The TwiceBorn

Heinous Fuckery Afoot

 "When it came to the dark fuckery of the human heart, there seemed to be no limit."--Stephen King

“Rocks can float longer than you,Islinn. “

The younger girl scowled and Alora broke into laughter. A good-sized basin had been formed close to the grasses and Alora had finally coaxed the girl into it.  Alora figured if she could teach Islinn to relax enough to float, then it would be easier to teach her how to swim.  But after countless tries, it was obvious some things simply weren’t meant to be.  Islinn sank as soon as Alora let go of her.

With a shake of her head, Islinn made her way up to the grass and collapsed on her back. She smiled ruefully as the sun beat down on her cool skin.

“Guess I didn’t do so well.”

Alora lay down beside her then turned and propped herself on one elbow.  She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of looking at the girl.  It was almost second nature to her now.  To look.  Admire.  Assess. 

“You’ll get it.  You need to learn to relax though.”

Her eyes roamed slowly over the girl’s body.  In many ways, Alora hated the sense of possessiveness that came over her.  It reminded her of a hinky little trick the hags liked to pull simply to entertain themselves when they were camped near a settlement and boredom set in.

 They would take an ordinary rock and dip it in some obscure mixture that included their saliva, hagdog fur, and goblin shit. After some mumbling and cackling and a maniacal waving of the hands, the rock would take on an unnatural glow.  The hags would then lay it out along a path then wait in the brush, smirking and nudging each other, until some poor dolt wandered along and picked it up. 

Alora never quite understood the attraction of the trick, but apparently the fun of it all lay in what happened when the peasant took the smelly little rock back to town.  He was instantly enamored of it and showed it to everyone.  Then he became worried that everyone he showed it to would try and take it from him. Having such a wonderful thing drove him into obsession. The obsession would escalate rapidly.  If he had friends, he would sneak into their house at night and kill them. And that was just the beginning.  Because they would want what he had…and he would be nothing without it.

 His possessiveness of the rock ruled his life and after a few days had passed, he would return to the woods where he’d first found the little beshitted thing, crying and moaning about how the one thing he loved…he couldn’t adequately protect even though he’d murdered a space around himself of terrifying proportion. 

The hags liked to be there when the enchantment wore off and the peasant saw it was simply a rock.  A rock dipped in shit.

And while Alora didn’t parallel Islinn to the rock…she felt she understood a little bit about that sense of possessiveness.  How you could be devoured by something to the point of where it beat its own odd rhythm in your heart and how you knew you would do anything to keep others away.

She wanted to think it was more than simply the overwhelming need to possess, though.  That was the definition of Behrin, and she didn’t like thinking she could be similar.  His “peas in a pod” theory still rankled her when it crossed her mind.  And the savage triumph she felt every time she thought about buying Islinn from him continued to make her wonder if he’d been right. 

Her eyes moved restlessly over Islinn’s slender frame.  No, there was more.  The feeling she got inside  when Islinn would grin and her nose would wrinkle just the slightest bit.  Or the way the girl ducked her head when unsure or upset. It was a gesture that had finally exercised its power over Alora’s irritation and defeated it.