Archive of Our Own ^omega

A figure shifts overhead, and I look up to find the lady herself hanging from the ceiling. A series of wooden beams have been installed up there, allowing her to perch upside-down as she peruses the otherwise inaccessibly tall shelves. There must be hundreds of books in here, most of which are likely older than my house. Emma clearly takes great care of them, if the collection's survived this long. 

After a few more moments of searching, she slowly walks along the underside of the beam she's on, then lets go when she's directly over the table I'm seated at. She spreads her leathery wings on the way down, slowing her descent to a more reasonable speed, and landing gracefully on her feet. 

"Here we are." She hums, setting a few books down on the table. She spreads them out, turning them so that I can read the titles, then takes a seat across from me. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her ears flick excitedly. Clearly, she's very eager to share her collection with me. 

There's a pretty interesting spread here, each tome visibly weathered to a different degree. I recognize some poetry, a bit of Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe. What looks like the writings of a Greek Philosopher here or there. And, finally... 

"The Merriam-Webster Thesaurus?" I read aloud, casting a curious glance at her. 

"But of course! What good are fancy words if you have no idea what they mean?" 

Fair point, I suppose. I shrug, sitting up straight in my seat like I'm back in English class all over again. "Alright, Professor Stryx. I'm ready." 

"Ooo, Anthony. I thought we were saving that kind of talk for the bedroom!" She purrs. 

"Emma!" 

The bat woman chuckles, then clears her throat. "Alright, I'll stop. Now, remind me of your question again. I haven't forgotten, but a little refresher will help me figure out how best to explain." 

"I want to know how you're so good with words." I repeat. "At first I thought I was just easily flustered, but I've seen you work your magic on a lot of other people while living here. I mean, that mummy the other day? Priceless." 

Emma taps her chin, then stands up, stepping away from her seat and into the more open space beside the table. "Words are indeed important, but in all honesty? They're only half the battle. The other half is presentation." 

She spreads her wings dramatically on the last word, then folds one over her front, leaving only her eyes and upper snout exposed. 

"You must have the appropriate flair." She says. "The gusto! The mystique! No amount of eloquent vocabulary will save you if you have the aura of a startled squirrel." 

Man, in hindsight I should've brought a proper notebook. "And how does one go about creating the proper aura?" 

"An excellent question, my dear! As it so happens, step one of both choosing your words and cultivating your aura is the same: know your audience." She leans over to snag her chair from its place by the table, then drags it out to where she's currently standing. With a completely unnecessary amount of flourish, she sits, folding one leg over the other and placing her hands neatly in her lap. "Everyone will react to things a little differently, you see. What might work on one person may not work on another. Take you, for instance. There are some things I know you enjoy that others have been... less than pleased with, in the past." 

"Oh yeah?" I ask, curiosity piqued. "Like what?" 

Her furry features split into an absolutely devilish grin at my question. Suddenly, I'm not so sure it was wise to ask that. 

"Well, you love it when I call you 'little one', for starters." 

She drops her voice into a somewhat more husky tone as she says it. And of course, right on cue, I can feel the blush lighting up my face. 

"Alright, should have seen that one coming." 

"I know you're also very partial to 'my dear', 'precious', 'darling', and 'sweetness'." 

"OK Emma, I get it." 

"And you make the most adorable expression when I call you—" 

"THAT'S ENOUGH, THANK YOU." I exclaim, trying and failing to hide the smile on my reddening face. "Point taken, you don't need to run through the whole list. Sheesh." 

Emma leans back in her seat, looking infuriatingly pleased with herself. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Know! Your! Audience! It is step one of any proper social interaction, whether that be charming someone, scaring them, or simply making them laugh. Step two is presentation — your posture, your tone, your clothing, but that much you can do without if the situation does not call for it outright. In fact, what do you plan on using this information for, exactly?" 

"I dunno." I shrug. It was a nervous response, truth be told. She asked, I panicked, and that was the first thing that came to mind. But with the benefit of hindsight, I'm realizing that it's actually a pretty good launching point for the bold-faced lie that I am absolutely about to tell her. "I figured maybe it'd come in handy, one day. Maybe I could learn how to...." 

I pause, nearly biting my tongue off in an effort to avoid giving too much away.

"...Uh, impress you? Haha... ha. I swear, I had a more eloquent way to phrase that, and now I can't remember what it was." I sigh. "Guess that just proves my point, doesn't it?" 

"Awwwww, Anthonyyyy!" She croons, clasping her clawed hands together. "You've done enough to impress me as you are. You don't need to learn how to talk like an overly posh aristocrat to earn my love." 

The way her giant ears wiggle when she's happy never fails to make my heart flutter. "I know, I know. Still, it seems like a useful skill to have. I'm sure I could find some fun uses for it." 

"Oh, I'm sure you could." She replies slyly. "Speaking of which, if you're looking for a good starting point, I'd recommend-" 

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK 

"Come in!" 

The library door creaks open, and a shaggy, canine head pokes its way into the room. By the rough black fur and yellow eyes, I recognize it as Dane, the lycanthrope groundskeeper. Through the gloom of the doorway, I can barely make out his blue overalls and light straw hat. 

"Beggin' your pardon, Lady Stryx." He begins, voice rough but polite. "The town alchemist is at the gates, says she has somethin' to talk to you about. Wouldn't tell me what it was." 

Emma gives a disapproving little squeak, ears lowering. "Can she wait? Anthony and I are in the middle of something." 

"'Fraid not, ma'am. She said it was quite important.'' 

"Oh, very well." She complains, shoulders slumped as she rises from her seat. "Terribly sorry, dearest. This may take a while. Feel free to start reading without me, I'll be back as soon as I can." 

Dane moves out of the doorway so that Emma can pass, giving her an apologetic shrug on the way out. A second or two after she's disappeared through it, I hear the unmistakable sound of wingbeats coming from the hall. She must've jumped out the window and flown the rest of the way. 

Once we're both certain she's gone, Dane hurries inside and closes the door gingerly behind him. The black mop of fur and teeth that is our gardener isn't as tall as Emma, but he's easily twice as wide, and has a head of height on me at least. The first time I saw him, I was sweating buckets. Now, the old wolf is actually one of my favorite people to see around town. 

"Alright, we don' 'ave much time." He mutters, dropping heavily into the seat across from me. "If you 'ave any questions, I'll answer 'em as quick as I can." 

Without missing a beat, I whip out the tiny notepad and pencil I was hiding in my back pocket. "Let's start with an easy one, what kind of stuff does Emma find 'pretty'?" 

"Hm. Ah, gemstones!" He answers eagerly. "Anything colorful, really, but gems are the easiest. She's named after one, as a matter o' fact. Ematille, 'nother word for Bloodstone. Did'ja know that?" 

I nod attentively, jotting down notes as quickly as I can. "I've heard it once or twice. What does she like to be complimented on? Her appearance?" 

"Oh yeah, absolutely. Her fur, her wings, her figure, take your pic. She loves it." 

"OK, easy enough... What about names? Titles? What should I call her?" 

Dane pauses, scratching his chin while he thinks.

"I dunno. Listen, you didn't 'ear this from me, ay? But the lady has a bit of an ego. Not in a bad way!" He adds hastily. "She's been great to work for, real nice woman. But come on, she lives in a castle full of servants for a reason. My lady, my queen, things like that. She loves it." 

Honestly? Yeah, that absolutely tracks. I snort as he describes it, writing a few more notes down and playing with ideas in my head. 

"Sweet. Thanks for the info, Dane. You're a big help. Mind if I run a few lines by you, see if they sound too cheesy?" 

"I should warn you, I'm no poet. I talk like a drunken potato farmer from the 18th century." He chuckles. "But aye, let's hear 'em." 

"Thanks, buddy. So, the first couple I've been thinking of...." 

______________________________

________

The sound of claws clicking against stone alerts me to her arrival. Hastily, I duck back behind the bookshelf that acts as my hiding place, face shielded beneath the rim of my shirt. As it turns out, Emma doesn't have any supernatural sense of smell like I expected. Her hearing, however, is immaculate. I can hear her stop at the door, then knock. 

"Anthony?" She calls after a moment of silence. "Are you still in there, darling?" 

When there's no reply, she cracks the door open slowly, no doubt searching the room for any sign of my presence. Part of me wants to peak around the bookshelf and look at her, but another knows that if I take a single step, she'll hear it. Instead, I work to keep my breathing as slow and quiet as possible, eyes fixed on the one thing I can see from here: the table. 

Finally, a shadow enters my field of view. I watch anxiously as she approaches the table, head cocked. No doubt she's noticed the surprise I left her. The books have all been stacked neatly, and in front of them is a piece of paper with her name on it and a heart. Gently, she picks it up, careful not to shred it as she unfolds the note. I can't see it from here — it's too far away, and Emma is far too tall. But I already know every word of it by heart. I should, after all. I wrote it. 

 

'Neath inky skies, were you revealed 
With golden eyes, t'whom shadows yield 
Amongst the trees, you did then lurk 
With such a form, like fine artwork 

Garbed in naught but chestnut hair
With mighty wings, that shook the air 
Behold, a wicked, wond'rous thing
My one and only, Bloodstone Queen. 

 

T'was a grand chase, you lead me on
Into the dark, the path stretched yon
In death, I thought, it would surely end
Yet all I found was a brand new friend. 

Nay, a lover. Something more. 
A woman who shook me to my core. 
Ne'er had I seen such beauty before
My Bloodstone Queen, forevermore. 

My heart did leap, then from my chest
And with your words, you stole my breath
A sable thing, did stalk the night
And her very touch, set my soul alight 

And to this day, when I close my eyes
I hear your wings, twixt blackened skies
My blood does pump, and my mind does race
As I see myself, in your warm embrace

 

Bound by blood, and oft, by lust
With my life, 'tis you I trust
A beating heart, your fangs doth pierce
And yet I find my love burns fierce 

Your wiles are an enchanting thing

But ne'er doubt our love

My Bloodstone Queen.

I can tell how far along she is by her body language. Every twitch, every breath, a window to her soul as she read the poem. I watch her shoulders rise and fall, the paper crinkling audibly as her hands shake. It's only when I hear a noise not unlike a sob that I decide to make myself known, stepping out from behind the cover of the shelves. 

Emma doesn't turn around. Doesn't flinch, doesn't react at all. Perhaps she knew I was there all along. Her focus remains entirely on the paper in her hands. 

It's only when I sidle up to her side that she finally acknowledges my presence, wide eyes darting toward my face. For all the work I put into memorizing fancy words and romantic phrases, I don't know what to say right now. Her face is split into a happy grin, eyes filled with tears, nose sniffling faintly. She sets the paper down, and before I know it, I'm being scooped up into the warmest, tightest hug I've ever experienced. Her wings wrap around me like soft, leathery blanket, the ruff of fur around her neck rubbing my face as she squishes me into her shoulder. 

In truth, maybe it's better that I don't know what to say. Neither of us need to say anything right now. There's only a single thought running through our heads, and we both know exactly what it is. 

I love you.