Fixing Clexa's story to give them an ending they deserved (an *ending, not the journey they deserved). They are clearly endgame but it turned into a bit more of an adult-themed journey to get there so just a warning it takes a slightly dark turn ar...
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Ontari was in rare form today.
With fresh marks throbbing along Clarke's upper body, she's been in her normal fetal position at the edge of the bed all morning. Her exposed back was facing Ontari, who's been rummaging through the pile of weaponry on the far wall.
"Ahh, here it is." She gleams before coming back to sit on the bed. Clarke doesn't bother to turn over so the girl pulls at her shoulder to lay Clarke on her back, holding up what looks like the thinnest, tiniest blade Clarke has ever seen. If it can even be called a blade. It looked like a thick needle, about the length of an index finger with a tiny knob of a handle at the end.
"Am I supposed to know what that is?" She snarls.
Ontari grabs Clarke's jaw in her hands with a vice grip, "Are we feeling feisty today princess?"
Clarke quickly forces herself to relax into the girl's grip, "No Heda, I'm sorry."
The girl releases Clarke's jaw, "This," she says holding up the small blade, "Is how we Azgeda make these." She gestures at her face, at her scarring, something uniquely symbolic to her clan.
Clarke's stomach plummeted.
"Don't worry you are not worthy of any traditional Azgeda markings." That did not make Clarke feel any better. "But we need to make sure it's clear what you are when we are back in Polis, since you will be the last of your people." Her lips curl into a sadistic smirk as she waves the tiny blade back and forth at Clarke. "Lexa may have outlawed slavery, but anyone in the north knows Azgeda's secret mark for slaves."
Clarke could feel her eyes growing hot, but the day had finally come where there simply was no more liquid her body could muster in her tear ducts. Instead they just stung, raw and dry.
"Now where to put it..." The girl muses as she looks over Clarke's bare torso. She pushes Clarke's shoulders away so she's looking at the blonde's back again, admiring it like a watercolor painting with the deep reds and blues and purples bleeding into each other across the pale flesh. Clarke feels the cold metal tip lightly drag across the base of her neck.
"This will do. Let's get you dressed first, I want to make sure it's high enough to see when you're not...at my disposal." With that Ontari grabs Clarke's shirt off the floor and tosses is at her, coming around the side of the bed to take one hand out of the shackles at a time to put through the holes before securing both back in the cuffs.
Clarke isn't sure what changed in that moment, but she suddenly felt a flash of fire inside her in a way that she hadn't since the day she was dragged in here. She is nobody's slave. Her life would not be reduced to this. She felt it, the stale air of the cave hummed. A small shock of static sparked in her fingertips. A heat rose from her toes upwards and she didn't even realize her leg had coiled up to her chest until it sprung forward, connecting with Ontari's shoulder so hard she thought she popped it out of its socket.
