

Red. It’s all so red. She’s lying on the ground and her blood and the red and Imogen, through her eyelashes – Imogen, flying up into the sky, screaming. Otohan, red. Bassuras shattering to pieces. Laudna in the dirt. Too dead to have red blood anymore, she bleeds black. Black. Behind her eyelids. She watches Imogen explode into red light.

Delilah? she says.

Shh, Delilah says. Don’t waste your energy. We can survive this. I know you can—

It’s not coming back for me this time, is it?

Delilah doesn’t say anything.

Whatever it was that brought me back. The last time. It doesn’t care about me anymore, does it?

I care about you, sweetheart.

Laudna’s eyes slip shut, swim open again. Her vision is scalded white with lightning. Lightning. Laudna can’t make lightning. She and Imogen share some of the same tricks, but not any of the impressive ones. Laudna can’t fly. She can just watch Imogen do it.

“I think,” she whispers, voice already stripped bare by its new second death. “I think I was supposed to be—”

Bells Hells are sitting at the base of the Sun Tree; above them, the sky is a searing blue. Cloudless. There is something about a clear blue sky that is supposed to mean something to Laudna, but she doesn’t remember. She doesn’t want to remember. She is looking down at her hands. She can barely see – there – the marks that necrosis left on her, her veins going black around her fingernails.

Only, no. Not her veins.

“Imogen?” Laudna says.

“Hi,” Imogen says – instantly, eagerly, desperately. “Are you okay? Do you need anything? Should we—”

“Would you hold my hand again?”

“Yeah,” Imogen says, “yeah, of course. Of course I will.” She holds Laudna’s hand. For a second – yes, just for a second – Laudna’s burned-out lightning mirrors Imogen’s scars perfectly.

I should tell Imogen.

I can’t tell Imogen.

I should tell Imogen.

I can’t tell Imogen.

I should tell Imogen.

I can’t tell Imogen.

I should—but she doesn’t. The solstice: she doesn’t. Liliana: she doesn’t. That kiss, that blinding-white kiss in the marketplace: she doesn’t say a word. What would be the point? She doesn’t have anything to offer Imogen, any power or solidarity – the light that’s inside of her burned out. Laudna only has a piddling handful of tricks: the telepathy, the psychic screams. She doesn’t even dream anymore.

But Imogen – Imogen can do it. Whatever Ruidusborn are meant to do. Imogen’s the strongest of any of them. Stronger than any girl from Whitestone could ever be, even a living one. Imogen, it was always meant to be Imogen. That’s why Laudna was drawn to her. Because the universe – Predathos – the gods – something knew that she was best-used helping Imogen grow and flourish.

Horribly, Delilah understands it. Delilah is sounding more and more reasonable these days, which means something has gone terrbly wrong – but it makes sense, doesn’t it? Laudna needs to find power somewhere else and eat it, because her own power is gone. If she wants to be strong enough to protect Imogen, she’ll need that light back. The light she lost, she wants it back. No, she needs it back. She needs it. For Imogen.

Imogen: lying next to Laudna in bed at night, her eyelashes sweet against her cheek as she dreams. It’s for her, it’s all for her. It was always meant to be for—

You know, Delilah breathes. If you let me...we could take her power. I could give it back to you.

Something in Laudna’s heart flips over.

“What?” she says, and rolls over; her back is turned to Imogen, now, so she can’t be tempted to – well, anyways, she curls around herself. This new sharp thought like a blade she will bury in her own stomach and die on.

She isn’t safe when she has it, Delilah says – so reasonable, so easy. It was meant to be yours, anyways. Just...move it.

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

I wouldn’t hurt her. Delilah sounds offended at the concept. Laudna, I would never hurt her. This is all for her. I know that. We could do it now, while she’s asleep. Very, very gently. It wouldn’t even wake her. She would wake up tomorrow...she wouldn’t need the circlet anymore. The Vanguard couldn’t manipulate her. She would never end up as a vessel for—

“She isn’t going to. She wouldn’t. She won’t.”

Delilah leaves a pause just long enough for Laudna’s words to hang, and then she picks up again: Of course she wouldn’t. But…

“Stop it.”

Laudna, you don’t need to lie to me. I was there, in Bassuras. I saw...you wanted it back.

“I don’t.”

It’s alright, sweetheart. You—

“I don’t!”

A sudden shake of the bed: Imogen has jolted awake. There’s a soft flare of purple light – and sure enough, when Laudna rolls over, Imogen already has the beginnings of lightning clenched in one fist.

“Laudna?” she says, voice still quiet and rough with sleep. “Are you okay? Is there – do you – how can I—”

Laudna is watching the light in Imogen’s hand. It would be so easy, that’s the problem. She would just reach over and put that light out. So softly, so gently. The scars on Laudna’s hand growing and unfurling, like flowers, breathing brand-new color.

“I had a bad dream,” she croaks.

Imogen lets out a breath; the light goes out. She lies back down next to Laudna. Her brow is bunched and furrowed.

“Laudna,” she says, “you don’t dream, do you?”

“I used to,” Laudna says, “I used to.”

“I know. You can – any time you want, FCG can – you can come to my dreams. They’re awful, but you can have – if you – Laudna, honey, why are you crying?”

“She was right,” Laudna says, crying. “I want it back. I want it back. Imogen, I want it back.”

“Hey,” Imogen says, and she pulls Laudna in closer; she holds her. Her body is so warm and alive. She smells like ozone and lavender.

“It’s okay,” Imogen says. “Hey, you’re alright. You’re okay. Come here.” Her hand rubs circles on Laudna’s back. “Shh shh. You’re okay, I promise. I promise. Oh, honey. Don’t cry. Don’t—”

The inside of Laudna’s head is so quiet, but it’s a deliberate quiet. She can feel the weight of Delilah, not saying anything. She swears she can feel Delilah’s eyes. Looking at her. Weighing her. Waiting.

“Imogen?” she says.

“I’m here.”

“If you could...would you give it up? The – the powers. The dreams. Being Ruidusborn, exaltant, all of that. If you could lose it, and it wouldn’t hurt. It wouldn’t hurt at all, it would just be gone. Would you…”

Imogen exhales. “You know, if you’d asked me a year ago...I would have said yes. No hesitating. I just wanted to be...but now...now, I don’t know. It feels like part of who I am. Like, like a piece of me. If it just got cut out...I don’t know what I’d do.

“Are you…” she says carefully. “The powers from Delilah, or Delilah’s...remains, do you…”

“No,” Laudna says. “No, not that.”

“Is it…” Imogen shifts; Laudna can hear her lick her dry lips. “You had those other powers, right? The ones that...that brought you back. Not Delilah’s. God, I feel so stupid, we never even learned what those...look, after Ludinus, we’ll—”

“We don’t need to do that.”

“No, but I want to. I want to. You’ve helped me so much, and I haven’t even—”

“Imogen.” Laudna’s voice is too sharp, too cold. “Leave it.” She wrestles herself back under control: “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m just here to help you. Besides, you’re the one – I would say your problems right now are rather more important than the magical origins of some dead girl.”

“You aren’t just some dead girl, you know that—”

“I was talking about Matilda. And she is dead. And I’m sorry for worrying you. It’s just – the apocalypse, you know, it makes me…”

“Yeah,” Imogen says – because she is so kind and so gracious and so lovely. She lets Laudna take the world’s shittiest out. “Me too.”

Laudna sniffles. She manages to force the words out: “You can stop holding me now.”

Imogen’s breath does a little hiccup. So quiet, so tender: “I like holding you.”

And Laudna likes being held. Maybe too much. “Please let go.”

So Imogen does. She scoots back over to her half of the bed; Laudna misses her instantly, Laudna’s so relieved that she’s gone. It feels like part of who I am. Like a piece of me. If it just got cut out...I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t know what I’d do if it were gone. What would I do?

Now that Imogen’s said it, Laudna can feel it. That place in her where something is missing. Cut out. Withered. Eaten. Gone. Whatever happened to it: gone, it’s gone, it’s gone. She misses it. She wants it back. She misses it. She wants it back. She misses it. She wants it back. She was supposed to be—

She lies awake for a long time, thinking thoughts along these lines. When she falls asleep, she doesn’t dream.

#fic rec #imodna #cr3

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