The Princess, the Witch and the Pirate

Plunder

Surrounded by blue gray penumbra, Ansa leaned against the cold fireplace.

"I need more time," spoke her brother sweetly. "Another set of duels." Wavy black hair draped past his naked shoulders and his arms sprawled about the backrest of the Chesterfield sofa. She knew he was handsome. She understood it the way she understood the sun would rise; with neither awe, nor interest. In him, she only saw the turbulence of a soul experiencing the interminable folding of time, like waves lapping onto one another again and again, through cycles of dialect, violence, and morality. Transient humanity, ever small and graceless, only seemed to aggravate him. "You did as I asked?"

"Yes."

"What a tedious ordeal. Your knight in shining armor is rather dull. I don't know what you see in her."

"She's brave, and noble, and..."

"...noble? Are you referring to her insufferable righteousness?" he chuckled.

"Are you jealous?"

"Of course I'm jealous." He spoke softly, sweetly. He rose and walked towards her. "Tell me. Tell me I shouldn't be."

"You shouldn't be."

"Convince me." He kneeled before her, kissing her palm, caressing his cheek with it.

"I'll stop her whichever way I can. You needn't worry."

"For her sake?" He looked up, wounded.

"You'll have the measure of my esteem for her to thank when I beg her to forfeit, yes."

"You're saying this to hurt me. We're meant to be together always, are we not?" He kissed her fingertips, one at a time.

"Was I not born to love you? Made of you? For you? You held me from my first breath. You held me at my last."

"Don't," he whimpered. "Tell me you love me. I know it's true, but...say it to me anyways." He wrapped his arms about her legs.

"I love you."

"I have missed you. It's been agony without you." He stroked his face with her thigh, shifting her nightgown. "You've missed me?"

"Yes," she admitted. His hands climbed her legs like eager vines. "Brother."

He paused his movements abruptly. He stood and walked towards the sofa. "You needn't dissuade your...noble knight. She's so starry-eyed, I'll have her plucking petals in a day." 

"Don't be unkind."  Ansa did not turn to look in his direction. 

"You needn't worry. She'll have the measure of my esteem for you to thank for my sweetness. Ansa?" Her name, he whispered.

"Yes, brother?"

"Please."

Ansa went to him. Stood before him at a distance, arms limp, eyes unfocussed. He waited. He grew impatient. She knew what he wanted, but she wanted him to name it. He took her fragile wrist, pulling her towards him, making her gasp. "I'm sorry." He pressed her hand to his chest, looking down at the ground.

Ansa stroked his hair patiently, tenderly, with one hand. She knew they were being watched, but she would not acknowledge the girl who was spying from the hall. Instead, Ansa looked up at him and whispered, "Shall I pretend to be asleep?"

He nodded like an eager, scolded boy awaiting forgiveness, and watched his sister's fluid movements. Ansa laid down her body on the soft, worn, leather sofa. She shut her eyes. He looked her over as if she were a sacred animal, kneeled before her, stroking her hair, then climbed on her tenderly, like a child.