Im Howling - Blog Posts

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ruqaiyah let out a breath that came out more like a laugh—sharp, breathless, incredulous. "you weren’t made for one place?” her voice turned cold and lilting, as if she were entertaining a joke no one else was in on. “you weren’t made for it, so we were born to sit and wait for you to flutter off and find your next whim?"” her chest rose and fell rapidly now, but her posture was still perfect, held together by the sheer force of her ego and the fact she knew she looked good. she had lost inches on her waist, as seen by her newest dress; devani would eat her words.

“that's not FAIR, you make it sound like i had you CHAINED!” she continued, tone curdling into something mock-sweet as her voice continued to rise - and despite the fact she were furious, she also loved the fact she had devani here in this moment. arguing with her, giving her full attention.

“you were in my house, you wore my clothes, you sat on my bed. you let me braid your hair while you told me—promised me—that i was the one person who understood you. and you’re telling me now, that you left because you were sixteen and had stuff on your mind?” she took a step back, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. her nails dug into her own arms, but she didn’t care. she wanted to feel it. wanted to ground herself in anything other than the ache that was pulling at her ribs. there was something in her voice now that even she could not quite contain. a tremble, brittle and buzzing with humiliation.

"you don’t get to call me dramatic when you made me feel like i was mad. like i had imagined the whole thing. you said you’d never leave me. you said—” she bit the words back like they were acid. “you said i was the only one who saw you.” her voice cracked, just once, and she swallowed hard, eyes narrowed in fury at her own weakness.

“and don’t you dare stand there and call me a child when you ran off like some storm-chaser desperate to be anywhere but with me.” her mouth twisted, lips gleaming like lacquered anger. “you wanted me, devani. you chose me. you told me things—things you didn’t have to say. and then what? you got bored? you spotted a guardsman and thought, oh, let me just vanish like i was never here?” she tilted her head, eyes glinting, voice rising suddenly. “I SAW YOU. THAT IS WHY YOU LEFT. BECAUSE OF DANTE ULLER AND THAT GUARD.”

devani's head was shaking. she was never a woman prone to anger. there was much that could be said to her, and she would simply laugh it off, make a joke of it, adopt it as part of her persona, if she found enough flattery in the unflattering. getting her to this point, where impatience took over, where irritation flickered in the dark hue of her eyes, took a particular skill that only ruqaiyah had ever seemed to have mastered. she wielded words as her brother did his sword, giving no space in the conversation for devani's words to settle, and so devani did not either. she would not stop to give ruqaiyah's words any consideration, would not do anything beyond dig her heels in, and refuse to see anything beyond her own point.

ruqaiyah demanded submission, and devani would not give it to her.

there was no more deflection, no more poking and twisting. instead, devani made a sound in the back of her throat, dismissive and derisive. "would you listen to yourself, ruqaiyah," she snapped, her exasperation bleeding into her tone. "you think i dream of a life like yours? get real." it was her own arrogance showing now, the knowledge that the life ruqaiyah claimed to want could have been hers, many times. if not in dorne, in essos, where lovers had come and gone so often she had lost track. she could have had it, only to devani, it was not an honour, but a shackle around her ankles.

and she saw it clearly, now ; that ruqaiyah would have chained her, too, if she had chosen to stay. it would have suffocated her, would have made her chafe against the commitment she had made to her as much as it had rubbed her raw when she had been married. in that moment, she had never been more certain of her choices. "yes, i do expect you to accept it," she said, a hand going to her forehead in her frustration. "perhaps that is too much to ask, though, since that would involve you coming to terms with the fact that people have more going on in their lives than you, ruqaiyah, and that is something you will never do. it's like talking to a child."

ruqaiyah closed the gap between them, the two of them practically nose to nose, and devani's hands dropped to her side. there was no humour in her expression, the laughing mockery absent from her eyes. "i left," she confirmed. "because we were sixteen years old, ru. and even then, it was obvious..." she trailed off, what exactly was obvious never making it passed her lips. she had meant what she said, at the time, but she had always been flightly, the unloved child of house toland, unable to ever commit to any bond she had ever made. "i wasn't made for any one place." was all she offered by way of explanation. any one place, any one person. she had always grown restless in the end.

she could have apologised. it would not be the first time she said something she didn't mean, driven by self-preservation. there was no pride in devani toland, and she did not mind making herself look the fool. it would be easy to beg forgiveness, but she wouldn't, because for ruqaiyah dayne, it would never be enough. "keep wishing," she said, simply. "the worst is long behind me."

who: @raviofthesun when and where: the royal apartments of prince ravi martell context: following her little temper tantrum, ravi followed through with the promise of a dinner.

she arrived precisely ten minutes early - expecting everything to be set up and perfect, as no man in his right mind would leave anything of this nature so last minute. she did not knock. ruqaiyah had never once announced herself like a servant waiting to be received, and she would not start now, least of all at the threshold of the private martell apartments, where history had already decided she was to one day belong. and she very much agreed with that rhetoric.

and so, the guards glanced at her, but none dared question her entrance; what could they say, with the sun itself stitched into her lehenga and a gaze that did not ask for permission?

the corridors glowed amber beneath the sconces, but they paled against the pink heat of her attire, the silk whispering against her skin with every step, embroidered thread catching the candlelight in glimmers of gold. each anklet, each bracelet, each chain at her waist and glittering around her neck added to the crescendo of her presence—she moved, and the world jingled in acknowledgment. her heels clacked unapologetically, arrogant and sharp, the kind of sound meant to precede news.

ruqaiyah could see herself walking these halls everyday. telling the governess to tell the children to be quiet. making the servants display her outfits lined up.

she had worn pink—not rose, not blush, not any dusty rose, but pink—hot and commanding, like the inside of a pomegranate freshly torn. it clung to her waist, her sleeves sheer and beaded, the skirts full enough to swallow entire population of smallfolk girls whole. her lips were glassy, unapologetically reflective, and her long hair—every strand straightened to a blade—cascaded down her back like a curtain of ink.

she stood now in the outer solar, though no servants were in sight. fine. let him find her here, composed, statuesque. she smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her sleeve and let her gaze drift to the arches and pillars carved with sandstone vines. the martell taste for excess was more subdued than dornish fire might suggest—peach marble and muted earth tones. it made her seem even louder by comparison, a gem mistakenly placed in a bowl of stonefruit. "so this is it," she murmured aloud to herself, fingers trailing lightly along the edge of a table carved with sun motifs. "the belly of the beast."

she had imagined it before, of course. had imagined countless evenings where he would finally remember the promises laid out for them before they could even speak in full sentences. imagined him, not as he was—cool and absent and impossible—but as he might become, if only he would stop stalling. "tell the prince i am here." she did even bother to introduce herself - in what world would she need to? the most beautiful in dorne, on the continent; the sister of the sword of the morning, and the oldest lady of house dayne.

"for our private dinner." she did not want them stood inside.

OUR dream