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・❥・ Cirsei didn't understand how the water could still be so warm. It had to have been at least two hours, if the endless peaks and valleys of her pruned skin were any indication.
Her mind had completely taken off on her, scattering in all directions, dipping in and out of thoughts and memories she had long been hiding from, and some she revisited often.
At this point, she was recalling the details of her escape from home. The catalyst that brought her to the confusing place she was currently residing in. She thought about those she had killed. Both of them. She searched through the space in her chest, the shaded corners of her psyche, anywhere she may have been harboring any guilt. She came up empty.
She did not feel guilty. She did not feel remorseful.
This realization sent a chill up her spine. How could she not feel any guilt for taking not one, but two lives? She knew they may have deserved it, may have even had it coming, but by her? Did the blood on her hands feel heavy, damning, sinful?
And she could no longer look away from the truth that laid out so plainly before her; She did not feel guilt because she liked doing it.
She liked the rush, the power, the violence. She liked how their flesh parted so willingly, how their viscera had barely put up a fight. She liked the way they crumbled, like anyone else. The undeniable fact that they were no stronger than she, she who was contained within a small, cruel, weak body. Taking their lives had been easy.
There was a warmth that crowded her veins, that writhed under her skin when she replayed the memories. A sensation of sickening pleasure. She thought herself wicked.
She thought maybe she was okay with being wicked. That she was so angry, so desperately, bitterly livid. She thought perhaps there were pieces of this world that deserved her wrath. Her wickedness. Some souls who deserved to be snuffed out.
Did that make her any different than the High Lord? Any less malignant?
She didn't - couldn't care. She was vindicated.
She lifted herself out of the water, feeling both lighter and heavier at the same time.
She didn't wrap herself in the robe she'd left on the counter, instead hesitating, finally allowing herself to take in her reflection in the full-length mirror. It was... jarring.
The most upsetting thing was the state of her body. It was knobby and frail, her hip bones jutting out below the ripples of her visible rib cage. Her clavicles cast shadows over the uneven surface of her chest. She turned to the side and inhaled sharply at the sight of the slight concavity of her stomach. There were far too many scars. Puffy white slashes or darkened lines. One in particular spanning the entire length of her side from her back to her hip. A relic from the first time she learned that fighting and struggling against her "clients" was futile and would only bring her more harm.
She faced forward again as her gaze trailed up to her face. The image was no better. Her cheeks were sunken, her full lips dry and cracked, her eyes darkened by weariness. She fixated on the long scar over her left eye. It was vertical, appearing on her forehead just higher than her eyebrow and reappearing under her eye where it curved over her cheek bone. Another line of dark pink extended obliquely from the bottom of her eye, the effect rather severe. The part that upset her most, however, was her glassy, empty iris. There was no pupil anymore, and the color did not match her right eye - a once striking jade color - it instead appeared much greyer, milky and bloodshot. She was almost completely blind in this eye.
Tears welled up quickly, for she hadn't yet really looked at herself since the injury was inflicted. She had little idea of what she looked like now that it was part of her, this irrevocable declaration of her lack of ownership of her own body. This constant reminder of her torment.
She was once beautiful. It was a thought she couldn't escape from, no matter how bad it hurt. It reinforced how much she'd lost. This person that appeared before her now could not hold a candle to who she used to be. To the likeness she once possessed of her mother, who has always been the most beautiful person she'd ever known.
The sorrow which accompanied her grief of her past self, quickly sizzled into rage. This was their fault. Those wretched beasts who stole her for themselves, her wretched father for letting them. Encouraging them. Being paid by them.
And then, before she even realized it was her fist which shot out before her, she screamed as thousands of slivers and shards of broken glass rained down over her.
Her eyes widened, zeroing in on her hand as it trembled, small rivers of blood spreading over it and dripping onto the floor.
What had she just done?
The panic set in immediately, her stomach twisting. Mother above, she was in trouble. She knew she was. She was sure the High Lord of the Night Court would not take kindly to vandalism of his own home.
She shook violently, unable to bring herself to action. Her hand remained held out in front of her, her elbow crooked. It was all she could see. The blood, the way it glistened in the light, the tiny points of broken glass lodged in her skin.
For a moment, she was floating above herself, viewing from behind. Her senses so muffled, she barely heard it as the door flew open, the rumbling of frantic footsteps, until she fell back into herself, her ears ringing as she regained some control of her motor functions.
She looked slowly to the side.
"What the hell is going on?" the voice belonged to Cassian, he looked around wildly, Azriel, to her horror, was right behind him.
They both stopped short at the same moment she herself realized her naked state, completely bare before them with big and small knicks and cuts oozing blood over her skin.
She couldn't bring herself to feel embarrassed, she was still just in shock at her outburst.
"I-" She opened and closed her mouth, unsure of what she could say.
Despite how hard they tried not to, she felt both of them, their eyes as they traveled up and down. She was sure if she had the nerve to hold either of their gazes, she would see the stain of horror or disgust within them. For her body was broken, bleeding, grotesque.
She reached for the robe where it still sat undisturbed on the counter next to her and wrapped it around herself, cringing and flinching as the fabric brushed over the glass which littered her flesh.
"Are you okay!?" Cassian seemed to refocus, breaking the silence.
"I did it," She told them.
"What?" His brows furrowed.
"It was me. I did it. I... I hit the mirror. I'm sorry, it was an accident." Her voice was completely devoid of emotion and she stared at the space between Cassian and Azriel's faces.
They didn't seem any less confused after her admission of guilt. They also notably did not seem angry.
She shifted her weight uncomfortably, making a step to exit the washroom, but finding herself surrounded by glass which her bare feet stood no chance against.
Cassian noticed and closed the distance between them, the glass crunching under his boots, he held out his hand to her. She looked between it and him before tentatively taking it, he pulled her into him and lifted her off the ground, her knees bent over his arm.
He walked out of the washroom and into her room, placing her gently back on the floor. She noticed Rhysand now, leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom door, arms crossed. He shamelessly studied her, brows knit together. He seemed entirely unaffected by the cuts, the blood, her exposed skin.
Azriel trailed into the room and she felt claustrophobic, surrounded by so many faces.
"She said she hit the mirror." Azriel reported to the High Lord.
Cirsei's breath caught in her throat, so fearful of the retaliation she would face for her transgression.
The High Lord raised one brow, "Oh?"
"She's got glass all over her. I'm gonna go get Mor to help her take it all out," Cassian declared, stepping past Rhysand and disappearing into the hall before Cirsei could protest.
She remained in her spot, standing in the middle of the room, staring at the floor. She knew the High Lord and Azriel were watching her, but she couldn't meet their eyes.
"Now what would possess you to do something like that, Maeve?" the way he said the name, so suspicious. But why would he even suspect she'd given an alias?
Wait... wait... Fuck!
The realization hit her like a ton of bricks. Daemati. He knew the moment she told him that her name was Maeve that she was lying. He knew the secrets she'd been carrying. And he knew... oh, Gods, he knew of all the sinful, indecent thoughts she had about him whenever she was in his presence.
"Oh, yes, Cirsei, I've heard them all," his voice was low and sultry, almost predatory.
She blushed. Hard. She couldn't stop the heat from claiming her skin. She was thankful he couldn't fully see her face as her eyes remained firmly locked on the floor.
"W-Why didn't you say anything? When I told you my name was Maeve..." She sputtered out, trying to change the subject.
"I assumed you had your reasons for lying."
"Reasons that I'm sure you now know well enough..." Her stomach dropped as she tried to gather all of the things he could know about her at this point. The things she didn't speak about.
"No, actually, I don't know much about our little runaway at all. I was hoping you'd tell me yourself." He stepped into the room.
She looked up at him, brows furrowed together, "You don't? Why not? Clearly it's easy for you to get inside my head, so wouldn't that be the logical thing to do? Especially when you know I tried to lie to you."
He shrugged, she heard movement behind her as Azriel sat down in one of the chairs facing the fire wordlessly.
"Easy... yes, but I like a challenge," he grinned, but it was dark, provocative. And positively bewitching. She cursed the flutter in her chest that his heavy gaze evoked. Then cursed again when she remembered he could hear her.
"But you have no problem listening in on some thoughts," She accused, narrowing her eyes.
"How could I not? You think such wicked, naughty things about me. You're practically begging me to listen." His tone sent her reeling.
She groaned out loud, looking at Azriel who was watching them with an expression that was somewhere between amusement and disgust.
"C-Can you hear me too!?" She questioned in horror, knowing she'd, at the very least, thought him quite handsome.
A ghost of a smile graced his lips, "No. Why? Having indecent thoughts about me, too?"
Rhysand chuckled, Cirsei blanched. She distracted herself by picking pieces of glass out of her arms, "No!"
It occurred to her that Azriel might be offended at her firm refusal, but if he was, he didn't show it.
"You don't seem angry with me." She mumbled, looking to the High Lord, still picking at her skin.
"Angry?"
"Yes. For lying. And for breaking your mirror. I thought you would be mad at me." Her voice came out smaller than she'd intended.
He gestured to the area behind her where the door to the washroom remained opened, "The mirror has been repaired," She whipped her head to look, and lo and behold, where there was once quite a mess of broken glass scattered all along the floor, there was empty space, "And as for the lying... I'm sure you have your reasons, as I said before. I'll let you off the hook this time."
He took a couple of steps closer to her until he was right in front of her. She felt her heart rate quicken and she smelled seasalt and citrus and she tried desperately to push out any traitorous thoughts of how he made her knees feel weak.
He took her chin in his thumb and pointer finger, angling her head until she was forced to look at him, his eyes swirling and sparkling with mischief.
"But Cirsei, try not to do it again, yeah?" she felt his breath tickle her nose as he spoke, so low it was nearly a whisper. It physically pained her as she forced herself not to look at his lips. She nodded.
"No more lies?" He crooned, the way someone might address a child.
She nodded again, her breath stuck somewhere in her throat.
He smirked, satisfied, "Good girl."
He released her just in time for her to regain some control over her senses, his words dangerously close to driving her completely mad with desire.
Another mercy came in the form of Cassian returning with Mor, breaking the tension.
"What happened?" Mor asked immediately, she seemed... concerned. Genuinely concerned.
"It's nothing..." Cirsei muttered, feeling the tiny licks of shame and embarrassment creeping back up on her.
"Oh, you poor thing! You're bleeding all over. Don't worry, I'll help you get all the pieces out," she approached Cirsei slowly, clearly making an effort to seem as non-threatening as possible.
"Don't worry about me, please, it's alright. I can do it myself." Cirsei looked down at herself again, the trails of blood on her arms and legs, some dried and some still wet.
"Nonsense! You have to let me help! I'll be right back with the supplies!" She rushed out of the room before Cirsei could respond, much like Cassian had moments earlier.
"What are you all staring at?" Cirsei challenged, waving her arm around the room at Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel, "Aren't you going to give Mor and I some privacy?"
For a beat she was horrified she'd said the wrong thing, misreading the level of informality that was expected of her. But then the High Lord smiled, "I suppose so."
Azriel and Cassian followed him out, Azriel shutting the door behind him. She let out a long, deep breath, unsure how to even begin processing everything that just happened.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
"So why'd you do this?" Mor asked softly as she used a small metal tool to extract all the shards on her legs, as Cirsei had already cleared up most of her arms.
She sighed, untying the robe and beginning to pull out the pieces in her stomach, "Would you believe me if I said the mirror was haunted and I actually did you all a favor?"
Mor laughed, not looking away from her task as she replied, "I always knew there was something off about it!"
Cirsei smiled, grateful for the moment's reprieve before revisiting the moment she punched the mirror. Why did she do it?
She was angry, of course. So much so it clouded her judgment. Blurred her vision and made her skin feel tight. But she knew what really set her off, it wasn't just rage, it was also shame, sorrow. The heartbreak of not recognizing her own reflection.
"I... looked at myself," She admitted, conceding that any attempts at dishonesty would be foiled by the High Lord the moment it came out.
Mor finished Cirsei's legs and stood up, frowning. She nudged Cirsei's hands away from her stomach, taking over the job. Cirsei was unsure how she felt about this moment of vulnerability, the intimacy of Cirsei's bare body before the eyes of someone she wasn't repulsed by.
"What could possibly be wrong with your reflection?"
Cirsei clenched her jaw against the tiny stings of glass being pulled from her skin. Mor's fingers brushed lightly over her hips every so often.
"The scars." Cirsei sighed, and Mor paused to look up at her in confusion. Cirsei pointed to her face, to her eye.
Mor followed until her eyes glossed over Cirsei's face, showing no reaction to the scars.
"It's the first time I've seen myself with them. Well, the first time actually taking it in. And my eye..." Cirsei gristled, remembering the sickly sheen of her blind eye. The way it no longer matched her other one. The way she couldn't decide if she thought she looked like a monster now.
"This upsets you?" Mor inquired curiously, though Cirsei wasn't sure where she was going with it.
"I used to be beautiful," Cirsei said quietly.
Mor furrowed her brows, at her full height she was only slightly taller than Cirsei, "You are still beautiful."
There was a ring of absolution to her statement, as if Cirsei wasn't even allowed to argue.
"I have been maimed... And now I'm half blind. And I have to wear these scars forever," the words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them, questioning her willingness to be so open.
Mor pulled out the last piece of glass, slow to heal as Cirsei still hadn't recovered much of her magic. Cirsei pulled her robe closed again, tying it off.
"I'm... sorry this happened to you. I am. But you need not worry about how you look. You are still divine," Mor's hands twitched and Cirsei thought she wanted to move them. But Mor remained otherwise still, keeping a slight distance between their bodies.
Cirsei tried to conceal her gasp at the compliment, the words Mor had chosen. Cirsei did not feel she deserved them.
"I'm finished," Mor breathed, ending the charged silence, beginning to gather her supplies.
"Thank you... for your help," Cirsei whispered.
Mor smiled warmly at her, nodding her head before heading towards the door, "Goodnight, Cirsei."
"Goodnight, Mor," Cirsei chirped back. Did the High Lord tell all of them about her real name?
By the time Cirsei had finished up her second bath of the night, the one she'd rushed through just to scrub off the dried blood, she was entirely drained. The rapid shifts from sadness to rage to lust, embarrassment, to confusion and warmth, it had sufficiently depleted every last drop of her energy.
Sleep found her swiftly after she collapsed into bed.
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a/n: I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I hope it helps to illustrate some of Cirsei's thoughts and feelings regarding her trauma. It's such a complicated topic! I also enjoyed writing more interactions between her and the IC... truly undecided how the pairing is gonna go.