Irhaboggle Pride (2019) Spectrum

Red

Emily found it funny. She was a girl with no name, and yet, she was addressed with so many.

Sometimes, she was Emily-with-a-Y (as opposed to the rarer spelling, "Emilie", which was a name she sometimes saw in her dreams).

Sometimes, she was Emily-with-No-Last-Name, because she had no family to speak of (and no family who would speak for her).

Sometimes, she was Em, when playful old Veronica was flirting with her.

Sometimes, she was "My Queen" or "My Lady", when she was being addressed by the very formal leader of the Plague Rats, Sir Edward.

Sometimes, she was "W14A", when she was being addressed by the Asylum doctors and chasers.

Sometimes, she was "slut" or "harlot" or "whore" when being degraded and defined by the society which cast her into the Asylum in the first place.

Sometimes, she was Just Emily, when no other name could be given.

But to one, and only one, she was Valentine.

To Captain Jolie Rogue, the unofficial leader of the Asylum Inmates, Emily was not Emily, but Valentine.

"For the heart-shaped scar on your cheek," she had muttered once, when Emily asked about it. "And for your bright red hair..."

But Jolie always sounded jealous when she talked about Emily's hair. It was something Emily never understood, because Jolie had quite a nice head of hair, too! Perhaps it was black instead of red, but it was still rich and thick and luxurious, even in the bowels of the Asylum. But it wasn't that Jolie didn't like her hair. On the contrary, she took much pride in it. It was just that Emily's fascinated her because of its striking hue.

"I have never seen such vibrant color before! Especially not in hair. Especially not here!" Jolie murmured as she ran her fingers through Emily's hair over and over again, playing with it and feeling it in her hands and watching it tumble down Emily's back. She became almost childlike when she would play with Emily's hair, completely hypnotized by the color, but Emily found it very sweet.

"Red, so red!" Jolie continued to whisper in awe, and then, just the barest of smiles spread across her face. It was truly a rare sight. Emily was sure that in all of her years at the Asylum, she'd never once seen Jolie smile. But now, lost in a sea of red, Jolie looked truly happy.

Then, she turned her attention to Emily's face.

"The heart, the scar," she whispered, reaching out shyly as if to touch it. For a moment, Emily was surprised. She never let anyone touch that scar. In fact, even she almost never touched it. But as Jolie's fingers continued to hover near her face, silently asking permission, Emily nodded.

"Red, so red," Jolie murmured as she traced the heart. "So perfect..." And it was. Although it was a scar, it was such a perfect shape that some of the inmates originally thought Emily had given it to herself on purpose, as some sort of act of defiance or madness (though defiance and madness were just about the same thing, weren't they?).

But no, as Emily would tell them, it was not a tattoo or self-inflicted injury. It was a war wound gained in a fight where she attempted first to regain her life, then to take it. She lost both battles, but she still wore the scar with pride. Maybe she'd gotten it after two failures, but she saw it not as a symbol of defeat, but of spirit. That scar was testament not to her loss, but her struggle, her refusal to go down without a fight.

Now here was Jolie, gently touching and tracing it. She knew what it meant to her precious little Valentine. In fact, she understood its significance better than anyone else (except Emily herself, of course). But that was exactly what bound her to Emily so deeply, the fact that she was the only one to truly understand the scar's importance. And the reason she, and she alone, was able to understand was because she, too, had a symbol of hope that she'd created out of a loss. Hers was not a scar, but it carried the same weight.

And Emily knew that Jolie knew all of this. That was why she was allowing Jolie to touch her face so intimately. Two souls were recognizing one another. Fellow survivors. Yes, their soul connection went beyond romance and sexuality. They were bonded by life, death and the delicate and changing balance between the two. They were bonded though suffering and humanity, the only things on par with love. But even if it was hatred and war that bonded them, it was love that sustained them.

"Red, my Valentine is red," Jolie whispered as she held Emily close. Even though Jolie never slept, honor-bound to keep watch over everyone else while they slept, she still cradled Emily to sleep every single night. For one who had the reputation of being very stony, Jolie was excellent at helping restless inmates feel safe enough to get to sleep. Emily, herself, felt very fond of the Captain, and was forever grateful that Jolie was willing to rock her to sleep whenever she needed.

"She is red like the sun in the morning and evening, red like blood on a battlefield, red like the heart beating in my chest, just for her," Jolie continued to hum absentmindedly as she rocked the younger girl to sleep. "Your face and your hair and your heart and your very soul are red. They are strong and bright and powerful and stained. The aura you radiate is red. You fly between fire, passion and anger. You are red..."

ooo

The next day, after breakfast, Emily slipped something into the Captain's hand. A scrap of paper. To a normal, sane, person, it would've been a rather pathetic gift. But because Jolie knew how much paper meant to Emily (for paper could be used to write and draw, a luxury none of them could afford anymore, yet indulged in whenever possible, just to retain some of their humanity) she accepted it with great grace and care. She would value it forever, because she knew how much sacrifice lay within it, puny though it was.

What lay inside was even more precious than the paper itself. It was a red crayon, one of her Valentine's most prized possessions. And it was fairly new, meaning that Valentine must've loved her an awful lot to part with such a precious and fresh trinket. And on the paper, written in red, read, "Oh Captain, my Captain, how dearly do I love thee. Were it within my power, I would take you and me, off to sail all seven seas..."

Jolie's heart melted as she read that little poem, admiring the poorly-drawn boat under it. She slipped the paper into her pirate hat and it remained there for all the rest of her days. Even after the paper and message had faded away, one thing always remained the same: Red. Maybe the crayon lines were smudged with time, almost impossible to read, but the color was just as constant and striking as always. Red.

"My Valentine, my red. You are so very red, and so very beautiful... I love you so..."

AN: The one problem I have with Emilie Autumn's amazing book, "The Asylum For Wayward Victorian Girls", is that I legit cannot choose a ship, because every possible ship is pure gold and everyone is so shippable, LOL!

That being said, this is one out of several more EA ships I'll be writing about this month. Hope you enjoyed this first one!