Against the Wind

1.1 || Raya

In a way, it was all made of lies.

Borne upon delicate slivers of wings, that thought fluttered windswept circles around Raya, bigger and bolder than any other could be, as she stared at her own face. The row of brilliant jewels set into the skin above her eyes drew a graceful twin set of curves, made to mirror the dark, slender lines of her eyebrows and glinting violet to complement the indigo shade of her irises. Thick strands of hair black as charcoal dangled to frame the mahogany contours of her face, bounced up neatly in line with her collarbone. The rest of her locks were currently being tamed by the tender strokes of a spiky brush, rolled through with precision to maintain her hair's slight wave. Flat against her back, it looked like water turned to ink in the black of night: unreal, uncanny, and still as slate. Haunting.

"Magnificently long," Yasmin, her attendant, cooed. She finished another brushstroke and stepped back for a moment to admire her handiwork, her reflection in the mirror a smiling floral ghost hovering over Raya's shoulder. "Your hair. Don't you think? I'm so glad we chose to let it grow."

Raya forced her lips—full and coloured purple—to ascend into a tight smile. "Yes. Magnificent." The word felt like what it was: an echo, hollow and without substance. Lies. Lies.

Her skin tickled as Yasmin ran gentle fingers down to the small of her back. "Are you sure you still wish to tie it back? It does look so lovely like this."

A stirring awoke in Raya's stomach. She offered a hum of thought to fill the brief silence, though she knew her answer; it simply took time to draw it out, slow and winding as it left the sticky trail of guilt behind. Its end clipped. "I do, please. I find it more practical." As well as unbearably hot and irritating, but those were harsher words, ones to be kept in tidy cages deep below rather than used.

"Of course." Yasmin gathered the waves of hair up in both hands, teasing out the high ponytail as she had hundreds of times. "Whatever you desire, Miss Rayanah."

Whatever you desire. Bold wings flared at the corners of Raya's vision.

With the snap of the purple clip that pinned her hair in place, Yasmin gave a nod of finality. "All finished." She gripped her white-and-pink skirts, dropping into a meek curtsey. "You do look most radiant today, Miss Rayanah. Enough to compete with the sun, I'd say." A blush warmed her gold-olive cheeks.

Raya shoved out a light laugh. Rolling her shoulders to relieve them of tension, she rose from her stool, offering a bow of her head in return. "You flatter me."

Yasmin wore an embarrassed smile, playing the part of the shy, subservient maiden she was, but Raya was acutely aware of the eyes cut towards the low-hung neckline of her dress. This was the game the two of them played, the dance of pretence they wove. One laying out these yearning invitations, never entirely asking, the other putting up blinkers, convincing herself she was dense enough to be blind to it all instead of facing the awkwardness of saying no. Awkwardness was Raya's stalker. She ran from it constantly, at every turn, but it always found a way to get to her.

She didn't know if Yasmin believed the lie or simply didn't care, and she wasn't sure she ever wanted to know. She hated the game, yet it shielded her.

"I must attend to my duties," she forced herself to say after a moment. "Thank you for your assistance as always."

As Yasmin dropped into another low curtsey, her pink headwrap flapped in her face, having begun to unwind. Her blush deepened as she hastened to fix it. This was a genuine shame now, a splash of fear. Those stalking, shadowy, awkward fingers prodded Raya stiff, and she took the opportunity in the wake of her lingering thanks to duck out of the room, the interaction burning in the forefront of her mind no matter how fast she walked.

There was the other thing about Yasmin that mixed in discomfort. Though they were both girls, close in age, born in the same city with the same bold ambition thrusted upon them, their lives had diverted so drastically that Raya found herself pondering it every time she stepped from those chambers. While she clothed herself in lies, Yasmin was doomed to wear a plain truth, to keep her hair tucked out of sight and cleavage modestly concealed, to dress like the failure she was. At some point along the winding track of Raya's life, someone had pushed her upon a pedestal, placed her above all that. She could never quite put her finger on when it had begun, but by now it felt like it was everywhere.

Her earrings clinked as they swung, ringing like bells in the house's silence. Her mother hadn't yet returned from her hunt. Her father and brother had already left.

She paused in the entryway, listening to the chatter and bustle of crowds beyond the curtain, fingers tickling the fabric in slow reluctance. Standing here felt like teetering amid a veil between worlds, a crossing between night and day. When empty like this, her home had a hollowness to it, something that wasn't peace but ruminated in its quiet, like a breath held for too long. Yet outside was where responsibility lurked. Those voices were threads spooled out with promise of distraction, tempting but swift to tangle her up, chafe her skin and drag her in all directions. They took far more than they gave.

Was it better to go out there and be swarmed by it all than hide in the solitary dark, watching muddy hours tick by, the way Yasmin would likely spend her day until someone returned? Raya didn't know, and the question wouldn't be worth asking even if she did. It wasn't like she had a choice. Raya never had a choice.

The threads wound her waist and her limbs, digging in, and she could resist no longer. She slipped through the curtain and out into the morning's harsh sunlight.

--◦༄ؘ◦--

And thus, we begin! Raya has been fun to write since that very first line, honestly. She's full of thoughts and fun metaphors. Perfect for me.

It's been so long since I posted that I forgot what I'm supposed to say in these. Uhh. *fingerguns*

- Pup