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When Alina became a councillor, when she moved into the late Councillor Kenric's castle and opened the shudders of the window he'd once opened, paced across the carpet he'd once traversed, sat in the chairs he'd used to frequent, Oralie did not cry.
She screamed, yelled, cursed as she stomped circles in Bronte's living room carpet, as he sat calmly with a cup of tea in one hand and his monotone advice in the other, telling her to take deep breaths, remember she is now a councillor, try to be supportive as she is new to the profession, try to calm down, try, try, try.
It was silly, to be frank; ridiculous even. Oralie found herself scowling at the caramel-haird woman, and she rarely scowled at anyone. It was only her; her eyes that were too wide, her smile that came too quick, her shoulders that were too tense and her posture that was too straight. Oralie hated it. Hated how her blood boiled and her head reeled. Hated how every calm remark, every agreeing comment, made her want to stand up and strangle the pretty councillor on the spot.
Most of all, she hated to think what Kenric might've thought.
What he might have said about her petty hatred. After all, Alina hadn't caused Kenric's death- but stars it felt like she did at times- she hadn't burned Eternalia and displaced hundreds. She hadn't planted Kenric's wanderling or written his obituary or constructed his statue. She'd just been there. In the aftermath of it all she had simply been there, which is exactly what Oralie despised.
She despised the loathing.
She'd made this clear from the get-go, when newly named Councillor Alina knocked upon her door, requesting assistance with the pile of assignments Emery had given her just that morning. She stood there, all perfect lips and neat mascara, and had the audacity to act as if she had any right to be asking this of Oralie. To be asking it of anyone. It made the older woman seethe. She had leaned in, close enough to see the flecks of green in the other councillor's eyes, those brought out by the stone of her circlet, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume, something like rain or ozone, close enough to feel the other's breath on her face and had told her exactly what she was thinking.
"I despise you."
And from that moment on, Alina had played the part.
She cast snide comments whenever the opportunity arose. She tossed her hair when Oralie stood too close. She placed the loudest windchimes at the window closest to Oralie's castle. And she did it all with that too-easy smile of hers.
It drove the other woman mad.
Visits with Bronte became more frequent. Arguments in the Council Hall became more heated. Fights became more petty. Trust excersises became near impossible. Eventually, something had to give.
"Are you two done?" Councillor Emery's voice rang out like a wave hitting an alcove in the shore, reverberating off the walls of the Hall. Every councillor looked to him, and then immediately back at the two women, one who had just been reeling back to land a punch, the other making her way forward to prepare for a slap. Darek set down the pen he'd been using to take notes. Ramira's image flickered slightly. Everyone was quiet.
"I don't know what is wrong. I don't care what is wrong. But I do know this is gotten ridiculous, and it is my job to care that it be resolved. So will you two knock it off?"
There was an immediate shift. After that, the knocking became mandatory. Suddenly it was Oralie hosting a guest, rather than the ancient councillor who'd already made it clear he'd have nothing to do with this battle. Suddenly, Oralie was helping with every assignment, whether Alina needed her help or not. Suddenly they were always sitting beside one another, whether it was convenient or not.
And both women despised it. For a time.
Then, a shift. Those seemed to frequent Oralie's life these days.
It came in whispered comments that carried genuine kindness. It came in small, meaningless touches that cause sparks. It came in one late night, with paperwork strewn across the coffee table.
"You're terrible, you know that?" Oralie looked up, face contorting into a glare at the remark.
"And why is that?"
Alina shrugged, setting down a file that probably needed to be read and signed before tomorrow.
"You say that you hate me. You yell at me, say things you know will hurt me, glare at me and spit on me in front of our coworkers, and then in privacy you look at me like that." She gestured to the other woman, who blinked in confusion.
"Like what, pray tell?"
Alina shook her head. "Like I'm the only thing in the world."
That night ended with many assignments having not been completed. It ended with a strange sense of loathing, of hatred, of longing, of wondering.
Wondering how she could be so foolish.
After that the visits were not mandatory, as the air of every meeting settled. They continued, however. It started with small things, heated "arguments" in dark corners, "consultations" that went on through the night. "Joint assignments" that Emery had not recalled drafting. From there it go worse. Eventually, as it always does, something gave.
"This has to stop." Oralie put a hand over her lover's her enemy's her partner's her coworker's mouth, using the motion to push the other woman further off her body as she sat up on the lounge. She rubbed at the reddish bruise forming just above the neckline of her dress, casting an accusatory glare at the woman still kneeling on her legs. Alina smiled, breathing heavily. For a long time neither said anything. Only stared, breathing, thinking, collecting, loathing.
"Dare I ask why?"
Oralie could only stare at her. She sat up further, forced her legs out from beneath the other woman, stood, paced, ran a hand through her hair.
"It's unprofessional. No- not even that! It's worse! It's wrong. It's illegal. It goes against everything we are meant to uphold! It-"
"Felt good."
Oralie cast the woman a glare that could make a verminion tremble. The other woman smiled.
"Admit it. You like what we've been doing."
Oralie turned away, her hands coming up to cup her face.
Don't make me say what I won't admit to myself.
"It's wrong."
"But it feels right."
"That isn't the point!"
The older councillor wheeled around, eyes flashing, curls made a mess, lipstick smudged, dress rumpled.
"Don't you realize what you are doing? Don't you understand what you're putting on the line?" She stalked forward, putting herself nose to nose with the other woman. "You haven't been a councillor even a year, and already you are trying to throw it all away! Do you think I want to be exiled? Shamed? Shunned? Do you want that?"
There was a long silence. Neither moved, neither spoke. Oralie was close enough to see the flecks of green in Alina's eyes, those brought out by the green silk of her pyjama shirt, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume, something like running water or morning dew, close enough to feel her breathe, coming out in short, open-mouthed pants. A hand came up and cupped the side of her face. A gentle, loving, comforting, horrible touch.
"I don't. However tonight, at this moment, I do know one thing I do want."
Orale scowled, "and what's that?"
Lips met for the thousandth time that night, as Oralie was drawn back in with that same fleeting thought.
Don't make me say what I won't admit to myself.