Happy Birthday Hexxe!
Hope you have an amazing day @solynacea! Here’s some Mothmael.
Moth stares down at the china cup she cradles carefully in her hands, gratefully inhaling the fragrant smoke that rises in curls from the steaming tea. It is the only thing that feels familiar, the hint of jasmine and chamomile calming her nerves. The room she finds herself in is white and bright, so much so the sun streaming through the many huge windows flashes with a bit of a glare as it bounces off the walls and ornate furniture. Marble, porcelain, gold and glass; it is enough to make her teeth hurt and send goosebumps creeping over her flesh. This place feels so uncomfortable, so alien, so dissimilar to the cosy dark and shadow of Calleach with its warm, roaring fires and spiced pastries and wine.
The witch looks to the goddess placed opposite her, unease gripping the pit of her stomach. Elizabeth is smiling primly, of course, a gentle curve to her rose pink lips. The goddess sips her own tea then sets her cup down on the saucer, managing not to make even the slightest noise. The woman is flawless: creamy skin, delicate cheekbones, eyes bright with confidence and laughter. Moth watches as Elizabeth flicks a lock of silver hair over her shoulder, the shining tresses falling like a shimmering waterfall as they settle into their rightful place.
It is this vision she now faces for informal talks, an introductory meeting of one future monarch to another. Moth has been worked on almost beyond recognition for the occasion. Her hair is smoothed into an elaborate plait that builds and tumbles over her back, her brows have been styled, her skin is powdered with just a slight touch of rouge on her cheekbones, and she can barely breathe for the pressure the corset places on her midriff, pulling her stomach in and pushing her chest out as far as it will go. She had protested fiercely as Anais pulled the cords to tighten the already restrictive device that was smashing harder into her rib cage with each violent tug, but now she is grateful for her maid’s efforts. Even with the corset’s aid she is still as skinny and flat as a stick, nothing compared to the womanly beauty sitting opposite her.
“Thank you so much for coming,” says Elizabeth sweetly, her beatific smile focused like a sunbeam on her guest. “I wanted us to have the chance to meet to ensure there are no misunderstandings between us.”
Moth holds her hands together under the cover of the tablecloth, her fingers twisting and twining together. “Thank you for the invitation,” she says carefully, managing to keep her voice steady so as not to betray her confusion. She cannot think of what misunderstandings Elizabeth might be referring to, but it is indeed better that anything of that sort is ironed out now. The witch clan is neutral; it would be preferable for there to be no tensions with the goddesses, whatever their cause.
“Of course! Any friend of Mael’s is a friend of mine.”
Elizabeth’s words pull Moth up short and she takes a quick swallow of tea to hide her surprise. She had not expected the princess Elizabeth to speak of Mael with such warmth. When Moth places her cup back down, the goddess inclines her head, the white column of her neck showing to good effect as she leans forward to pour fresh brew onto the dregs that remain.
“Really, you mustn’t worry,” Elizabeth adds. “Mael and I were so young. It was a childish experiment, nothing more. I am glad he’s moved on.”
Moth feels a telltale blush creep into her cheeks. She had felt no cause for concern, none at all. Mael had informed her of his formal betrothal to the supreme deity’s daughter, but the earnestness of Elizabeth’s words and the protestation made something curdle inside her gut. “An experiment that was sanctioned by both of your families,” she blurts out, the bitter words escaping her mouth before she can stop herself.
Moth squeezes her fists into balls, not caring that her nails dig painfully into her palms, or that her make-up is no doubt facing ruin as a result of her agitation. She has started so she may as well go on. “You were betrothed from birth,” the witch manages to say.”
“But Mael loves you now.” Elizabeth leans forward, placing her arms on the table. “Believe me, Alessa, he cares for you more than he ever did for me.” Elizabeth’s voice is tinged with a little melancholy that belies her bright smile.
Moth sucks in a breath, her hands working beneath the table. She has managed to extract an embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve and she knows she has torn the fabric to shreds. Part of her knows she should leave this alone, leave the plaster that covers the wound firmly in place, but she cannot resist asking, “But you were the one who broke off your engagement?”
“I was.”
“Why?”
Moth and Elizabeth stare at one another across the table. “I… you must promise to share this with no-one else,” Elizabeth whispers, and Moth starts to see that it is the goddess who is now red in the face. “If what I am about to tell you becomes common knowledge it could bring very serious consequences for us all.” Moth’s initial reaction is to scoff, but the flash of fear in Elizabeth’s eyes is enough to stay her derision.
“You have my word,” she says slowly.
Elizabeth nods, then leans forward a little more, her voice dropping to a barely audible breath. “I met another,” she confides, the blush in her cheeks spreading all over her neck. “I… we fell in love. It’s far from ideal in many ways. Both of us have tried to deny the connection only to find that… well, we’re in love. This is why I broke off my betrothal to Mael. It wasn’t fair…”
“Who is it?” Moth demands. “I cannot begin to accept your explanation on so little detail,” she continues sharply as Elizabeth’s mouth falls open, dismay crossing her features. “I won’t say anything, I just need to know.”
“Meliodas.”
A shiver runs down the length of Moth’s spine. She gapes at the goddess, her eyes wide as saucers. “That can’t be,” Moth says, suspicion beginning to establish itself, but Elizabeth looks at her sorrowfully, a tear slowly tracking down her cheek.
“I see.” Shaking her head a little Moth leans back in her chair. It is interesting certainly, and she does believe Elizabeth; this is too big a potential scandal for it to be a lie. But at the end of the day, does it make any difference? Elizabeth’s words have awoken a doubt deep inside her. What if Mael is waiting, hoping, praying even that the woman he once cared for would revert back to him.
“So you see, there really is no need for you to worry.” Elizabeth looks at her, eyes red rimmed. “Trust me.”
Moth grits her teeth, her heart thumping hard against her ribcage. With a sudden rush, she rises from her seat, Elizabeth’s eyes following her as she stands.
“Thank you for telling me,” Moth says. “I will keep your secret.” She waits for Elizabeth to nod to show her acknowledgement of this commitment before leaving, walking steadily and with as much grace as she can muster until she has quit the room, upon which she slumps, rubbing her face with her hands and wishing she had never come to the celestial realm. She had thought it would be a meeting to establish something of a working relationship, not a slap in the face from a possible rival.
Closing her eyes as the lump in her throat begins to burn, Moth jolts as something wraps over her shoulders, pulling her backwards. It takes her a little while, her pulse racing wildly, before she recognises Mael’s presence, realises it is his arms snaking around her.
Blinking rapidly, Moth swallows hard, willing herself to stay in control. “What did Elizabeth say?” Mael enquires as he nuzzles into the back of her neck and Moth has to fight the urge to turn round and slap him.
“Nothing important. She wanted me to know she did not intend to rival me for your affections.” Moth pulls out of Mael’s embrace, her jaw as tight as her lungs. She smooths down the fabric of her dress, the smoke grey wool falling around her - it is a colour she has chosen against her mother’s advice knowing it brings out the best in her eyes, but she now understands Nemain’s warning. The dark, thick, warm material is out of place in this palace of air and sparkle and light.
She starts to walk away when Mael places a hand on her shoulder with just enough pressure to hold her in place. “That’s what she wanted?” His voice is quiet and hard as flint. “She’s impossible,” Mael growls and at this Moth does turn, her mouth falling slack with surprise to see his face storms like thunder.
“Of course she’s no rival for my affections. She hasn’t been since the moment I set eyes on you.”
Tears prick her eyes and Moth lets them fall closed. She wants to believe him, want to let this comfort wash through her and smooth the hurt and envy away. But how can this be so? The two of them were so close…
“I did my best to be a good consort to her,” Mael explains as he runs his hands over Moth’s arms. “I was expected to be by her side. It was my duty. But it was never what I wanted. Ever since I set eyes on you in Cailleach I have wished, every day, that we’d never been promised to one another. I knew we could never be together if I broke it off with Elizabeth. Your mother and my brother would never have allowed it. I have never been so relieved in my life when Elizabeth asked me to end it. It meant you were in my reach again.”
Moth tumbles forwards, Mael catching her, holding her close. “I love you, Moth. I always have. And I always will,” he whispers into her ear.
The tears fall to splash on the marble tiles below. “And I love this dress,” Mael says as he runs his hands over her back and down her sides before pulling her into a chaste kiss, their lips just touching. “It goes perfectly with your eyes.”
Moth sighs, letting Mael kiss her again as her chest eases and the hurt starts to fade.