VIOLENT DELIGHTS¹ ━━ John Murphy

𝖎𝖝. Game of Thrones

𝖌𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖘

          SHE WAS SUSPENDED in the amber glow of flames, dipped in burning shadow, staring out at Polis from her balcony with unseeing eyes. Motionless as a girl carved from the coldest ice in Ice Nation, incarcerated by her own thoughts. In her silence, Glass is ethereal, draped in moonlight until she gleams silver like a ghost, effortlessly still. Her fingers, tracing the gold hilt of Heartsworn as if made from molten lead, is all that shows her heart still beats.

It's twilight now, the skies amethyst, stars peaking out of freezing purple hues that glow softly.

Too gentle for this night.

Her arrest was just hours ago. She's been locked in her former quarters ever since. She has not seen Roan since.

Part of her wants to tear the universe into two. To make the skies bleed the same way she does. Crush the torturous stars in her fingers, let their dying light bleed across her celestial skin like god's ichor. Raze the earth to ash and blood and start a war, take back what is rightfully hers. No more fear for her people, no more fear for her brother, no more fear for herself. Gouge her fingers into the unholy dirt, let everything die, and let the blood of the fallen salt the earth behind her.

Because she is angry. Oh, she is angry to her core. Murphy is gone. Lexa has betrayed her. The Queen has started a war. Everything is falling apart.

And she is helpless to stop it.

All too soon, Lexa finds her again.

Glass hears her approaching, an aggressive flash of sound across her hearing aids as they start to die out, and her ears tune into the staccato of Lexa's heavy footsteps. The thick wooden doors to her quarters are pushed open. Slowly, with great care, Glsss pivots to look the Commander dead in the eye as she traces her finger over Heartsworn. Lexa gazes back evenly. Bold. Unafraid.

Keep your heart dark and true, your teeth sharp and many. Glass has not forgotten Roan's words. Play the game.

So she tries.

"You haven't killed me yet," she drawls slowly, raking over each syllable. "Which means you won't."

Lexa responds brazenly. "Good observation."

A heartbeat passes. Lexa's expression remains largely unaltered, chiselled from stone in the firelight, and Glass can feel her mouth tighten with despair. Finally she can take the silence and the unknowing no more and the question gushes from her lips in defeat.

"What about my brother? What about the Queen? What about — ?"

"Alive. For now."

     Desperately Glass searches Lexa's face for any faint flicker of amusement, of untruth. There is none. But she doesn't allow relief to flow through her blackened veins yet; Lexa's statement has vile undertones, the enlightenment bitter as the last word swells like thunder in the room.

     "Yet?" Glass asks quietly.

     "Clarke took the brand of the coalition last night. Skaikru is the thirteenth clan," Lexa informs her almost coldly, malice creeping into her tone. "That means Azgeda moved against the coalition. Against me. You know what that means."

"War," says Glass. It isn't a question.

Lexa nods. "Jus drein jus daun."

Blood red ash explodes into her lungs, a storm engulfing her. War. Every breath is a slash of lightning. How many times had she begged for war? A wretchedness is flooding her veins. She is not the same child who burst into Trikru for glory and gore. She knows better than to crave for the condemning thunder of war drums.