Sinking into the deep, duck down mattress, she closed her eyes. She hadn't bothered undressing, even her scarf remained around her neck. All she wanted was the voices to stop.
Everywhere was dark. The cat jumped upon the bed and she fumbled out with her hand to feel where it was, eventually met by a wet nose and a head bump to her palm. It purred, it circled, it turned, twisted and climbed upon her, incessantly seeking attention. The purring became louder.
She was an idiot, she knew this, she had known this since she was capable of thought. She had made mistakes, she had even embraced them. She would in essence walk through fire because her stubborn mind would tell her it was only a bit hot, nothing could really happen. Though her idiocy seldom affected others. It could, and did often, make difficulties for herself, though she was at peace with this for it was her way. Their idiocy on the other hand was a far different matter.
She no longer held claim to the man she once could call her own. He was an individual that to her now seemed as untouchable as the jaws of a snarling wolf. This wolf though had mange, rabies, disease. He was ill. He was surrounded by those who did not see, or if they did, played down what suffering she saw. She tried to make them see, tried to show them the severity of this illness, the repercussions of it, not just on the man but on those who would seek his aid. Her concerns were met with defensive words, words intended to push her aside, words to appease, words to dismiss. She had done all she could, contacted one who had cared for the sickly man, she did not know if her efforts were in vain or not, but she tried.
No, she would not attend a party, no matter how much the other woman had claimed it to be of benefit. How callous a thought it was. A man she cared for, deteriorating, sat in his home, not knowing his mind, not knowing who she was, and yet she was told to dance, to enjoy? A ridiculous notion, a celebration, of what? Ignorance? Denial?
The sentinel, the man who also desired to be rid of her, his words too bit into the flesh. A man who had not long arrived in the company of her former partner. A man who claimed to love him. She understood the burning desire, the need to protect the one they cared for. Apparently, by his way of thinking he declared she did not understand the wounded wolf. At least she had seen what had become of him in that short visit, she took action, she stood up and made it known how frightened she was and why. She did not trust the man, but she accepted him, because -he- accepted him.
The cat persisted to the point her hand stopped stroking through it's silky fur, her small body nestled against the womans, though purring in the darkness.
Her current lover had been made mention of, the other woman desiring to speak of him, of the relationship. There was something strange, something in the back of her mind that made her skin crawl, that made her uneasy. She would not speak with her over private matters again, no matter how much the woman would press. Atharann was in understanding of what was going on, accepting, and what they shared was of no ones business but their own.
As she calmed, the rhythmic sound of the cat, the cold air of the bed chamber, and the soft furnishing beneath her, she began to formulate a plan. The dark brought many revelations, she knew her path now.
