March 2024 - Songfic (M)
Tongues & Teeth
I've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel
It's all that I can give to you, my dear
And when you come in quick to steal a kiss
My teeth will only cut your lips, my dear
To be Empress is to be lonely.
Forte watches the walls build, brick by brick. For Frey’s own good, she even helps lay a few. She helps build the persona, encourages the Hunter Wolf Empress to come forth.
Frey disappears into a cloister of her own making. To be Frey is to be vulnerable, gullible, underestimated. To be the Empress is to be respected, powerful, feared.
Frey struggles to connect with anyone on a personal level. Frey becomes painfully isolated.
The Empress covers it well with biting wit and acerbic moods.
The Empress brings warm bodies into her bed. She devours them like a ravenous wolf among lambs.
Forte tells herself she does not envy the lambs.
The Empress has never so much as bared her teeth at her loyal Knight.
And I know that you mean so well
But I am not a vessel for your good intent
When there are no lambs and the loneliness sets, the Empress calls for her Knight.
Forte tries comforting Frey with news of Selphia. Sharing letters from home, the gossip and small goings on.
She stops after the Empress moodily observes that nobody ever wrote to her.
Forte tries to be Frey's friend, but she doesn't quite know how to do that right. There are roles to play as Empress and her Knight. These roles leave little room for friendly frivolities.
Forte's heart aches for something more.
I will only break your pretty things
I will only wring you dry of everything
And if you're fine with that
You can be mine like that
Tired of lambs, the Empress longs for a heartier meal.
Forte does not hesitate. She barely thinks twice.
Even as she’s laid out against the silk sheets, even as Frey explains what their relationship will be like.
Surely it only ends in heartache.
Forte does not care.
Abandon all your stupid dreams
About the girl I could have been, my dear
'Cause in the night I know you burn with feelings
I cannot return, my dear
Oh, my dear
Forte sees her sometimes.
Frey comes out in glimpses and flashes. When she walks the gardens and checks blooming flowers. When she savors that first sip of tea. When she gives Forte a small smile meant just for her.
These rare moments last a heartbeat. Then the Empress reasserts herself, straightens her spine, drinks deeply, widens the smile hungrily.
In those moments, Forte wonders what their life might have been like without...
Could they have married? Gone to bed and woken up in each other's arms without the worry of propriety chasing Forte away before dawn.
Would time have changed Frey so much?
Would she have accepted Forte's love where the Empress will not?
They spoke of it once, so, so long ago.
Then she had been apologetic, tearful as she drew Forte into her bedchamber.
These days, when the Empress called her loyal knight to her bed there are no tears, no apologies.
Forte knows she should stop obeying the orders.
But she loves Frey too much to disobey.
You gotta know that this won't last
Desperation will erase the fact
The people begin asking for a successor. There are discussions of heirs. Of sealing political bonds.
I'm keeping all
Of the answers in my cigarette box
Yeah, the answer's in the second before the other shoe drops
A mate is selected. A date is set.
A wedding is arranged.
The Empress calls Forte to her bed often. Promises her nothing will change between them.
He will understand.
And if you're blind to that
She will make him understand.
I am fine with that
The Consort arrives with little pomp befitting a prince of his standing. He is a volunteer, they say. A sacrifice offered willingly to the Empress.
An embarrassment like him was going to be hidden away otherwise. This is the best outcome he might have hoped for.
He believes an old friend waits for him.
The Empress rarely thinks of those good old days.
Frey does not attend the wedding.
Oh, I will ruin you
Oh, I will ruin you
It's a habit, I can't help it
The way she says it, it's difficult to know if she means those words as a promise, a warning, or a threat.
A confession or a condemnation.
Her awareness of this fact brings a confusing sort of comfort to her newest lamb.
I know that you mean so well
But I am not a vessel for your good intent
Arthur gave himself away for a love he'd always harbored. A love for a girl he fell for so very long ago.
He should have known time would change Frey.
He cannot help but love the Empress and despair.
I will only break your pretty things
I will only wring you dry of everything
But if you're fine with that
If you're fine with that
This was not how he thought his life would go.
The Empress piles gifts upon him, drapes him in riches, coats him in jewels, shackles him with chains of gold and silver.
Arthur had never wanted to be "princely" in this way... but it makes her so happy. How can he refuse the Empress’ gifts?
What would his father say if he saw his thirteenth son now?
I will poison all your happy thoughts
I will love you like the ashes in my cigarette box
And if you're fine with that
You can be mine
If you're fine with that
You can be mine, oh
Consort and Knight fulfill their duties to the Empress. They are hers to command. Deep down they know that things could have been different, better, happier. But they also know that this is the only way.
To have nothing would be far worse.
There are murmurs in the court of jealousy and love triangles and salacious trysts. The Consort and the Knight know better. There is no point in jealousy.
The Empress does not love them. There is no affection to vie for. They are toys, at best, enjoying their time before being cast aside for someone new.
And despite it all they love her. From her soft hands to her sharp teeth.
To feel her teeth around their throats is to feel her brand of love.
They crave it. They cherish it.
They love her.
They can’t help it.
It’s a habit.