Seven Deadly Sons

Ameline. (14)

Everything hurts; my chest, my head and my eyes to name a few.

I try to blink, but my eyelashes have crusted over with something and it takes me a couple of tries to get them open. And then, once they're open, the sunlight has filtered conveniently through the trees above to blind me.

At Kismet's snicker, I sigh dramatically and heave my weary body up. Oddly, nothing hurts much — but equally, nothing hurt before I got punched twice.

"How do you feel, poison ivy?" He jests.

How peculiar that this thing just saved my pathetic little limited life.

"I don't know who that is. And fine, actually. I felt fine before you attacked and assaulted me." I could feel such pounding in my head, I think a migraine was coming on.

He, however, did look genuinely concerned that I had poisoned myself — though more likely only that it was a rarity to see a human in Afalon, and even rarer to see a human that accidentally poisoned herself.

"Are you okay? Are you tired, any symptoms you feel that are usual?"

Instead of answering, I got up and poured us both some wine.

Better get this show on the road.

I pass him the glass. It doesn't have any drugs in — yet — and I notice all the food around him on the rug. The air is warm and sticky still and he looks quite happy in the grove.

"Have you decided on a name for this spot then? Perhaps after yourself?"

He looks thoughtful for a moment, chewing on the edge of his sugar glass. I take the opportunity to eat something not poisonous; tasting a try of the white icy looking tomato soup. It's delicious, and such a joy not to have it spill around the bowl like a liquid, the ice doing wonders for my head. Next, I go for the scrambled eggs looking dish...

"I'll name it after you think. 'The Royal Borough of Ameline'." He raises his glass grandly, "To you."

Pathetically, I limply lift up my glass, the eggs were forgotten in their bowl. Why on earth would he name something such as this after me? And, though he couldn't possibly know, a place of such prominence? This place could have been the burial ground of girls like me; punished for being a witch or liar they weren't.

"Why."

It's a simple word, but it seems to shock him. He sinks his glass in one and finishes eating it before I get any kind of response from him: a shrug.

He reaches forward to try his hand at the popping brioche bread sandwiches — that look like cubes of cheese — but I stay his hand to force his answer.

With a sigh, he explains "I'm not sure why you think you shouldn't be named after somewhere grand.

You're honestly beautiful for a mortal, if not the most beautiful I have ever seen. Both your hair and your manner snared me from the first blink of your eyes at my brother.

And it just got better after that, my; even your namesake is a synonym for me. For jealousy."

For a mortal.

For a mortal. For a mortal. For a mortal.

A synonym for me. As if he wants to collect me like a possession. I hate him.

Though, I smile still, letting his hand go. "Another drink?"

He looks satisfied with that answer and accepts his fifth glass. I fill this one with Eldince, the ælfin speciality. I start to fill mine with the eldince, but then distil it with lots of water from another Eldince bottle I emptied and refilled.