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Oh, by ticking minutes come to hours did her patience wane. She’d never had any. Even the ringing memories of her father told her so. Impatience was her vice. So impulsive and over eager, no no no–Orin–always is this what got her in trouble. It was how they ended up this way. Her inability to wait, to listen. It had been the death of them. Or so she’d thought.
Orin the red stepped soundlessly though the quieted quarters of the prism bearers. She knew now well where Scarlett had chosen to sleep. By the window, on her side. She laid out in cut up pants and a sleeveless undershirt, her blood-soaked-by-lordling-lackies boots barely off her feet from where she’d fallen into bed. Orin wore a serving girl’s skin as she had before, when she’d delivered the letter. “Kill him now, Lettie.” she had demanded. If all her words were true and there was never secrets worth being kept then kill him she would, but it made the hand she held her blade with clench. She waited still. Stupid girl. She never should have trusted. Too weak, strayed too far–shouldn't have survived that mind flayer ship, never, never, never--but did. Orin scowled to herself as she approached her bedside, blade in hand to finish what she’d started, and ought to have done. But again, her blade’s certainty quaked. Her form flaked away like lost ashes on charred flesh as she looked down and saw the letter with her demanded in Scarlett’s hands. She clutched it like one does when something is precious.
Blade met cloth instead of skin and Orin sat down on the mattress’ edge. “Oh, my sweet little running river of red…” she whispered and reached for her face, brushing stray red hair from her face. “How am I to slice you to ribbons when you still sleep like the dead?”
Her hand trailed further, rubbing her back, gently. Scarlett moved; tension left dead weight against her palm. She knew it even in the quiet of sleep. She would chase this feeling like a rabid dog. Scarlett would never let her go. It was a sort of fear in her, familiar as the dread of loss. She sighed and leaned down, placing a kiss on her lover’s hair. “Sleep then, my beating heart. But do not fail me in the morrow. I know not if I’ll be so willing to stay my hand again.”
She stood, full well knowing nothing short of the end days would wake the woman she’d wed and took her blade, only to stop when she heard the gasp of the young girl who had stayed among these people in their camp.
Orin turned her head. She’d had her eye on this one. She was not battle broken and sullied like the others. Oh, a fine offering would she be. But not this night. She hadn’t the urge for it. Instead, she looked back at Scarlett and reached for one of the moon shaped decorations in her hair, breaking it off and approaching the girl. She didn’t back up very far, just stared up at Orin with big wide eyes.
“You are that red lady. Miss Lettie talks about you.”
That made her smile. “Does she? Well, do tell her I stopped by. And when she wakes, give her this,” she said, handing the decoration to the girl. “And tell her that till the moon has set on the Lordling’s light I’ll not be back again,” she said.
The girl nodded and closed her hand around the trinket. “Yes ma’am,” she said.
“Good.” Orin stood and took shape to the serving girl again. “Run off back to bed little red one. It’s not wise for things that glow to wander in the dark,” she said and turned to go.