can we get a snippet of the next chapter of tbhtbh, queen?
My bros it has been 84 years but I swear to god it’s getting done one day. Have this and my eternal thanks for your praise and patience in the meantime.
A few hours earlier, when the light falling through the windows had been muddled sunlight instead, Darcy had come to her.
The witch had stood in the middle of the room, seemingly alone to anyone who merely glanced inside. Her back straight, her eyes downcast.
“You knew.”
It's a rasp, barely more than a whisper. She doesn’t recognize her own voice, but Darcy hears her anyway. Still, she doesn’t turn towards Bloom, hidden in the shadows of her corner as she is.
“I know many things,” Darcy says evenly. Composed. But there's a small, narrow edge of defiance there, too, something almost childishly deflective.
Bloom doesn’t look up either.
“You knew about Andros. You knew about his plan.”
Her hand clamped over the side of her neck tightens.
“His mark.”
She opens her eyes.
“My friends.”
Darcy has her back turned towards her. If there's any emotion at all on her face, genuine or false as it may be, Bloom cannot see it. The witch runs a dark blonde strand of hair through her fingers and stays silent.
Then:
“I advised you not to give him the excuse, didn’t I?”
“You advised me to give up. In more flowery words, maybe.”
“I told you, Bloom. You're not my priority here.”
She breathes out. Leans her head back against the wall and pulls her knees closer, as if there's any comfort in that.
“Was it your idea?”
“No. But I would have suggested it to him, if it had been.”
She steps towards the window, stares down at the frozen surface of Domino beneath them. Or would stare down at it, if it weren’t hidden by the eternal clouds surrounding the tower.
“He's toyed with the idea since before we even found you, I think. But I don’t think he considered it… urgent, until you were shot.”
She crosses her arms. Dignified or defensive, or maybe a mix of both.
“Your friends weren't as careful as you. Icy figured out they were involved on Icthos, and from then on it really was just a matter of making the right people believe the right thing. He's good at that, you know.”
She does know.
On the other side of the room, backlit by the cold, harsh daylight, Darcy inclines her head just a little.
“Icy told me he hesitated. For a while, at least. The day before you escaped.”
Her nails dig into her skin, and her memory seems to taunt her, snippets of half-heard conversations floating through her head. Things she'd found confusing, now seeming perfectly clear. So laughably obvious, in hindsight.
“Was there ever a chance he would have stopped, if I'd stayed?”
It's not really a question. There's no answer to it she doesn’t know already.
It's the hollow hope of reassurance, maybe. A demand for confirmation, pointless as it is.
Darcy breathes out a laugh.
“No. Not really, huh?”
She turns around and leans back against the glass, finally facing her.
“Doomed if you do, doomed if you don’t. I still think you would have improved your circumstances a lot, though, if you'd listened.”
There are no circumstances that could have fixed this. The look she throws Darcy says as much.
The other girl sighs.
“Not that it matters now. If there ever was a point to back out, we missed it.”
She walks out as calmly as she'd entered. But she pauses at the door to look back, just for a moment.
“And I don’t dwell on what-if's, Bloom,” the Witch of the Darkest Night says. The shadows of the hallway seem to reach for her, as if to welcome her home.
“I do the best with what I have.”
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