“Chin up, my love.” The villainess cooed. “Come morning, there will be wedding bells.”
The protagonist barely moved from her spot at the window. Through the view of the porthole, stars floating in the near abyss seemed to mock her, promising the freedom of deep space and distant galaxes.
But there was no such thing. At least, not for her.
“In the old world, marriage for women was an economic proposition,” the protagonist responded quietly, no matter how softly she spoke, the villainess would hang onto her every word.
The villainess crossed the room, footsteps soft against the metallic floor of the satellite. She stopped just over the protagonist’s shoulder.
The protagonist turned, gazing up at the much taller woman. Fire twinkled in the villainess’s eyes, like small stars themselves.
“Marriage between women on the other hand,” the words felt sour on her tongue, despite the protagonist’s marked past attractions to women. And current, if she was being honest. If she allowed herself to register her body swaying closer to the taller woman. As if she hadn’t before imagined how everything would lock into place. Hips against hips, hands in hands. Locked together? Or lock away? Lost in the villainess’s vicelike embrace.
Besides, the villainess barely touched her. Not like that.
“It was unprecedented in the old world,” the protagonist continued, not sure where she was going with this line of thought. Certain it was a trap, anyway.
“Unprecedented, but not unheard of,” the villainess replied, a hand snaking up to catch the protagonist’s chin, sliding a thumb along her jaw.
“Wedding bells, indeed,” the protagonist whispered, surrendering to the touch.
“I didn’t think you’d go this far for her,” the villainess murmured, stroking soft patterns across the protagonist’s cheek.
At that, the protagonist jolted, not expecting the comment. The direct address of a supernova smoldering just below the surface. But the villainess didn’t seem to care if it exploded.
“You would do anything for wouldn’t you? You orbit her like a moon.”
The protagonist’s eyelashes fluttered involuntarily, but she managed to find her voice.
“I’m here at the request of God and at the behest of his council. If the thermo-energy of a union is needed to contain the forced of our enemies, so be it,” the protagonist replied.
The villainess tsked. “Ever the diplomat, you are. You can admit that you want to save her. And only her. I think secretly you hate everyone but that lover of yours.”
“Former lover,” the protagonist rasped, closing her eyes.
The villainess released her jaw, wrapping an arm around the protagonist’s waist to flick a switch just behind the small of her back. The view-port window closed, the humming noise of its metal shade almost tender. Like a lullaby.
“Let us avoid another fallout,” the villainess said. “Though I don’t know what happens when a moon detaches from an orbit.”
The protagonist turned her face away.
It finds another, she thought into the void of the villainess’s retreating footsteps.
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