#relatable king i too would drop everything to learn how to kick butt if given the chance

[un-pearable]

i still stand by my cole has anxiety hc. dudes just been sublimating it by force in order to tolerate a life on stage and the moment he got the chance he moved to the top of a mountain. not normal behavior. learning to wield a kickass scythe was just a bonus of finally not having to be stressed about being Perceived all the time

[evangelineartemiasamos]

Red Queen Fan Fiction Black Storm Extra: Harvest Moon part I

as I’ve mentioned in this post, this is the continuation of The Fitter.

Find this on wattpad

info dump on original characters you will need this I guess.

part I

part II

part III

part IV

part V

part VI

part VII

part VIII

part IX

part X

part XI

part XII

part XIII

part XIV

part XV

part XVI

part XVII

part XVIII

part XIX

part XX

I've put this piece together finally. I've tried to include some canon characters to make it make relatable, but it's mostly about my original characters. I'll write a second part that will go to the really dark places of Cassie’s heart. A great literary classic is referred to at some points and if you know the book, you might guess which one.

I promise you, no King’s Cage spoilers in here.

Cassandra POV

I've been called many names. I prefer Queen of Limbs, for the sheer audacity of it, but I remember the other ones very well too.

Commoner. Bastard. Bitch. Sometimes even worse names.

There are still people who call me those names, but I smile and shrug them off nowadays, gestures I've learned form my Mother early on. Be stoic or smile. I know better than to be offended by things that are true, I remind myself. I don't have to be ashamed. The power is with me, not them. They can't hurt me, they can't make me scared, and I've been beyond fear and intimidation for a long time.

I am afraid of nothing.

The reason for this is simple: Shit has happened to me, too often and too bad, and yet I have survived and persisted. Most of these unsavoury experiences were my own damn faults, rooted in several bad decisions I've made again and again. Besides that one event, of course, but that's an entirely different story.

Now I look at Mare Barrow, fractured and taking all the blame in the world on herself and I wonder if we should share our stories to determine the not-winner in making bad decisions. I waive the thought with a smirk. That would be just another dangerous idea of mine. "Give her some chance of socializing, Miss Griffey," the king has told me, adressing me like commoner and not as an officer of his, as usual. But the longer I spend time with her, the harder it becomes not to see myself in her. Our wounds may be different, but they are still present. Invisible to those who've never felt them, but festering if ignored and untreated.

She has given me other names - Monster, beast, dog. I'm not injured, as those are other true facts, and I prefer people to be scared of me.

I can't hate such a person as Mare Barrow. I can't bring myself to hate any Reds, not when it's Silvers who have marginalized and ridiculed me half my life. Though one Red was just like them, or even worse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Samson Merandus waits a day before he storms into my room at night, grinning. I only turn my head on his entry, saying nothing. "You've promised me a bout, Cassandra," he drones eventually.

"In here?" I tease. "Hmm, what kind of bout do you have in mind, I wonder?" I know he's angry about me dragging him out of Barrow's cage, despite the royal order to keep him out of her head. But he doesn't admit it. Instead, he takes it out on me who has defeated him numerous times at our First Friday duels. It's a good training, for both of us, but I'm not sure the audience can gather much from our matches that take place mostly in out minds. Who gains control? Who strikes first? Who can block the opponent better? Samson can't make me use my ability according to his wishes which gives me an advantage, but he can make me freeze nonetheless, hoping to use my weapons against me and letting me sink into my own nightmares.

But I don't have nightmares, not anymore. And I won't ever me afraid of myself.

"Interesting that you bring this up, Cassandra," Samson says, coming closer. He touches a tress of my hair and I shudder in disgust. That's not his place. I spin around, shoving him back so fast that he almost drops on his butt.

I tilt my head. "If you insist."

Our minds clash like rain in a storm, spiralling in my head, searching for my fears and wishes. I show him what he wants to see, facts that he's known for a long time, that make him believe his toxic desire for me has any hope for fulfillment. I don't try to use my ability on him, that close to my mind he would probably notice it. Instead, I kick into his stomach and sent him flying. But I've been too slow tonight. He manages to gain control of my body as I rotate, erasing the next seconds from my memory. I hear myself groan and I find myself beneath him, pinned on my bed. He laughs.

"What about another kind of bout?" he sneers.

My eyes narrow. "No."

"But Cassandra, I know -"

"You don't want me. Not for real. You're ashamed of desiring me, because the whole court would laugh at you if you were to 'love' the barren commoner girl. Instead you want to vanquish me, making me your puppet and your harlot, to show that all your prior losses were intentional. You can't stop seeking me out, not while I am the better of the two of us, not when I've shared a bed with so many other men, who you deem lesser that yourself."

"I dare you," he threatens, but it means nothing to me.

"I could kill you in a second, and you know it." I manage to shrug despite my fixed position. My mind attacks his body, stinging into five different, sensitive places. He grimaces, and I cackle. "What? Don't tell you are afraid of me? You know what that means." His grip lessens, and with another wave of power and a shove with my knee, he gets off me, even taking a few steps back.

"Oh my," I purr, "How can you ever defeat me if you fear me? All you have against me are my own fears, and well. I don't have any." I shake my head as he regains his composure.

"Too bad the king has so much use for you. I'd love to see your dying face," I gloat.

I see a vein twitching on his brow. "I will get to Barrow, sooner or later. Don't think you can command me," he exclaims, trying to dodge the discussion we've had a moment ago. He slams the door even louder than upon entering.

I sigh, sinking to my knees. I brush over the new wrinkles in my dress. No reason not to go to the party as planned. Even though they always feel lonely and boring, with Firebird away at Corvium, and no boyfriend to attend it with me. Lucas Samos has been the last one. I broke up with him in June, and now he is dead. I mourn his demise. At least he shouldn't have died with heartache, even though my feelings for him never equaled his for me. And maybe I would've been able to protect him from the dangerous company of Mare Barrow. But I'm not any better, am I? I cannot but feel impressed my her.

I command the Lightning Girl out of my head and look at Mother's portrait on the wall, painted by my brother Roman. He's better than all those jerks at court, myself included. He has an artist's soul, and he uses his seer ability to create things. Such as this picture, capturing our mother not in her beautiful youth, or her arrogant glory, but in her frustration, sinking down in her chair behind her desk, her face fallen and frowning. It's one of the truest and most beautiful things I've ever seen, at least in Whitefire Palace.

I shake my head and rise. I walk to the mirror, combing though my disheveled hair and look into my mismatched eyes, black and silver, contemplating my features. Cattish, angular, and pale, so unlike anyone else in my family. They remind everyone that I am not like my mother and brothers, that I'm not a noble but a mistake with mud-coloured hair. I've heard a lot of gossip and insults directed at me, some people have even made up the dirtiest rumours about who might be my father, although our similar appearance belies all those ideas instantly. Naturally, those Silvers have never laid eyes on my father, a commoner musician. Even though we meet rarely, I listen to his songs, to forget those nonsense I hear from the courtiers, which I will certainly encounter on this evening.

Before I turn away, I throw a glance at the sentinel's masklike helmet resting on my vanity. It reflects my features almost as clearly as the mirror. I smile grimly. I've realized my decision to join the sentinels wasn't a good idea the moment I've held the helmet in my hands for the first time. I have to wear that mask to turn myself into a faceless, anonymous threat. I've guessed that made sense, but I've learned better quickly. It's not about being a terror to eventual enemies to the throne, this is about the sentinels themselves, about me and my very own existence.

The mask is to hide my face and my true identity. It is to veil my birth and who I am. A sentinel is a puppet on strings and the idea fills me disgust, now and then. I've swallowed my resentment time and time again, to become the soldier the king wants, since I've been thirteen. My ability was developing quicker than usual, and the training as a royal guard seemed like the most logical way to lift me up from my commoner status.

My powers had shown themselves early, when I was five years old. That might have been the nail in my coffin. Despite the Arven diviner, an old man able the determine a Silver's ability, who had proclaimed me a telky as a baby, my mother must have continued to hope that I'd be like her, a shadow. Inheritance of the maternal talent wasn't that rare in her bloodline. I would still have been a bastard, but a noble one, a daughter bearing the name of House Haven. But I was a commoner telky like my dad, to be forever belittled for that. So be it. That didn't make me a failure by itself. I noticed that though I was weaker than the noble telkies, I was the better fighter in all other aspects. Because they were all idiots. While I developed the most subtle control of my ability and learned everything about the human body to kill and hurt with few strikes, the scions of House Provos had no fucking idea how to employ their ability in the most effective way. They made a huge show out of it instead. I could still laugh at them. They didn't use weapons, or the objects around them, but their minds alone. They heaved their oppenents into the air, expecting the confusing lack of gravity to be startling enough to make them yield. As if.

I've honed my mind and my body into fatal weapons. Any matter owned allegiance to me. I am the Queen of Limbs and I've obtained that nom du guerre with sweat, blood and more broken bones than I can count. Bones of me and others. I've faced the goddess of death and survived.

Though my military career would have been only part of the plan. The easiest way would have been to get some noble to marry me, so I'd give birth to his heir, and possibly have a child with my own ability. My mother would go begging to the king to legitimate me and I would become the foundress of the High House Griffey.

What an awfully naive dream.

By now, I appreciate the impossibility of that ever happening, of being barren instead of a broodmare. I had to find my worth within myself, in my strength, my ability and my perseverance. Through my compassion and blatant ignorance of the opinion of others. I am the better me this way. And the man I love can't have children with me anyway. A Red and a Silver can't have children together, so it's said, and it isn't like such relationships are accepted in the Nortan court. That's what I've thought, at least.

But honestly, I don't give a damn about that. I've done that once, and look where that has gotten me. I excel at making bad decisions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is the story of Cassandra Griffey who wants her boyfriend back but who doesn't dare to tell him that as she was the one to break up with him because her mum has told her to and she has obliged - what a fool - and either way, he has been dating her cousin in the meantime - five years - while she, Cassandra, has, well, been fucking around with enough guys to be known as a harlot.

This sums it up quite accurately, It's what I tell myself when I doubtand wish. Not that it helps. Reminding myself of those facts only binds me tighter in an unbearable situation. While this also means to disregard numerous other, beautiful memories. Like love. Like talking to the person who knows your secrets because you don't have to hide them from him like from everyone else. Like not even needing to talk in some moments because our intimacy is bigger than our rifts. Breaking up with Sorata Ives left me in a abyss. But he's always, always on my mind. I am him, and I cannot live without my life. I cannot live without my soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've known Sorata Ives for as long as I can remember. Meaning, I saw him for the first time when I was about three years old, as were he and Lacey. She was still "Lacey" at that time, not "Firebird". Sorata was the one who came up with that. Back then, Mother and her brother Jin Ventos, Lacey's father, had brought Sorata's mother Mrs. Ives to Jin's mansion. Jin and Mother have spent a lot of time together in our childhoods, as Jin's wife had just died and the idea of letting their daughters grow up together seemed more than merely practical. Which is was, as my cousin and I were fast friends, as we are until now, despite all the strains challenging our connection.

When she was little, Lacey looked even more like a bird, with her aquiline nose, her delicate limbs, and her black hair shimmering like unruly feathers in flight. Of course she sang back then, too, as she always had. Her father thought music was the right way to distract her from her mother's demise, and he and Mother recognized Mrs. Ives, whom they had seen performing in a high class etablishment, to be the perfect teacher. I guess that was true, but after a few years, Mrs. Ives gave less and less of her time to the Ventos', and started to cling to my mother. Something dark and strange connected them and they saw it in each other. Nowadays, Mrs. Ives follows Mother like a living shadow, a beautiful flower blooming at night. She appears like the most loyal servant and I wonder if there's more to that, as it's certainly not love.

But, back to the beginning. Soon, Mrs. Ives started to live with us in the Ventos country home, a Silver vacation far off from the cities but frequented by the high-and-mighty. The Red had brought her son along, of course.

He was just as little as Lacey and me. He should have stayed with the servants, for a ton of reasons. But he didn't. He looked at Lacey and me and smiled. Where we went, he came with us. He played what we played and we didn't ask questions, not as long as nobody else did. And they did not, which might have been to their chagrin in hindsight. Naturally, our nannies Ellen and Laura were more occupied with my disabled brother Hagen, unless we had any lessons of which Sorata didn't stay away either. Mother spent most of ther quality time with Roman, her eldest and obvious favourite, while giving me my cuddlings on an almost regular schedule. Not that I felt unloved by her. But I was still the outsider, like Sorata who clinged to me just like Lacey who had a desperate need for a friend.

I couldn't leave either to their own devices, I never could. And Sorata didn't let go of either of us. There were barely any other children, apart from my much older brothers, and those brought along by their Silver parents were usually way too old to bother with girls in our age. They probably didn't even notice, in their smugness of being deemed reasonable enough to accompany their parents to the conferences in Jin's hotel, that the daughters of the house were best friends with a Red boy.

But we had no idea that this wasn't the way for Silver children to grow up. We were cuddled and spoilt, and encouraged to seek hobbies and education instead of being broken like horses. I know now that neither my mother nor my uncle could stand harshness, even though they were strict in their own ways. Until I was nine years old, I saw Mother only on weekends or whenever she found the time to visit the country home. Much less I'd seen my father, removed from our home when I was six months old.

But my mother and my uncle were different nonetheless. They'd grown up with a mother suffering from manic-depression, and they were well aware of the difference between having power and feeling powerless, and the truth that you could be both at the same time. Even more so after my aunt had died.

People say that I'm just a mistake of my mother. But she has never made me feel that way. Whenever I've thought myself worthless, it's been my own insecurity, a state my mother is loath to encourage. She wants me to be happy. Thus, she merely smiled, an honest amusement for instance, when she observed us kids.

One day, I threw foliage into the air for Lacey to incite. I kept the fiery leaves afloat, surrounding her, so she truly looked like a burning bird in flight as she either sang or laughed, until Sorata stated the obvious.

"You're the Firebird," he said, in awe of our abilities, and the name stuck. Sorata and I called Lacey nothing else for a week, until our servants and single parents noticed this and agreed with smiles in their eyes.

Hagen had known of the name before, of course. That evening, he whispered to me to come closer. He brushed my arm as he said, "I could barely wait to start calling her Firebird, too." He was unable to see my bafflement, but he must have guessed. He shrugged and the amusement fell from his face. He was 14 then, and frustration ruled him. Still does. Some Silvers regarded him as less than a commoner, like a different kind of Red, but they still craved his ability, gazing into the dreams of people that showed him the past, present and, if he wished, the future. Only our mother gathered intelligence from him, apart from what he chose to tell us, his family and friends. As far as I knew, he didn't resent his ability itself. But it was what made him blind. Some part of his brain was different, the healers had claimed, the same part that created the visions of the usual Eagrie eyes. It was nothing they could handle, and I wasn't not sure that Hagen even wanted that on most days, as blindness was all he knew. Sometimes Mother blamed herself and Edward, Hagen's deceased father. It was known that shadows and eyes were complementary powers, like burners and nymphs. Powers that clashed, and their union created something new, though not to Hagen's benefit. But Mother would ruin anyone who dared to accuse her or insult her son.

He had to deal with his disabilty by himself, still. And he was loath to be treated like anyone less than we were. He laughed when he thought of his sister and cousin being best friends with a Red boy. Silver attitudes meant nothing to him, and I guessed his dreams revealed to him enough secrets to realize the cesspit the Nortan court truly was.

In hindsight, we lived in our very own paradise of rocks and valleys, of heath and hot springs. There was a wilderness inside of us that always craved for more, a yearning that could not be stilled by anything other that the purity and peace of nature itself and the lights we saw in each other.

That's nostalgia, of course. But I didn't forget the face of my visting uncle Henry when he saw Sorata and me, covered in dirt and scratches all over our bodies. Distaste. I forgot what we had done, not after my uncle scolded his brother and sister for their neglect of their daughters. His apprehension had to be based in fear, I think now, as Henry, a gay man, wasn't himself the epitome of Silver conformity. Jin and Mother just shrugged, in the end. No one told Mother what to do.

Yet soon came the time that Lacey, my brothers and I were required to accompany her to court, to gather the useful connections, that meant potential spouses, and proper friends in the meantime. As if those courtiers could be called friends. They never treated me as such, of course, and Firebird would not be friends with anyone but me or Sorata. To her, being a lady and the heir to her house meant turning her debut a fashion show. If the others nobles were superficial, she would be even more so, giving away nothing of herself. She was even better than Mother in that game of pretending and fake smiles.

Though it wasn't a game for Sorata and his mother. They worked as Mother's assistants in the secret service which she leaded in all but name as the department was naturally headed by the mindfucker Merandus Queen. They were lackeys, wearing a livery and Red fabrics to display their status. Any close contact with Sorata turned both him and me into targets. Me for sneers, him for punishments. I would've liked to distribute some punishments on my own, but that was for later.

I endured the pretends, the taunts and the lies for a few years, slowly realizing my ability was the only attribute I had to offer to promote myself. I saw other Silver children dragged of to the Lakelands war, the same arrogant little boys and girls who had hit me just a days ago, or the crown prince who was just a week older than me. Their bragging vanished from their faces the moment they recognized the significance of becoming soldiers. They would represent their familes, they would gather medals and victories and they were truly and utterly horrified by that prospect. They tried to hide it, but it was undeniable upon their return that they weren't children any longer. They had tasted blood for the first time. And so did I, in my twelth summer. It was Mother's glorious idea, a thrust far off from the known battle lines at the choke to stab the Lakelanders in their heartland.

"We could end this," she declared to me proudly and I knew what she meant. I hated it at court, yet I would not leave like a coward, or start living my estranged father. To be honest, I wanted power and strength, like all Silvers, if only to live by my own rules. I was twelve years old and promises of changing the world for good were all I wanted to hear.

"Then I will do as you command, Mum. I'll fight your battle."

What a fool I was.

Commentary:

These two gif capture Cassandra just perfectly.

That is the first part. The book I'm referring to is "Wuthering Heights". At first, I went for a fairy tale retelling with Lacey as Snow White and Cassandra as Cinderella falling in love with a stable boy instead of the prince, but after watching another terrible film adaptation of "Wuthering Heights", I realized that, verdammte Axt, Catherine, Heathcliff and Isabella are my own babies Cassie, Sorata and Firebird - to a part of course. Firebird is as Isabella should have been. Thus I started to make the references more obvious. And savage. I think I've stayed to true to a first person narrator by giving Cassandra such a unique voice shifting between elaborate and foul-mouthed expressions.

I hope you understand the story. Ask me if you don't get something, I love to talk. I struggled a lot with putting the parts together and finding the right tense at the right moments. Sorry that I use Lucas like that, but it helps me to insert canon characters instead of making everyone up.

@maudthebookeater @queenmareena @dewydrael @lilyharvord @redqueenfandom @the-little-lightning-queen