Our gazes met, and I felt she could read my thoughts. Her gray eyes pinned me in place, sharp and knowing. Her lips thinned. Her arms tightened around herself. I could read her, too: she hated this. The anger, the confrontation — she hated it, but she did it anyway.
Her chin lowered a fraction, as she held my gaze, and with a cold shiver I realized: this was her battle stance.
In the middle of everyone’s amazing fluff, here’s the angstiest Sarra/Ahni bit I’ve shared yet ;) (~600 words)
She stood by the gate, head tipped back to look up at me. With the sun behind, shadows hid her face: I couldn’t see her expression, but the rigid way she held herself told me all I needed.
I fought the urge to spur Wolfrunner on, but my hands tightened on the reins. He felt my tension and danced on his feet, turning slightly to put Ahni by his flank. She stepped sideways, out of kicking range. Good instincts.
“Can you please dismount? I don’t like talking to your horse’s shoulder.”
I tugged on the reins, pulling Wolfrunner back two steps so we wouldn’t tower over her. “This isn’t a good time to talk.”
“You’re leaving again.” Her voice was controlled. The statement didn’t require a response, so I stayed silent; there was little left to say between us, anyway.
“I can’t believe you.” Frustration seeped into her quiet tone. “If I’d come five minutes later, I’d have found an empty house. Did you even leave a message? An indication where you’re going? No,” she wrapped her arms around herself abruptly, startling Wolfrunner into a hostile snort, “you’re running off to Twin-Gods-know-where by yourself. What about the Field Fight? The First Parade? Tristan’s counting on you to be there. The investigation on Sir Rajel is ongoing, Lady Belen’s guards—”
“I need to go, Ahni.” I tugged on the reins, turning to the gate again. “I’m sorry. This is more important.”
“Than your duty as a knight? As a mentor? As a defender of this city?”
“I am defending this city,” I growled—then pulled up Wolfrunner as he bit the air in her direction. Our tone was making him antsy. “I’m not going off on a nice provincial jaunt—I’m going after the Prelate’s rogue magicker. To stop her before she unleashes the nethewings.”
“How?” Ahni stood her ground, unimpressed by Wolfrunner’s posturing. “Where are you going to find her? How can you stop her? She has fire magic—do you have a way to protect yourself against that? How many people does she have fighting by her side? Will you fight them all at once?”
My temper flared. “Do you think I’m some half-baked trainee? I know how to fight—”
“Against magic?”
“Against anything.”
She made a noise surprisingly close to a snarl, which startled me enough to douse my mounting anger. It occurred to me she’d come all the way here to find me. She wasn’t happy, plainly—but she’d ridden all this way in the icy drizzle, and now she was standing before my gate having, if not a public fight, at least a semi-public, firm difference of opinion. Uncharacteristic for the gentle Knight Healer, but I far preferred it to the cold silence of our last encounter.
Our gazes met, and I felt she could read my thoughts. Her gray eyes pinned me in place, sharp and knowing. Her lips thinned. Her arms tightened around herself. I could read her, too: she hated this. The anger, the confrontation—she hated it, but she did it anyway.
Her chin lowered a fraction, as she held my gaze, and with a cold shiver I realized: this was her battle stance.
Six years I’d dreamt about the day I’d finally fight the Prelate’s magicker. In my violent fantasies, I rolled over anyone who tried to stop me; cut them down from my path until it was just me and Ruchi, and I got to finish avenging Father and cut off the Prelate’s shadow hand once and for all.
I’d pictured myself doing it, a thousand times, in a thousand different ways, but I’d never thought it would be Ahni standing in my path.
gaslighting isn't just lying. and it is one of those words that needs a gentler hand than most people are giving it.
i kept journals during the relationship; and i feel pained about them. in the beginning i was bright and fast and self-aware. i wanted out much earlier than i remember. i felt things were toxic by the fourth month; i was beginning to wonder if it was abuse by the sixth. she got physical by the ninth.
and it's shocking to see my own spiral away from sanity. in the beginning i was horrified by each breach of my trust, every boundary that was crossed.
towards the end; i am unrecognizable in my affect. my writing is barely decipherable. i allow her to say horrific things without even remarking on them, because i had become so used to mistreatment. asking for an apology would have been asking for the argument to escalate.
it was genuinely easier to just let it go; to let her say whatever she wanted, directly to my face.
i tried everything. i tried reading self-help books and walking her through what i needed in a conversation. i tried explaining that we don't use accusatory words like you never or you always. i tried explaining how traumatizing it is when she gets angry like that; i tried talking about my past; i tried therapy-speak. i regulated myself, i apologized first, i tried to lead by example. i tried explaining and then over-explaining. i just wanted peace. i wanted any one situation to actually feel safe for me.
i thought i was being a good communicator; i was begging.
it isn't that i was ever convinced of something so obvious as my skin turning a full and solid green: but she could have said that to me. she could have said you have green skin, i know it, just admit it; and i would have (most likely) agreed. i was able to read her moods in the air like smelling rot at a bakery. if accepting that i had green skin meant i could momentarily avoid an argument, i was going to do it. i would have held out my arm and looked at it and then lied to myself about it. i would have said she just meant that i do have a yellow undertone, don't i? what she probably meant is that my skin is like green-ish, that i have a yellow-blue tint in certain circumstances.
and alongside this is a factor of gaslighting that most people don't see: part of it is that these are people incapable of listening. it isn't just that they manipulate and lie to you: it's that your truth is completely eviscerated. it begins with small things (asking if you're sure about a recipe you know by heart, asking if that artist really sang in that song) - and by the end they are saying that didn't happen like that, you're misremembering.
you cannot ascertain what "true" is because they constantly deny it to you. outside of arguments i would find myself pointlessly defending facts i knew to be true. in arguments - well, who is going to argue about semantics when facing down a rabid bear?
and of course, the final power over you: always, the fear. like an animal in a trap; i had no imagination or space to consider self-actualization. instead all the room in my brain was focused on staying safe, not staying sane. and one must be a little insane to survive a situation that defies sanity. all of my processing power was put into keeping her happy - what room is there for truth in that scene? am i really going to say no, i remember that clearly - when i know it could result in direct harm done to me?
and the thing is: once the experiment is complete, once you're confused and anxious and trying anything: they get away with everything. are you sure you saw the text? are you sure they said that? are you sure? because if you are, and this thing becomes real to you: what will you have to process? are you sure you're ready for the fallout?
we all think we'd be the exception; that we'd know it somehow, get out early. i was in therapy for years, and i still fell for it. i no longer recognized myself. i would find myself making excuses for her even when the abuse was obvious. and did i really want an argument? was i just misremembering it? i am oversensitive. maybe i just need to calm down and take a deep breath. maybe she doesn't even recognize what she did. maybe -
at one point, i was telling her a story about my past, one that was unrelated to her. i said the exact date it happened on, because i'd written it down. february 12. she said that's not when it happened. she said it was in november. i remember saying i am pretty sure it is, i can get confirmation from my brother that's when it happened. she got visibly upset, doubled down and said she knew it was in november instead.
i ran the equation in my head, then. if i told her she was misremembering, she would explode at me. she would sob and possibly self-harm. she would have definitely been angry at me for correcting her. said some wild accusation like this is why i tell people that you always like to humiliate me.
instead of standing my ground, i backed down. even knowing i was right, knowing she was wrong. even knowing, with evidence, the truth. i said: "you know what? it might have been november, time is so wonky."
my brother confirmed it privately: february 12. i remember staring at the phone and thinking: holy shit. this is gaslighting.
fic: bull in the heather
28k, now complete
pairing: hollanov
tags: yearning, angst, the three pillars of fic: fuck around, find out, and happily ever after
Rozanov sends pictures and they don’t talk much. A bronze duck statue, a really gorgeous dress shoe sitting on top of a gross snowbank, the bright hole the moon makes in photos. Always unfocused, more the vague idea than an accurate representation.
Jane, 2:30 pm
What are these?
Lily, 2:41 pm
Contact photo. i think you are duck most
Jane, 2:45 pm
I’m insulted. Being a sculpture is obviously less impressive than being a satellite planet.
Lily, 2:46 pm
True. i changed my mind. Youre a robot planet, is true.
When does a vice become an addiction? When does the relief refuse to stop at the exhale, just keeps breathing out all the air in your life until you can’t remember what used to fill the rest of it up?
