Re: A Taste of Mischief [Attn: Cat]
Posted: January 24th, 2017, 2:44 am
Kaira
Kaira could not take it anymore.
“You’re impossible,” she declared.
She seized the open door and drew back sharply to slam it in his face. Then she spun on her heel and marched away down the Ji’val halls, ignoring all the stares and whispered comments about her pie-covered face.
----- She felt miserable. Absolutely miserable. It even hurt to breathe. She had thought that he was a friend. After all, he had saved her from those city guards, hadn’t he? And then he had fought those three man in that inn. In turn, she had dragged him through the blizzard and to the Tower infirmary and saved his life - or, well, at least a few fingers and toes from frostbite. It had been a harrowing experience, one that she thought they could share. But it seemed that those events had meant less to him than they did to her. He hadn’t even thanked her, nor responded to any of her efforts at friendship.
And that hurt.
Ordinarily, she could simply shrug off the rejection. It was one of her best qualities. As a child, she had been bullied and despised and had managed to develop a certain amount of resilience. She usually picked herself up, brushed off the dust, and marched on. But this was different. It was seeing something, feeling something, sharing something, and then being told that none of it mattered. Johan seemed intent on shutting her out. He could pretend that she never existed; but for her, the world could never be the same.
His words echoed in her mind. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. They were harsh, but she did not believe them to be true. Or were they? Perhaps he was right. She regretted everything. From the moment he produced that jar of salt with a bow and flourish, to the second she pressed that blueberry pastry into his hand and invited him back into the circle in the gardens. From the first whirlwind of adrenaline as he heft her over his shoulder and fled, to the last step she took as she stumbled into the Tower gatehouse half-frozen with him in tow.
The scenes replayed over and over in her mind. There had been a spark there. She was sure of it! But more likely, it was just a figment of her imagination. None of it mattered. He didn’t know her. He didn’t want to know her. And that meant her own desires and wants and needs were silly and childish and unnecessary.
The next few weeks passed as a blur. Nasrin was, of course, the first to notice. Kaira tried to conceal it and to pretend that nothing was wrong, but it was impossible to hide anything from her roommate. She lost interest in her usual activities. Her art easel sat in a corner of her desk and collected dust. She stopped attending any classes outside of the absolute minimal requirements for a novice. Her sword remained untouched in the weaponry. Any thought of attempting to play another prank made her feel sick.
The only thing that brought her joy was channeling. The light of saidar had always been enticing, but now she especially looked forward to that one bright moment of her day when she could focus on something else besides her misery and bask in the warmth of the Power.
One day, her first weave finally - finally! - snapped into place and a small globe of light hovered in the air; only to be immediately extinguished as she lost saidar at the shock of finally succeeding. Only then did she finally realize how childish she had been. It had been over a year since she returned to the Tower. She had just turned seventeen years old. Yet she could still hardly channel any better than the newest of novices.
But she was learning. And that small success was her first step to recovery.
To be continued >>“You’re impossible,” she declared.
She seized the open door and drew back sharply to slam it in his face. Then she spun on her heel and marched away down the Ji’val halls, ignoring all the stares and whispered comments about her pie-covered face.
----- She felt miserable. Absolutely miserable. It even hurt to breathe. She had thought that he was a friend. After all, he had saved her from those city guards, hadn’t he? And then he had fought those three man in that inn. In turn, she had dragged him through the blizzard and to the Tower infirmary and saved his life - or, well, at least a few fingers and toes from frostbite. It had been a harrowing experience, one that she thought they could share. But it seemed that those events had meant less to him than they did to her. He hadn’t even thanked her, nor responded to any of her efforts at friendship.
And that hurt.
Ordinarily, she could simply shrug off the rejection. It was one of her best qualities. As a child, she had been bullied and despised and had managed to develop a certain amount of resilience. She usually picked herself up, brushed off the dust, and marched on. But this was different. It was seeing something, feeling something, sharing something, and then being told that none of it mattered. Johan seemed intent on shutting her out. He could pretend that she never existed; but for her, the world could never be the same.
His words echoed in her mind. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. They were harsh, but she did not believe them to be true. Or were they? Perhaps he was right. She regretted everything. From the moment he produced that jar of salt with a bow and flourish, to the second she pressed that blueberry pastry into his hand and invited him back into the circle in the gardens. From the first whirlwind of adrenaline as he heft her over his shoulder and fled, to the last step she took as she stumbled into the Tower gatehouse half-frozen with him in tow.
The scenes replayed over and over in her mind. There had been a spark there. She was sure of it! But more likely, it was just a figment of her imagination. None of it mattered. He didn’t know her. He didn’t want to know her. And that meant her own desires and wants and needs were silly and childish and unnecessary.
The next few weeks passed as a blur. Nasrin was, of course, the first to notice. Kaira tried to conceal it and to pretend that nothing was wrong, but it was impossible to hide anything from her roommate. She lost interest in her usual activities. Her art easel sat in a corner of her desk and collected dust. She stopped attending any classes outside of the absolute minimal requirements for a novice. Her sword remained untouched in the weaponry. Any thought of attempting to play another prank made her feel sick.
The only thing that brought her joy was channeling. The light of saidar had always been enticing, but now she especially looked forward to that one bright moment of her day when she could focus on something else besides her misery and bask in the warmth of the Power.
One day, her first weave finally - finally! - snapped into place and a small globe of light hovered in the air; only to be immediately extinguished as she lost saidar at the shock of finally succeeding. Only then did she finally realize how childish she had been. It had been over a year since she returned to the Tower. She had just turned seventeen years old. Yet she could still hardly channel any better than the newest of novices.
But she was learning. And that small success was her first step to recovery.