#they tell me story about olden days and on and on. we only eat bread and butter

[yourbread-blog1]

Bread, is the water of food... But like better then water

bread bread 

[mymelodyheart]

Highland Destiny Chapter 20 ~Lallybroch Part 2~

Jenny proved to be an enigma and a revelation to Claire, and she couldn't help but feel amused at how one tiny person could assert herself with the aplomb of an army commander to two huge strapping men. Tough love, Jenny had called it, and she had revealed, with conviction in her voice, that someone had to be around to keep everyone in line. Abrasive and gentle at the same time, Jenny was quick to reprimand but was always generous with her praises where it was due. Although temperamental, which Claire put down to pregnancy hormones playing havoc, Jenny was fierce in her love and loyalty to the people she cared for. Claire quickly surmised that this tiny effervescent bundle of vivacity was the heart and soul of the family.

They had just finished eating their early dinner of roast lamb and "neeps and tatties,"  and the kids were already in bed, tired from all the excitement at seeing their uncle and meeting their new auntie. As an extra treat, Jenny had added a last-minute batch of Yorkshire pudding as her way to welcome Claire to the family. "Aye, Yorkshire pudding... that's very English! I'm quite sure Claire would love it," Jenny suggested earlier to herself as she had bustled about the kitchen, banging pots and pans.

"Aye...we must have a party... that is a braw idea! Aunt Jocasta is coming from the States, we have a village festival just around the corner, we have yer wedding to celebrate and the weather...oh goodness, the forecast is braw for the rest of the week ..." Jenny announced as she stood up to clear the dishes, clapping her hands.

"Jenny!" Ian, Claire and Jaime simultaneously interrupted the hyper petite woman's babble, as they watched her collect the plates. 

"What? It's a perfect idea! Don't ye think so?" Jenny's face was a picture of disbelief, looking at all three of them as if they've lost their mind.

"Jenny sweetheart, nae parties please. I ken ye like to cook and entertain, but Claire has been through a lot, and the last thing we need is attracting the attention of the paparazzi. Ye ken what it is like...ye said so yersel'." Ian firmly but gently reminded his stubborn wife, looking at the worried faces of Jamie and Claire, but he knew already he was fighting a losing battle unless, of course, the newlyweds can change Jenny's mind.

"Rubbish! The village folk will take care of the paparazzi if we tell them in advance of our plans. They love Jamie, and they will make sure everything is hush-hush. He's like their laird around here, ye ken," Jenny retorted defensively to her husband. Then turning to Claire, she cajoled sweetly and angelically. "Claire, please say aye. I promise ye, I'll take care of everything, and I will make sure by hook or by crook that nothing and naebody will spoil this day. I dinna ken what else to give ye for yer wedding present, but let this be my gift to ye."

By hook or by crook, indeed!  Jamie leaned back on his chair, hands rubbing his full stomach and grinning. He knew full well what his sister was like as he watched Claire's face go through different expressions, from worried to appalled before settling to an uncertain look. He found it adorable how she bit her lower lip when she concentrated on something, her brows puckering in her indecisiveness. Then Claire looked at him, bright golden eyes, willing him to say something or anything. But Jamie thought better of it and shrugged instead.  Let this be the battle of the womenfolk!

Claire cleared her throat, trying to summon excuses in her head so she could put off Jenny, but looking at her sister-in-law's eager and excited face, she knew she didn't have the heart to deny her. Well, where is the harm in having a party, after all, she is now surrounded by her new family. "Well then..." she breathed deeply, "...let's have this party, BUT, under one condition - we'll just invite very close friends and family." And then she looked at Jamie, sternly. "And no shinty and no rugby!"

Jenny squealed, her face a picture of excitement and Claire couldn't help but feel happy for her sister-in-law's gaiety. Even the men were relieved that the matter was resolved quickly, their faces puffing out breaths of relief. "Oh, that's wonderful, Claire! We'll do it this coming weekend, and ye can give me the list who ye want to invite. It will be a pretty garden party, and that's a promise! And before the day of the event, we'll go shopping for clothes and maybe pamper ourselves. Now isn't that grand?"

Jamie's hand reached out to Claire. "Are ye sure Sassenach, ye alright with the party. Ye ken ye dinna have to..."

Claire nodded, smiling, but stopped when she noticed a stunned Jenny with mouth wide open, staring at her engagement ring. Thinking Jamie hadn't told Jenny about the ring, she placated her new sister-in-law. "Jenny, I know this is your mother's ring, and it must be an heirloom. Would you like to have it back? Well, if I could take it off, that is..." Claire had started to wriggle the ring unconsciously and was bewildered when it came off with just a gentle pull, after having tried everything in the last few days to remove it. She placed it on the palm of her hand to show the ring to Jamie, who, too, was astonished that it finally came off. They had both joked that it would remain on her finger for the rest of her life unless someone decided to chop it off from her.

Jenny made a sign of the cross. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Claire! Ye can wear the faerie ring! Look at that Ian...I've told ye about this ring, aye? Naebody could wear it without breaking into a rash. Ma was only able to wear it when she was pregnant with Jamie, and after that, she couldna. Aye, she told me this story. That is why she gave the ring to Jamie because none of the Mackenzie women can wear it...or any other women in the family, near or wide."

Ian didn't dare say anything even if he never believed the faerie story. Instead, he reached out to squeeze Jenny's hand.

"Christ, Jenny! Faerie ring?? I thought ye would have outgrown that story!" Jamie objected impatiently, rolling his eyes. "Claire, it's just a highland myth. It's all hogwash!"

Claire gave Jamie a stern look, before nodding to Jenny to continue.

Jenny ignored her brother, determined to tell the story. "Weel, Mrs Graham...ye ken Mrs Graham aye, the housekeeper of Reverend Wakefield? She told Ma that the ring is passed on from one lifetime to another and it always belonged to the same soul." She began, nodding excitedly at all three of them. "Apparently, back in the olden days, there were these star-crossed lovers, a Highland warrior and his Lady. The story goes, there were always these outside forces determined to keep the couple apart, so they went to Simon Fraser of Lovat's seer called Maisri to ask her counsel. The seer, after going into a trance to see their future, she found out their love was doomed for that life, so she gave them this amber stone. And the seer told them if they couldn't be together in that lifetime, they will find each other again in another through this gem. And Mrs Graham said, there is a hex on this ring protected by the faeries of the standing stones, and she said only the soul of the Highland Warrior's Lady can wear the ring. The ring should bring the souls of the lovers back together by the power of the spell cast upon it." Jenny paused to breathe before giving Claire a wide-eyed look as something dawned in her mind. "Oh my God, Claire, ye must be the soul of the Highland Warrior's Lady and ye Jamie must be..." Jenny's hands flew to her mouth, her sapphire blue eyes about to bulge out of their sockets.

Jamie and Ian burst into a loud guffaw much to Jenny's annoyance. Both men knew she had always believed in the old folks' stories of the Highlands, of faeries and superstitious beliefs that had been passed down from generation to generation.

"Oh, Jenny, that story is so adorable. A charming bedtime story for the kids, definitely" Claire giggled nervously, feeling an odd shiver run down her spine, the ring suddenly becoming warm in her hand.

"Aye laugh at me ye goons. Here watch this." Jenny grabbed the ring from Claire's hand and placed it on her right-hand ring finger. And sure enough, within seconds, the pale skin at the back of her hand started to turn red. "See...what did I tell ye? Look at that!" Jenny then returned the ring to Claire, and her skin colour returned to normal.

Jenny, with hands, on her hips, eyed them irritatedly, both eyebrows raised. "Weel, what ye say now, huh?"

Nobody said anything but replied only with a shrug, unsure what to make of Jenny's story.

..........

The days that lead to what Jenny called,  ceilidh , cautious not to call it a wedding party in case the word got out in public, was a flurry of activities in Fraser's household. Jamie had insisted on hiring and covering the cost of a catering company and local musicians as well as other expenses, so as not to burden his sister. There were enough things to organise as it was, such as invitations, preparing the outside area, the house and guest rooms, making reservations at local inns and hotels for their guests and even a bar had been set up, of course, compliments of Frisealach.

Claire had given up, eventually, in offering her help with the preparations, if not a futile attempt but more to appease her sister-in-law who seemed to be in her element orchestrating the event. Instead, she spent most of her days with Jamie as he showed her around his childhood home and the surrounding area, and going on day trips that either involved picnics, fishing, exploring the woods or shopping in Edinburgh. The people from the neighbourhood who have known Jamie all his life came to visit, bearing gifts of homemade fares from their farm such as smoked or cured meats, haggis, jars upon jars of assorted pickles, elderberry cordials and sourdough bread. It was all very idyllic, and Claire cherished the laid-backness and uncomplicated way of life. And even Jamie seemed more relaxed and content to be surrounded by all things and people that he grew up with.

Evenings were always special as the whole family gathered around the massive family room, the men drinking whisky, the women herbal teas and the children playing with their toys until it was ready for bed. And once everyone had retired for the night, Jamie and Claire would make slow passionate love, eventually falling asleep in each other's arms content that everything is right with the world.

Two days before the event, the guests started arriving and among them were Claire's friends from Inverness; Joe and his girlfriend Gail, Geillis, and Murtagh and a few of the men from work. Even Stephen, and Phil, who cancelled his wedding to Mary MacNab made it to the guest list, upon the insistence of Jamie that there were no hard feelings between him and her long-time friends. Most were staying at nearby inns and hotel that Jenny booked and some at the manor's guest rooms.  

Much to the secret delight of Murtagh, he spied the arrival of Jamie and Jenny's widowed aunt Jocasta who arrived from the States with her niece. She was the sister of Jamie and Jenny's late mother, Ellen. He thought Jocasta looked so much like the sibling's mother, who he had been infatuated with for most of his younger years. Seeing Jocasta reminded him of their youth, banter and happier times and he had in mind to reacquaint himself with the handsome woman, and maybe ask her for a dance during the party.

Claire had tried the last few days to get in touch with her uncle Lamb as she had wanted so much for him to be part of this special family event, but her efforts had proven to be unsuccessful. So she was surprised when her uncle turned up with Mother Hildegarde, Jaime feeling proud he was able to pull off the surprise for his wife. Unbeknownst to her, Jamie was able to track down her uncle through Mother Hildegarde of St. Agnes, who had been a family friend to Claire and Quintin Lambert for years. Claire couldn't be happier now that she had one of the most important men in her life to share their joy.

True to her words, Jenny arranged a day of shopping and pampering for the ladies who wished to come along and most especially for her sister-in-law. Although not alien to this guilty pleasure and recreational past-time, Claire was not used to spending so much money on herself for a mere indulgement all in one day. Nevertheless, she indulged and splurged and even treated the ladies to an afternoon tea of scones, cakes and miniature sandwiches during a break from their spree in Edinburgh. 

When they finally got home, Claire was surprised at the progress that was made to transform Lallybroch for the  ceilidh.  There were people from the catering company, family, friends and even neighbours littered everywhere, each busy with the preparation for the following day's party.   Still, it didn't stop Jenny from barking orders after seeing with very critical eyes things that were not to her satisfaction.

Jamie, upon seeing his wife, abandoned what he was doing at the makeshift bar he was working on and rushed to her. Burying his face into Claire's neck, he lifted her for a bone-crunching hug, unaware of the smiles and stares of family and friends. They had never seen Jamie so enamoured and affectionate towards another woman before, that some couldn't help but let out a dreamy sigh.

"Jamie! People are watching!" she whined in a muffled voice as his mouth swooped down for a ravenous kiss.

"I dinna care, Sassenach," he muttered under his breath, one hand cheekily reaching down to squeeze her bottom. "Christ, I've missed ye. Ye were gone for seven hours and thirty-five minutes." After a long, lingering kiss, Jamie pulled his head back a bit for some air, eyes fixated on Claire's swollen lips before dropping his gaze down to her multitude of shopping bags. "Ye have something for me, Sassenach?"

Claire nodded weakly, her head still foggy from the kiss. "I bought you some ties for work and a few shirts..." she said her voice trailing, as she saw Jamie eyeing a lingerie bag.

"Mmm, I see something verra pretty in one of the bags, Sassenach," Jamie observed, one eyebrow cocked, his eyes turning a darker hue. "Would ye care to oblige yer husband and try it on? I would be verra pleased if ye could do that."

"Oh, alright then," she hurriedly mumbled, heat creeping up to her face. Claire was slightly uncomfortable with all the stares and secret smiles that she just wanted to go in the house.

Jamie quickly took Claire's shopping bags from her hands and in one swift, effortless movement, he carried her to the cheers and wolf-whistles of the onlookers. "Wifey is pregnant ye see, and needs plenty of rest, aye? I have to make sure she gets one, her being a stubborn woman and all," he explained cockily before quickly heading towards the entrance door.

As they went in, Jamie and Claire snickered as Jenny shouted after them. "Oy, ye two, dinner is at 6 sharp, dinna be late! Or I'll throw a bucket of cold water over ye both!" Roars of laughter ensued, but Claire was beyond caring as Jamie kissed her while carrying her to their bedroom.

Murtagh incentivised by Jamie's amorous display, eyed Jocasta and approached her with a suggestive smile. "Weel pretty lass, fancy showing me what ye bought today?"

Jocasta surprised, but delighted with the unexpected attention, took Murtagh's offered arm and linked hers through his. "Aye, of course, I bought a few lingerie myself if ye fancy a peek."

.........

It was a beautiful day for a  ceilidh.  There was not a cloud in the sky and everybody, well almost everybody that they had wanted to be there for the special day, was there. The women looked elegant in their floral dresses, men, smart in their kilts and even the children scrubbed up very well. White heart-garlands hanged everywhere across the courtyard, white canopies set up for the buffet, the tables and chairs were all covered in white with umbrellas and in the far end was the dance floor and the musician's stage. The florists have done a fabulous job decorating the tables, buffet, bar and the inside of the house with assorted Highland wildflowers. It was all very rustic and charming.

Claire sat next to aunt Jocasta after refilling her glass with Prosecco with a splash of orange juice. They had been introduced a couple of days ago when the older woman arrived with her niece, and they got better acquainted during the ladies' spree in Edinburgh the day before. On Jocasta's other side sat Murtagh, preoccupied with dabbing the corner of her mouth, after feeding her a canape, just like a maid in waiting, to the amusement of Claire. Jocasta was half-blind and could only make out shadows and blurs in front of her and needed constant assistance. Murtagh thought to take over in assisting her, not so the niece could enjoy the party, but so he could have Jocasta to himself.

"Tis lovely weather for a party Claire. I think Jenny had timed it right. Mind ye, the lass has a knack for perfect timings and organising. She's so much like her mother," Jocasta smiled as she reached out to grasp Claire's hand, her face immobile as she looked straight ahead.

"Perfect timing indeed, and I'm so glad we have this gathering while you're here, Jocasta. You know that you're more than welcome to visit us in Inverness next time you visit Scotland," Claire offered, putting her hand over the older woman's.

"It's aunt, Claire...call me aunt. Ye're part of the family now. I wish Ellen could see how happy her lad is...she would have been proud of this moment. He's always been a good lad and a hard worker, but some of his life's choices have been questionable, and Jenny has done right by him. Such a strong lass she is. And as for ye dear, my darling Jamie has ye now...I can now live the rest of my days in peace." Jocasta tittered at her last statement before she opened her mouth for another delectable canape Murtagh offered.

Claire leaned over to kiss aunt Jocasta just as a shadow fell upon them. Looking up, she saw her friend Stephen, a handsome smile plastered on his face.

"Stephen!"

"May I have this dance with the beautiful bride?" he drawled in his thick Belfast lilt, blue eyes dancing mischievously.

Claire laughed, and when she looked at Jamie, she noticed he had his eyes on her. He nodded as she took Stephen's hand, after excusing herself to Murtagh and Jocasta.   I didn't ask your permission you cocky bastard!   She thought, smiling at her husband and silently scolding him with her eyes.

Stephen took Claire in his arms before expertly twirling her around. "Ach Claire, even if you're not in a bridal dress, you still make one gorgeous bride."

Claire was wearing a nude coloured, floor-length floral dress with sheer long sleeves and V- cut neck, which Jamie had complained was a plunging neckline. To her amusement, Jenny had rubbished his claims. She had swept up her hair loosely with a few loose ringlets hanging down and only wore the pieces of jewellery Jamie had given her. Her skin, normally pale, was slightly tanned from her mornings sitting in the sun, giving Claire a healthy glow and radiance. 

"And you Stephen, you'll never change! You're still the biggest flirt ever," Claire chided jokingly. "So, when are you going to let a lass make an honest man out of you? You're a kind soul, you know, under all that bawdy and coarse exterior of yours. And a romantic too, if I may add!"

"Well, now you've asked, I think there is a lass...a very pretty lass indeed. But, I'm making her suffer a bit though before I answer her calls," Stephen confided with a hint of devilry in his eyes.

"Oooh! Someone, I know? Please tell, now I'm totally intrigued."

"Mmm...maybe...I saw her sat next to you during the rugby game..."

Claire's eyes darkened a bit, remembering the snobby girl dressed like a million dollars. "Please don't tell me it's Geneva Dunsany! That woman was horrid, and you deserve better! Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Stephen, what are you thinking?"

Stephen chuckled. "Aye horrid she was, but I taught her a lesson....or two. After I left your husband at the bar at Cullin's Hotel in Skye, I bumped into Geneva, and I thought to mesel' what a gorgeous lassie...aye, maybe a bit haughty. So I was flirty to her but not indecent when I said hello and tried to make conversation. But when I tried to slip my number into her purse, she went ballistic and started calling me all sorts of names. Let's see...what did she call me...in-bred was one. Mmmm shameless, indecorous, lewd and a stinking bastard. I thought the girl was ballsy and spirited. So...I carried her outside and took her near the hotel's fountain. And before I threw her in, I kissed her for the longest time. And oh lordy, lordy, the lassie can kiss. Anyway, now, she can't stop calling or texting me, but I'll let her stew a bit before I get back to her. That lass needs a bit of chastening."

"Oh, my God, Stephen, no you didn't! Please tell me you're joking!" Claire, already knew he wasn't, but she laughed nevertheless.

They laughed and twirled some more as Stephen recounted more of his antics during Phil's party. And in the next hour or two, she was passed on from one arm to another as the band played tirelessly from one Scottish jig to the next modern music. Claire thought she had never danced so much in her life and was glad she wasn't drinking any alcohol; otherwise, she would have toppled over from all the exertion, so she thought.

She had just finished dancing with her Uncle Lamb when Stephen decided to give the lead singer of the band a rest. He had with him his own guitar, as he took centre stage, strumming a few chords before speaking. "Right folks, I know this is a Highland party, but I would like to inject a bit of Irish flavour for you lot. This song is dedicated to the gorgeous bride and her groom. I used to play this for Claire and Quintin...unlce Lamb... many years ago when we were in the middle of nowhere and missing home."

Stephen paused until the cheers, whistles and clapping subsided. 

"As you know, the Scots and Irish are Gaelic brothers and sisters in arms...so I hope you'll enjoy this wee Irish song...it's called  I'll Tell Me Ma . So everybody, grab a partner and lets parttttyyyyy!" Stephen's voice boomed in the speakers as the first notes of his raucous Irish country folk began to play.

Nobody needed encouraging, and everyone gathered near the musician's stage. Everybody knew the lyrics, and everybody knew the tune and everybody grabbed a partner, adults and kids alike. They all formed a formation to do a fast Grand Chain dance with Jamie and Claire at the head, stomping, clapping and singing along with Stephen's song.

Each faced their partner, and as they passed each other, they gave their right hands. As they let go of their partner's hand, they took the left hand of the person that came towards them, and pass them by the left. They kept on moving right and left alternately until they stopped and facing their original partner once again. As they moved and danced, they all sang loud and enthusiastically and some, drunkenly.

  🎶🎶🎶

I'll tell me ma, when I get home

The boys won't leave the girls alone they

Pulled me hair, they stolen me comb

But that's alright, till I go home

She is handsome, she is pretty

She is the belle of Belfast city

She is a-courting one, two, three

Pray, can you tell me who is she?

Albert Mooney says he loves her

All the boys are fightin' for her

Knock at the door, they're ringin' the bell

"Hello, my true love are you well?"

Out she comes white as snow

Rings on her fingers, bells on her toes

Ol' Jenny Murray says she'll die

If she doesn't get the fellow with the roving eye...

🎶🎶🎶

After the last chorus was sung, everyone cheered, whistled, roared, and clapped while some started shouting  More!  To Claire's horror and at the same time, amusement, Jamie ran up the stage.  Jesus! Please, don't tell me he'll be singing! That bloody Scot...he can't even hold a tune!

"A round of applause for Stephen and the band!" Jamie's voice reverberated as he spoke on the microphone. After everyone had quietened down, he continued in a more subdued voice. "Before we continue with our dancing and singing, I would like to thank each and every one of ye, especially my sister and brother-in-law, on behalf of my lovely wife Claire, for making today memorable. We are truly blessed to have ye in our lives, and I hope we can have more days or evenings like this in the future. Most of all, I would like to thank my wife, Claire, for making my life complete and whole. Sassenach, ye are the most precious thing in my life, and because of ye, ye have made me a better person." 

More cheers, whistles, and clapping followed.

"Now Sassenach, I know ye're about to die of embarrassment here as ye've told me often enough I have a terrible singing voice."

Everyone roared with laughter and Murtagh shouted, "Get him off the stage!"

"As I cannot sing to save my life, I would like to assure everyone that I took three hours singing lesson with Stephen earlier and practised with him this song. So without further ado, I would like to dedicate this song, to ye, my beautiful wife, Claire. It's from The Proclaimers,  I'm Gonna Be 500 Miles.  As I cannot sing as quick as our dear friend Stephen, I will sing the slower version of this song."

Claire's eyes started to well up as Stephen took his place on stage with his guitar behind Jamie. It was apparent that Jamie was about to sing with only Stephen's guitar to guide him as the other musicians have left the stage for refreshments. As Jamie cleared his voice, everyone hushed, and waited for the melody to play. And then Jamie sang, his sky blue eyes never straying from Claire's. 

  🎶🎶🎶

When I wake up, well, I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next to you

When I go out, yeah, I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you

If I get drunk, well, I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you

And if I haver, hey, I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who's havering to you

But I would walk five hundred miles

And I would walk five hundred more

Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles

To fall down at your door

When I'm working, yes, I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who's working hard for you

And when the money comes in for the work I do

I'll pass almost every penny on to you

When I come home (When I come home), oh, I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who comes back home to you

And if I grow old, well, I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who's growing old with you

But I would walk five hundred miles

And I would walk five hundred more

Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles

To fall down at your door

When I'm lonely, well, I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who's lonely without you

And when I'm dreaming, well, I know I'm gonna dream

I'm gonna dream about the time when I'm with you

When I go out (When I go out), well, I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you

And when I come home (When I come home), yes, I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who comes back home with you

I'm gonna be the man who's coming home with you

But I would walk five hundred miles

And I would walk five hundred more

Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles

To fall down at your door

🎶🎶🎶

As Jamie sang the last chorus, he made his way down the stage to stand before his wife, tears evident in his eyes.

Oh my giddy heart, he's done it again, the bloody Scot!  Claire, who wasn't prone to crying in front of anyone, was now crying openly. If truth be told, Jamie had sung the song so beautifully, and from his heart, that she thought her own heart was going to implode.

As the last tune ended, everyone was so quiet, and so still, you could hear a pin drop. Jamie then gathered Claire into his arms and kissed her tenderly as one thumb wiped her tears away. "I love ye so much, Claire."

[grimoiregirlsbook]

01:

A Lament For Al’s Pancake World

A wind carries with it no voices, no songs, no texture whatsoever. This distilled breath finds its way through crevices unknown to even rats, and how desperately have they burrowed their way into this derelict building. Even as four individuals covered in grime-laden flesh feel the welcomed lick of cool air, any sound is refused.

Characterized by a pout and straight black hair stuck to her skull, Lorelai sits at a table where two companions occupy where her parents once had sat. Across from her would be her daughter, missing, though presumably safe. Instead, there is a man consumed by heat but who can no longer sweat.

Formerly the owner of his town’s only soda shop, the elderly Taylor Doose remains proud of his inability to succumb to death.

Occasionally the man will peer down at his wrist and remember the moment he had lost a majority of his left hand. Chewed away and wrapped up in cloth moistened with blood, he has virtually become useless to his party. To his left, Lorelei’s right, is a thin lad encumbered with exhaustion and a fidgeting leg.

“Oh, Kirk. Would you please stop that incessant…” Taylor exhales and is unable to finish his sentence. His head bobs forward when a chill runs through his body. “That incessant…”

“It’s restless leg syndrome, Taylor, and it’s a common ailment of men between the ages of fourteen and seventy-two.” His tort does not inspire a response. “If we’re really going there, I’d ask you to stop breathing so heavily. The rhythm of my lungs naturally attunes to those who are nearest to me, and if you’re exhaling at a rate above a-hundred-four beats per minute, my anxiety tends to…”

Lorelai raises her hand. Her eyes are shut so tight she can remember what fireworks look like. All three look to her with expectation, perhaps some wisdom or comforting words. “Everybody needs to shut up. Like, right now.”

The fourth occupant of the dinner table pipes up. “I agree. Everyone is bickering like little annoying dogs. Chihuahuas.”

“For once, I think I agree with Mrs. Kim. You are all acting like chihuahuas, the mutant rejects of the animal kingdom.”

Kirk shrugs. “I think they’re sweet.”

“I had a chihuahua growing up,” Taylor’s voice breaks. The three are silent. This is the first time Lorelai paid attention to his tongue: dry, scaly. Something resembling empathy rises in her and she flutters her eyelashes after feeling a lump grow in her throat. “A sweet dog, yes,” he continued. “But infamously difficult to train.

“I remember I must have been ten, maybe twelve. No, eleven. Eleven…” His mind trails away and the story ceases like a water hose gradually losing pressure.

The four return their attention to themselves and the ever-growing hunger in the pit of their stomachs. Lorelai knows she must have lost weight. The way they look at her anymore spikes her self-image issues. She notices how she inadvertently covers her arms and avoids eye contact, more-so now than she ever had in high school.

Another gentle gust rolls in. Her mouth parts to breathe in this cool air that cuts through their sweltering sanctuary. “I think it’s going to rain.”

“Rain always excites me,” Kirk claims with a croak. “Something about the electricity in the air. My body is sensitive enough to feel the change of electromagnetic pressure in the atmosphere. My mother always used to call me her little thunder rod.”

Mrs. Kim frowns, and Lorelai verbalizes what she is unable to muster the strength to say. “Don’t you mean ‘lightning rod’?”

He looks down at the table and creases his browline. “I don’t know.” This distant memory, no longer relevant or clear. “Maybe.”

There is a sound from the other room that stirs them from an incoming depression. Each look to the hallway that connects to the kitchen, sans Taylor who is, instead, viewing a movie under his eyelids. A man, unshaved and tired, emerges with a tray of cold sandwiches. “I scraped the mold off of the bread the best I could. What, you’re going to be picky now?”

Lorelai crosses her arms and watches as the serving tray is placed in the center of the table. This stirs Taylor from his rest. Kirk cocks his head. “Is that safe to eat?”

“Safe?” Luke scoffs. “Nothing’s going to be safe for a while, Kirk. Might as well fast if you’re worried about contamination, especially here. What, have your parents ever heard of canned goods?”

Spawn of Gilmore rolls her eyes. “Well, there. That’s the thing. My parents believe that, by default, nothing from a can is good.”

“Try telling Budweiser that. Here,” he bites down into the corner of a sandwich that was cut in half. Through a full mouth, he insists, “Perfectly safe. Delicious. Eat it.”

Kirk removes himself from the table without a word. Luke frowns. “What, too good for a little bit of mold?”

“Oh, no, never. I am going to wash up, though.”

“You’re going to wash up before eating mold?”

“Even while society falls, we must maintain our dignity by living as we would. Civilized, sanitized. Also,” his shoulders straighten. “I have to pee.”

Mrs. Kim shakes her head and Lorelai turns to her with a dim smile. Mentally, she considers how difficult it has been to comfort the woman who is separated from her daughter as well. Though the bond is different and at times estranged, there is no terror as specific as being uncertain about a loved one’s fate.

She can ascertain, however, that Lane is perfectly fine and more-than-likely holed up in the same stead as Rory. Perhaps they are regaling each other with stories of the olden days. It is possible that they are laughing at a strangely specific observation. It is possible that they are able to survive in the same way her mother is, the same way this room full of people are.

Luke’s voice breaks her from this trance. “Is he okay?” She looks to Taylor, who is now shivering in violent throngs.

“Looks like a totally normal reaction to a zombie bite.”

“Oh, zombie this, zombie that. Spare me. Those are just - just sick people who have gone crazy or something.”

Lorelai’s eyes reduce to a sliver. “You can tell that to my mom. No, feel free! She’s upstairs, waiting for you to tell her that the flesh-craving is just a minor symptom of the common cold.”

He is silent for a moment. Taylor’s groans of pain fill the empty space. “I’m not saying it’s the cold, but…”

“Luke.” She shakes her head, telepathically forcing a suggestion to drop the conversation. He agrees with a snarl and a silent mock. Lorelai ignores her sandwich and focuses her attention to the man opposite her. “Taylor, sweetie, can you hear me?”

The old man blinks, disoriented. His eyes are not trained to any specific point. “Hm. Huh?”

“Do you feel good enough to eat something? It’s no pancake from Al’s Pancake World, but it’s something. Are you thirsty? The taps in the bathrooms still work.” Though there is no verbal response, the state of the man is enough to elicit action. Luke shakes his head when the woman begins to shift in her seat.

“I’ll get it. No, sit. Eat the moldwich.” With confidence -- because at least one of them must have some amount of it -- he quickly walks to the bathroom after grabbing a scotch glass from the late Richard Gilmore’s liquor cart. Remembering the escapade of his companion, he knocks on the door. “Kirk, you gotta let me in.”

There is no response. Luke frowns and tries at the handle, and to his surprise, it opens with ease. He peeks in. “Kirk?” Even though the man is gone, there is evidence of his brief visitation.

Luke cranes his neck and looks into the toilet. He suppresses a gag, rolls his eyes, and turns on the faucet. Nothing comes out.

Back in the dining room, Lorelai is pacing. She attempts to calm herself down by refusing the interior dialogue that struggles to become exterior. She tries to remember how to breathe let alone exhale slow, deep breaths. The panting of Taylor increases over time, and so does her anxiety.

Ms. Kim slams the table with either palm and knocks Lorelai from her trance. The exhausted woman points to the injured man. “Would you stop that? Always breathing -- heh, heh, heh. Just die already!”

“Mrs. Kim!” Lorelai finally allows her lungs to clear from stagnant breath. “That is - that is so mean.”

“I don’t understand why we must keep him around. Look at him! Pale and sick and dying. Where is the gun?”

“No. We’re not… Taylor, hush, sweetie. Nothing’s going to happen.”

Luke passes through the threshold with a still-empty cup. “Uh, everything okay, guys?”

“No!” Mrs. Kim stands up from her seat. “We must kill Mr. Doose before he becomes a monster like the others, like your mother.” She directs a hard glare to Lorelai, who quickly looks away after feeling a paralyzing shock run through her body.

“Oh, nope. No, you don’t.” Luke approaches the hysteric woman and places the empty glass on the table. “You’re not allowed to emotionally torment us when we already have very real, physical torment just outside of these doors.”

Lorelai runs her hands through her thick, graying hair and cups her ears. The voices come muffled now. He continues: “There are solutions other than violence. Plus, between you and me, I’d rather not waste one of our precious bullets on a man that looks like a strong breeze could evaporate him.”

Mrs. Kim raises her chin. “Go on.”

“Okay, good,” he says, relieved. “We can start delegating in a totally cool-headed way. I’m glad to see that we can communicate with each other about this instead of resorting to, you know, murder. There’s always a simple solution.”

“You have no idea what to do, Luke Danes.” The sound of Mrs. Kim’s voice has always cut through him as she was one of the few women to completely intimidate him. Lorelai creases her brow and unlatches her hands from her ears. She crosses them and cocks her hips.

“Oh, come on, Mrs. Kim. Luke of all people not having a plan?” The woman laughs and looks to an unconvinced Mrs. Kim and a nearly comatose Taylor Doose. “That’s - that’s why they call him the man with the plan. Right?”

Not receiving an answer, she verbally prods him once more. “Right, Luke?” He begins to cock his shoulders in a slow shrug. “What? No, no, no.” She rounds the sharp corner of the dinner table, cuts in front of Mrs. Kim, and closes in on the uncertain man.

“Listen, Lorelai,” he begins while rubbing the back of his neck. His voice reduces. “Maybe we should do something about Taylor. I mean, look at the state of him.” She humors him by examining the man; bereft of color, gasping for one of the few instances a breeze could be felt.

She does not respond immediately. Her gaze floats like a transient yellow rubber duck upon a freshly drawn bath. “We have two more bathrooms.”

Luke blinks. “One more time?”

“Two more bathrooms. Mom’s in the upstairs master. The guest bathroom in the hallway is free. I don’t want to put him down here, because, you know, just in case, I guess.”

He looks at her creased face and empathizes with what little energy she has left. This compromise saps her remaining reserves of hope.

Luke chews on the inside of his lower lip and straightens his posture. “I’ll need help getting him upstairs. No, you can stay here. I’ll find Kirk.” An uninvolved Mrs. Kim re-seats herself, but not before grabbing the empty scotch glass. She stares into the bottom and imagines the taste of every liquor it has once held.

“Find Kirk?” Lorelai tilts her head. Her voice still holds passivity. “I thought he was just using the bathroom.”

He shrugs and pulls away from the conversation without another word, leaving Lorelai to stand alone, idly bobbing like the useless rubber duck she hated imagining herself as.

Once again, Luke disappears from the room but his voice can still be heard calling for the missing companion.

He travels up the flight of stairs and knocks on the wall as he does. “Kirk?” His voice projects and cuts through the cement maze that is the Gilmore mansion. “You gotta help me out here.”

Intuitively, he approaches the guest bathroom. Even as his body contours around a wall he is able to see the door cracked and the lights off. He hums inquisitively and feels worry crease his forehead. “Kirk, buddy, you better not be doing anything stupid.”

He waits for a response but instinctively knows that somewhere within this building, Kirk was indeed doing something stupid and perhaps even dangerous. The man considers a mental archive of each possibility and flares his nostrils when one resonates particularly so.

Luke sets off to the master bedroom where a disoriented Emily Gilmore resides. Excommunicated, alone, infected.

He keeps his footsteps quiet as to not alert his companions downstairs. Heel to toe, he deftly navigates the tight labyrinth and eventually happens upon the master bedroom where a soft voice speaks with child-like innocence.

Kirk speaks to the bathroom door. “It’s okay, Mrs. Gilmore. I’m just going to use your sink for a few seconds. Maybe use a hand towel if you have a clean one you’re not using.” He feels a new presence and turns to an angry Luke.

“Jesus, Kirk! Are you insane?”

“I just need to get in there for just a moment, you know? Just a quick moment.” He reaches for the door handle and Luke lurches to swat his hand away. The frail man observes the back of his left hand. “Ow. That’ll probably bruise.”

Luke’s nostrils flare and his mouth parts open to further admonish him, but a thump against the bathroom door causes either man to jump. “Okay. We have to get out of here.”

“That’s probably a fair assessment, but, Luke, the downstairs faucet isn’t working.”

“Don’t wash your hands, then.” Another thump, this time with more force. “I don’t think that door is going to hold. We need to lock her in here.”

Kirk nods and claps his hands together with excitement. “Great! I’ll open this right up and you can distract her while I run in and wash up.”

Incredulous, Luke is unable to prevent Kirk from following through with his own asinine plan. His eyes widen and feels time slow around him as he watches the door swing open to reveal Emily Gilmore.

Sunken cheeks and dim eyes are fixtures on a canvas of skin that has since lost any familiar color. Makeup is smeared from her lips up to just below her right temple. A concave eye is made beauteous by uneven liner and a nude eyeshadow.

As Kirk brings the door to a full pivot, Luke is able to see the damage on the inside of the door: expensive makeup residue patterned within the splintered wood. Dark, unhealthy blood had been exhaled on the walls inside of the bathroom. The shower curtain is mostly dislocated, with few rings remaining intact.

Emily Gilmore locks her remaining eye on the man in front of her. Somewhere deep within her skull spins the few gears that belong to lucidity.

Backward hat, the corpse churns this recursive thought through sickness induced mania. Backward hat, backward hat.

She lunges forward and pauses to regain control of her failing nervous system. Luke backs up in short strides with his hands positioned just inches ahead of his chest. “Emily, Mrs. Gilmore,” he attempts to reason with the woman in a quiet, synthetically calm voice. “Kirk just has to use the bathroom. You can have it back after he’s done…” He cranes his neck around her to watch him hovering over the sink. “After he’s done washing his hands.”

Her lips curl and reveal shattered teeth. The force of her clenched jaw coupled with a bereft of pain receiving faculties has resulted in a loss of all of her front teeth. Her hair, however, is still in pristine form.

Another step forward and she trips over her own feet. This opening is enough for Luke to make an executive decision.

The toe of his boot, having known soil both dry and moist as well as the grease-slicked tiles of his restaurant for decades, is now introduced to the underside of Emily Gilmore’s throat.

The force of his response tears a hole in the woman’s neck. Her weak flesh rips away and Luke’s foot is shallowly burrowed. The woman squelches in pain, the sound muffled and reduced, garbled from the blood that she chokes on through this.

Kirk pokes his head out of the door as Luke heaves the woman off of his shoe. He looks up and furrows his brow with such intensity the man thought it would be better for him to find new residence in the decimated bathroom.

“You son of a bitch,” he barks through gritted teeth. For just a second, he watches the infected woman struggle against the ground. She claws at his ankles, but he steps over her to avoid the simple attacks. As Luke approaches, Kirk reaches to shut the door. “Don’t you dare, Kirk. Don’t you --”

“Get away, you lunatic!”

“Me? I’m the lunatic?”

Just as the metal lock connects with its home and the wooden door meets its frame, the same bloody boot connects with the mullion and collapses the door inwards. Kirk strafes away to avoid the intruder he once considered an ally.

While Luke’s boots are familiar with the concept of hard work and have been purchased with the idea of friction in mind, Kirk’s shoes have only known the feeling of escapism. Loosely connected activities, incomplete schemes. Never once grounded in a shared reality.

They do know now, however, the taste of old blood.

As the heel licks the metallic paste left over from somewhere in Emily’s lungs, the man is able to feel himself fall backward. The nape of his neck wraps over the side of the exposed bathtub where within many jets were installed to provide a comfortable yet exciting bathing experience.

Luke is frozen. He feels the cold drip of terror work its way through his lungs, and then into his esophagus. Dehydrated as he already was, there was even less moisture left on his tongue and none in the back of his throat. He speaks, but his words are made of dust: “Kirk? Are you okay, buddy?”

The man’s body is limp and impossibly contorted. “Kirk?” He hesitates before stepping forward. Luke’s head bobs forward like an unsure cat in an empty alleyway. His heart thrums in triplets -- each third beat further closing his throat.

Kirk’s hands and feet simultaneously twitch. Luke can feel all collected air escape from his lungs in the manner of one second. He is lightheaded and clutches his chest to calm his flailing heart. “Oh, my God. I was really worried there. Here, let me - let me help you up.”

He extends his left hand and uses his right for support against the cool wall. Another full-body twitch from Kirk, but no verbal response. Luke’s fingers wilt and he slowly pulls away. Two more twitches, then a seizure. His nostrils flare and, as if by divine timing, he turns away from Kirk to witness another stressor.

The body of Emily Gilmore had dragged its way out of the bedroom and left with it a trail of mucus and blood. He resolves to deal with her as his top priority but first tries to seal the door to the best of his ability. The hinges were destroyed in his breach and he is still able to clearly see Kirk’s spazzing body.

Luke does not have to travel far to meet up with the tenacious corpse. She hears his footfall and turns to face him. He is not able to look at her for more than a second before feeling nausea overwhelm him.

With a deep breath, he moves to grab her ankles and drag her back into her bedroom. Flecks of loose skin and crumbled teeth are left in her wake.

As he re-enters the room, he notices Kirk has dislodged himself from his previous position. While gripping Emily’s ankles, he keeps a close eye on the ostensibly dead man. “Kirk?” He calls once more. There is a belch as a reply. Luke drops Emily’s feet and quickly shuts the bedroom door before returning to Kirk with anxiety in his chest.

The man is not dead, nor is he alive. The same look as the late Emily Gilmore is etched on his face, sculpted deep within his eyes where there is no intelligent luster, but a drained well of lost sentience. “You too, huh?” Luke breathes this out and feels wasps of guilt swarm his thoughts.

Behind him is a snarling Emily Gilmore, the first of their party to be lost to the terrible and unknown disease. Several feet from Luke is the second, a man whose death could be somewhat beneficial for their longevity. He frowns and idles for a long moment. There is a sharp voice that calls his name.

Lorelai is at the bottom step, too weak to continue more than this. “Luke, are you okay?” There is minor panic in her voice after having heard a strange commotion. In the next room, Taylor’s pained heaving has reduced to calm, short breaths. She thinks about the sick man and wonders if she should feel relieved or even more worried.

Soft steps alert her, but she recovers with a genuine smile as she sets her eyes upon the grizzled but handsome Luke Danes. He tries to smile but his words do not carry with them the confidence they should have. “Hey. You okay?” They travel back to the kitchen with a quickened pace.

“Yes, but you aren’t. Obviously.” Lorelai looks behind her shoulder to examine the staircase. “What’s going on? Where’s Kirk?”

“Alright.” Luke clears his throat. He examines Mrs. Kim from the end of the room staring them down, and then Taylor with raised eyebrows. “He’s looking better.”

Lorelai’s smile acts more as a grimace. She is waiting for him to communicate with her and he picks up on this. “Kirk, erm, he… Yeah, do I really have to say it?”

“What? Yes, you do,” Lorelai’s voice raises and the neurotic woman stands up from her seat once again. He huffs and crosses his arms as Mrs. Kim joins the conversation with wide, speculative eyes. “What happened to him?”

Mrs. Kim scoffs. “Kirk?” He nods with a short sigh.

“Best to just tell you, I suppose. Alright! He freed Emily and -- no, Lorelai, listen. He wanted to wash his hands, and…”

The daughter of the household’s pet corpse looks up. A chandelier catches the corner of her eye. Cobwebs connect to multiple bulbs, once acting as a bridge for eight-legged critters. “She bit him.”

Luke freezes. He examines the woman he had known for as long as he could remember.

Even as many old memories have begun to fade -- holidays, festivals, birthdays, Lorelai remains a fixture in his mind. Every moment he closes his eyes, no matter how tired or distracted, the woman eventually finds her way into his mental cinema.

He sucks his lips for a long time before replying with a slow nod. Luke is unable to bring himself to lie, not out loud, not in his own voice.

[the-jade-cross]

Burning Water - Chapter VI

Chapter 6

“So… I hope we didn’t miscommunicate,” Maya stuttered as she stared at the door that was the only thing separating her from the brothel of Kings Landing.

The woman, Zarina, smiled at the rather flustered and horrified girl. “Don’t worry. I promised that you would not feel uncomfortable working here. There is a parlor on the second floor. That is where the guests go to eat before or after their stay. No inappropriate behavior is allowed in there. Other than that, you will help with the washing, hanging the sheets to air and collecting the sheets. However, you will only have to remove sheets after the customers have departed. I have been working here doing those same duties here for five years and I have only run into someone having sex once and it was because they were so quiet, I didn’t think anyone was in the room.”

Maya let out a shaky breath, trying to calm her pent-up nerves. “Okay… erm… how will… the guests…”

“They will know you are off limits by a veil or a mask,” Zarina explained. “I only take my veil off when I am either out or there are no guests around. If they see you wearing a mask or a veil or if the lower half of your face is concealed, that means you are off limits. There are a few men who will try to pay handsomely to get their way. It happened once to me but when the man saw my scar, he took it back. You can make up a story… like you have no lips or something and they will leave you alone.”

“Anything else I have to do in order to get this job?” Maya inquired. “Credentials or something?”

Zarina chuckled, “No. Though, it would be nice to know why you came to Kings Landing. Helps to make bonds and build trust.”

Maya pursed her lips, “I… was almost raped back home… my brothers and father found it fit to send me somewhere where I wasn’t known… at least until I grew up and possibly… found a husband or became less… desirable. I am not sure what he meant by that.”

Zarina smiled at the innocent girl. Sixteen years old and she didn’t realize that she would make any man blush at her luscious curves, gorgeous eyes and perfect hair.

“Well, until you see it fit to leave or return home, this will be your new home,” Zarina told her. “I sleep up on the roof at night. It is never too cold at night and it smells less than indoors. Come, I’ll show you.”

Zarina led the girl up the stairs and Maya found with joy that they only ran into a prostitute once or twice, but they were dressed enough that Maya didn’t feel uncomfortable. She was thankful the men had the decency to have their pants on while the girls had only undergarments on, if that.

Once they reached the roof, Maya saw that it was flat with potted plants lining the small roof. There were a couple of hammocks to one side, a pile of pillows in a corner and across from the stairs at the other side of the roof were a few mattresses on the floor.

“All the prostitutes are either working at night or have their own homes so it will just be you and me up here,” Zarina explained. “I like to spread out though and Miss Veer, she runs the place, she likes to change the bedding and mattresses every month… they are used quite roughly so I bring them up here.”

Maya spied a bed that was a little set off from the others and dropped her bag on the red sheets.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Zarina told her with a smile, “I will head downstairs to grab some food. I will be right back.”

Maya sat down on the bed and pulled out her bag’s contents. She slipped her notebook that she used to sketch, write dancing plans and moves or just to write letters. This she slipped under the mattress between the floor and the mattress before pulling out her clothes and setting them in a small basket at the end of the bed.

The hatch to the stairs opened and Zarina stepped back up, carrying a tray with a pitcher of water, some bread, ham and cheese.

“Hungry?” she asked as she sat down at a small crate that she had transformed into a table.

Maya came over and sat cross-legged across from her.

“I didn’t think you drank wine, so I brought some water instead,” Zarina explained, pouring her a glass. “I also brought you these.”

Maya looked up, a bite of ham still in her mouth when she saw what Zarina was holding up. A simple green dress that was much more revealing than the simple dress she wore but a lot more modest than the things the prostitutes were wearing. Similar to what Zarina was wearing.

“I am sorry that it doesn’t cover more but Miss Veer insists. She doesn’t want to ‘scar off’ customers with vulgar dressed women. I think she misunderstands the term ‘vulgar’. Anyway. I also brought you this.”

She reached into her pocket and drew out a golden chain mask which she slipped onto her head to show Maya how it worked, “It will cover your forehead and your lower face. You can see perfectly fine and it is not uncomfortable. However, if you tell the customers that you have a scar or something, they will believe you since it covers enough. It will also help hide your pretty features and that way; less people will become interested in you.”

She took the mask off and held it out to Maya who looked at it before trying to pull it on, but it kept slipping. “Maybe I should do my hair up…”

Zarina nodded before scooting closer, “May I?”

Maya nodded and Zarina set about braiding Maya’s hair into an updo before helping her pull the mask on. Zarina sat back to give her a good look and she smiled, nodding.

“It suits you. Now the dress.”

Maya, knowing that there was no other way to avoid it, stood up and allowed Zarina to help her slip into the dress. As she looked down at herself, she realized that her mother was probably screaming from her grave, but she knew that if she wanted to hide her true self, no one would expect to find Mayaka Tyrell in a brothel in the middle of Kings Landing. This was the safest place to hide. For now.

“So, I do not believe you gave me your name,” Zarina observed.

Maya pursed her lips, thinking of what name to give but realized that everyone but her closest friends and siblings knew her as Maya. Everyone else thought she was just Mayaka.

“Maya. My name is Maya.”

************

A FEW WEEKS LATER

"Up and then to the left," Maya whispered as she swung her leg around, moving her arms in the opposite direction, trying to get the spin jump just the right way.

She tried but stumbled when she landed, huffing. "again," she told herself as she did the movement again.

"Maya! Have you seen the new soap Miss Veer..." A voice called as the hatch opened.

Maya spun around but forgot that she was in midair and she went falling to the ground, head first.

"Maya!" Zarina screamed but her cry died on her lips when the water from the pitcher on the crate shot out from the jar, flew through the air and wrapped around Maya's body like a big bubble, cushioning her fall so that the girl just stumbled onto her backside, the water soaking into the floor below her.

"Wha..." Zarina began but Maya scrambled to her feet and held up her hands.

"Zar, please, don't tell anyone about this...." she started but Zarina's eyes just kept getting wider.

"You're her.... the girl everyone was talking about a few months ago!" she whispered. "The water manipulator... the water dancer..."

Maya hung her head and Zarina's face split into a huge grin, "I was wondering why your name sounded familiar... Mayaka Tyrell. I would have never have guessed to find you here."

Maya shrugged, "Well you did kinda bring me here."

Zarina chuckled before rushing over but then her eyes fell on the wet puddle. Maya quickly began to move her hands and the water evaporated from the floor before she returned it to the jar.

"I promise I wont tell anyone," Zarina told her as the two sat down on one of the beds, crosslegged across from each other. "But Maya, you have to be careful. Not only are you still trying to do this but... men are beginning to notice you. Some of the guests have been asking about you... even some of the male prostitutes!"

Maya's head snapped up but Zarina rubbed her shoulder, "I wont let any of them have you but... the place that you thought would be safe to hide you... might not be as safe as we once thought."

******

Zarina hummed in contentment as she walked down the alleyway toward the brothel. She had gone to town to pick up some food and a little bit of fabric. Maya hated having to leave the brothel, even though that sounded totally perverted but the girl was afraid that someone would recognize her by accident so Zarina would do her shopping for her. The two women had gotten their monthly wage the night before and Maya had asked Zarina to buy a simple bolt of strong dark blue fabric for the dress that Zarina had given Maya two years ago when the girl first arrived was wearing out and tearing in places, so Maya wanted to make a new one and had given her money to Zarina to use.

It was early morning, and the sun was barely up, giving the whole of Kings Landing a dark reddish hue. Few people were up this early except those who worked for a living like the blacksmiths and bakers.

When the woman stepped into the brothel, it was silent. The guests were probably sleeping in the guest room section of the building near the back or they had left, and the prostitutes weren’t yet in. Barely any customers came in the morning so they never had to come in till later but Zarina was always up before dawn doing the shopping she couldn’t do during the day while Maya did her morning rounds, doing laundry and preparing beds.

Zarina stopped in the pantry to drop off the extra food before heading up to the roof. Maya was not there so she set the bolt of fabric on her mattress before heading downstairs to see if she could find Maya to help her with the sheets. She searched every room that was not occupied by a paying overnight guest but there was no sign of the girl.

Beginning to worry and fearing that Maya had stepped outside for an emergency, Zarina hurried to look outside when she heard a muffled voice coming from the linen room. The room was only opened to get fresh linen to replace soiled ones so Zarina crept toward it cautiously, hoping dearly that she wouldn’t open it to find two of the prostitutes having on the side sex in the closet. She quickly threw it open and her heart relaxed when she did not find anyone in there between someone’s legs but then her heart plummeted to her soles when she saw who was in there…. Maya!

The girl lay on the corner of the closet, her knees brought up close to her chest with her ankles tied, wrists bound above her head and attached to a nail in the wall. Linen was spewed on the ground, having been knocked down and there was a gag in Maya’s mouth.

Zarina took in the sight of the girl in an instant and she felt anger boil in her throat. Tears were streaming from Maya’s gorgeous blue eyes that were wide with fears and puffy from constant sobbing. She was trembling in the bonds, bruises littering her bare arms and her skirt was ripped… oh…

“Maya!” Zarina cried, dropping to her knees to unbind the girl and Maya tore off the gag. “What happened!?”

“I don’t know…” Maya admitted as Zarina helped her sit up straight and outside the linen closet. “I…. I was changing the bedding…. And… one of the male workers… he came up and asked if I needed help…I said he could help…. Everything seemed okay… but the next thing I know… everything went black and then I woke up in here two hours ago.” Maya choked out as she tried to still her panting and sobs.

Zarina sighed. Perhaps the man just wanted to steal something, so he knocked Maya out. She prayed dearly that was the case until she saw something that made her blood boil… blood…seeping from between Maya’s legs.

“Maya,” Zarina whispered, cupping the sobbing girl’s face to look her in the eyes. “Do you feel any pain?”

Maya frowned before Zarina stood up and motioned for her to do the same. Taking Zarina’s hand, Maya got to her feet but immediately cried out in pain and doubled over, clutching her lower abdomen close to her thighs.

“Ow… oh ow… why does that hurt!” She cried, tears streaming anew from her eyes. “I have never felt this pain….”

Zarina sighed, feeling tears prick her own eyes when she realized what had happened. “Maya sweetie, we need to get you to the roof and then I need to get a hold of Miss Veer. Do you remember who it was who did this to you?”

Maya nodded weakly as she allowed Zarina to help her up the stairs to the roof. “Olyver’s brother… Octovio.”

Zarina found herself growling in anger as she supported the sore and bruised Maya up the stairs. When they reached the roof, Zarina helped the girl lay down on her mattress and Zarina began to gently remove Maya’s outer clothes. When Maya was in nothing but her undergarments, Zarina saw the extent of the damage. Hand bruises on the girl’s waist. Thankfully the man hadn’t removed her chest wrap which remained intact but her underwear was torn in half and soaked with blood and smelt of semen.

“The bastard,” Zarina hissed as she gently removed the soiled garments from the weeping girl. “He will rot in hell for this.”

After grabbing a damp cloth and helping the girl clean up before redressing her in her nightgown and covering her with the blanket, Maya turned to look at Zarina, tears trickling onto her pillow. “Zar… he… did he… he did didn’t he?” she whispered, lip trembling.

Zarina wished she didn’t have to say this but the look in Maya’s eyes… broken hope… destroyed trust and horrified innocence… she couldn’t lie to her. Slowly she nodded and Maya whimpered, turning to hide her face under the blankets.

The girl gently shushed Maya before stroking her hair. “You stay here. I am going down to find Miss Veer. I will be right back.”

Maya didn’t realize Zarina had left until she heard the trap door open and two sets of footsteps hurry over. Peeking out of the covers, she saw the stern Miss Veer standing with Zarina, a serious look on her face but worry in her eyes.

“May I see you child?” she asked gently as she knelt beside Maya.

Maya weakly nodded and allowed Miss Veer to open her skirt and slide aside her fresh underwear. The woman too one look at the bruised flesh, red puffy eyes, grip marks on her thighs and waist and the still bloody womanhood before standing up and turning to Zarina angrily.

“Rape is punishable by being thrown out of the brothel but this… rape while the other is unconscious… this is punishable by imprisonment and torture. I will inform the authorities and have a guard come and find Octovio. He probably thinks no one would realize what happened since Maya was unconscious. You stay with Maya today. I will have one of the girls take your places for today. Do whatever you need to in order to ensure that this never happens to Maya again. Arm her, change her clothes, whatever you need but fix this.”

Zarina nodded as the woman angrily stormed downstairs, yelling orders to the other workers. Zarina sat down beside Maya who was crying again.

“I am ruined, aren’t I?” she whispered. “I had begun to like being here… with you… and Miss Veer…and I hoped that perhaps if my family every visited Kings Landing, I would return to them but… no one will want me like this… not my sister… not my brothers… not a possible husband… most definitely not my father!”

“Sh,” Zarina cooed. “None of this is your fault Maya. That man will pay for what he did to you and I am certain your family will not hold you responsible and welcome you back with open arms. As for a husband. Every man is a fool for not wanting to marry you, virgin or not. Just because you aren’t a virgin anymore Maya does not mean you are not the innocent, sweet, caring girl I have known these two years.”

Maya whimpered as she remembered her sixteenth birthday and the romantically memorable dance, she shared with the young prince of Dorne. “Not even Oberyn Martell of Dorne, the man whore of Westeros would want me, even if I paid him.”