A good woman is never happy
Stella rewrite angst drabble
summary: it's her wedding night. Stella should be overjoyed. She should be excited. There's so many things she should be.
She should be happy.
Why isn't she happy?
cw: royal family sexism, implied sexual acts, loveless marriage, general angsty feelings
a/n: honestly, the main thing drawing me back to this rewrite is the concept of Stella I came up with, it infects my brain every now and again
The water running was so loud that it drowned out anything outside the bathroom. Stella was thankful for that. It was soothing, almost, to sink into the noise, hidden behind its loudness, sequestered away from anything that might make her feel worse than she already did.
The bathroom was cold, sending occasional chills through her snowy white feathers. Small clumps of them littered the floor, standing out starkly against the lavender tiles.
Stella tried to slow her shaking breaths, wrapping her arms around herself and gently squeezing.
She’d be OK. It was fine. Everything was fine.
The water had risen much further than she’d originally intended, but Stella didn’t care much. She turned the tap, switching it off, before climbing in and sighing. The warm water was exactly what she needed. It felt like the tender contact she’d been longing for the entire night, curving along her back and embracing her under the arms, soothing any of her small internal aches and insecurities keeping her trapped in this uneasy state of mind.
Pleasant smelling bubbles crept up around her face and shoulders as she huddled down into the warm water, pulling her knees up to her chest. The cold that the entire palace seemed to emanate started to drain out of her slowly, replaced by comforting warmth seeping into her very bones.
Stella leant back in the tub, closing her eyes and sinking down into the water, until the warmth began to creep up her chin. Despite the comfort of the water’s temperature, she couldn’t shake the chill in her bones, the feeling of exposure that she just couldn’t rid herself of.
She knew that she shouldn’t feel so sad, so lonely, so afraid. It was her wedding night. Only so many hours ago, she’d stood at the altar and taken the name of her husband, becoming the princess she’d always dreamed of, ever since she was a little girl. She’d gotten money, a crown and a husband, all things that she’d always been promised. She was more than happy to take the money. Arriving in the new palace for the first time, she’d been astounded by the decor. The wealth present there had made her family’s estate look like a pauper’s home in comparison. If this was all her new life was, she was overjoyed to move forward into her marriage, even if it was arranged.
Besides all that, she’d always secretly hoped to find a way out of her family’s palace through this marriage. Away from those cold, dreary halls, filled by her mother and brother’s harsh, cruel laughter, away from the eyes constantly watching, judging and picking apart her every move. Somewhere she could begin to feel like herself, where she could begin to understand the person she was outside of her family and their near constant plotting. Somewhere she could be more than just a pawn for climbing the social ladder.
Stella rubbed anxiously at the bald patches lining her upper arms, remnants of old emotional outbursts prior to this. Her mother had always hated them, buying her pairs and pairs of gloves to cover the unsightly blemishes.
She’d often wondered if her future husband would hate them too. Would he pull away from her in revulsion once he saw them? Would he tell her exactly how ugly she really was, just like her mother delighted in doing? Would he divorce her, right then and there?
Or, she hoped in secret, would he tell her she was beautiful? Would he look past her flaws, the marks and blemishes, to tell her that she was worth something after all? Would he show her the love she’d always dreamed of feeling?
But he hadn’t done either of those things. Stolas Goetia had barely even looked at her the entire time. She’d stood, terrified, before him, her body bare in front of another for the first time in her life. She’d expected so many things to happen. She’d spent so long mulling over the idea and wondering about what would happen after, but she had never expected to face nothing but pure indifference.
He’d barely looked at her. He’d barely touched her. It had felt like going through the motions, performing a scripted act for someone else. Who? Their families, she supposed. The Goetia that wanted an heir, another demon to continue their sinful lineage.
Stella’s hand fell down to her stomach, rubbing absentmindedly at the feathers there. Was she pregnant now? How would she know? She wasn’t supposed to gain much weight, even when she did bear a child, she’d made sure of it, slimming her body down until she was sure she’d bounce back no matter what.
What if she couldn’t have children? What if she was barren?
Maybe that would be better.
The Goetia had enough children, enough branches on the accursed family tree to last them thousands of lifetimes. The last thing she wanted was to offer up another child to them, <i>her</i> child, her son or daughter. She could barely keep track of all of the many demons populating their sinful lineage, which just showed how meaningless her child would be. Did they really need to be born at all?
What if she had a daughter? She wasn’t sure she could bear that. A son would be alright, tolerable even. He would be his father’s son, entrusted to him to grow into a prince they could all be proud of. She could forget about the pain of bearing him and bury all of the maternal feelings that struggled to push through her years of cold, steely training.
A daughter would be her responsibility however. Her responsibility to groom and train into the perfect wife and mother. Her responsibility to teach everything she needed to know in order to navigate the world she would grow up into. The thought made her sick. Could she really look down at a soft, innocent face, so like her own when everything had been unknowingly stolen from her, and crush their dreams the same way her own had been?
With shaking hands, Stella reached for the glass of wine on the vanity, taking a sip to calm her nerves. Perhaps it could help more than she initially thought. Alcohol was thought to stave off pregnancy, its effects making the body near uninhabitable for a child to grow.
And yet…could she do that? If she never fell pregnant, it would be soon assumed that she was infertile. What then? Her family might abandon her, fleeing from the social ire and embarrassment of bearing a failed daughter. She was sure she hated her family, but she knew she was nothing without them. Without them, she was just a useless pretty bird, never taught to fly, hopping about, her songs falling on deaf ears.
Would Stolas divorce her? With her family abandoning her and her husband leaving her, where would she go? There was no place for an unwed, divorced Goetia without any family connections. She would have to either barter away her last riches for some semblance of safety, or get comfortable with the idea of living on the streets. A Goetia, alone on the streets of any of Hell’s cities, would not last long.
There was no life for her away from this. Her only choice was laid out in front of her.
Struggling to draw in a breath, Stella set her glass back on the vanity. Gritting her teeth and steeling her nerves, she pulled herself out of the tub, dragging the plug with her, the water quickly emptying down the drain.
Fixing her gaze on her reflection in the mirror, she began the same nightly ritual she’d repeated her entire life, even when she was so young that servants had to do it for her. Massaging oils and potions into her feathers, slicking them back into a relaxed, yet regal style. She brushed some stray liner and blush across her cheeks and eyelids, their magical properties making them sleep proof. Her mother had always maintained the belief that a princess needed to look her best at all times, even when fast asleep beside her husband.
She dressed herself quickly, pulled on one of the sheer night gowns Andrealphus had gifted her the week before her wedding. She tugged at the hem, disliking how much it exposed, but she did her best to shake off the feeling. Her brother wasn’t here to leer and laugh at her barely clothed frame anymore. Even her husband wouldn’t, since he’d been fast asleep when she’d snuck off to clean herself up. He wouldn’t look at her anyway, even if he was awake. He’d made it quite clear that he had no interest in her or her body. The only things she had to offer him.
But that could be OK, she promised herself. The palace he lived in, now the palace she would live in for the rest of her natural life, was large, far bigger than her family’s. There would be plenty of rooms that she could use for herself, to hide away in and create a space all her own that she could retreat to. Her husband could be tolerable, his more meek nature making it easy to ignore him if she tired of their forced partnership.
She could be a good wife. She could keep herself thin and beautiful, never once faltering, and could be the perfect jewel to hang around her husband’s neck at every function and royal dinner. She could bear him an heir, several even, if that was what was desired of her, and she could raise them to be stronger than she ever was. She could make a name for herself amongst the Goetia’s, and be remembered for the only things she could contribute: her womb and her body. That could be enough for her. At least she would be remembered. She could swallow her own desires and submit to the only life for her to live, the only choice available to her. That could be enough, she was sure. She’d spent her entire life training for this. It wouldn’t be hard to settle into it like a good little Goetia.
Perhaps she’d be able to avoid her family for the rest of her life if she was good enough at her role as the prince’s wife. Perhaps then she could keep Andrealphus from slithering his way back into her good graces. She didn’t trust herself not to slip up around him and allow him to worm out all of her secrets yet again. She might finally feel some semblance of happiness then.
For now, she needed sleep. She’d face the strange mess her life had become in the morning. She could make her own plans then.
Steeling her nerves, she slid open the door and padded slowly across the bedroom, settling awkwardly on the edge of the bed, watching her husband sleep for a few minutes, talons balling the bedsheets into a mess beneath her.
For a moment, she was struck by a pang of homesickness, not for the place she’d grown up in or the family she’d left behind, but instead for the bedroom she’d slept in her entire life, the place that had become her refuge from the trials of her life.
She missed having the entire bed to herself, not awkwardly curling in on herself to avoid brushing the feathers of a man who couldn’t be less interested in her. It felt so embarrassing, so degrading, to lie beside him now, after he’d so clearly lacked any interest in what they’d just done together.
Sex was supposed to be special, something that sealed you together as forever partners. Stella couldn’t possibly feel any further away from her husband, physically or otherwise. She’d been worried about messing it all up, about not knowing how to perform satisfactorily, but she shouldn’t have worried about that, now that she thought about it. Her husband had no doubt not even noticed her lack of experience. He’d looked like he was daydreaming of being somewhere else, and she was ashamed to admit that she had started doing the same, dreaming that she was with someone else, anyone else, someone that loved her and thought she was beautiful.
Stella closed her eyes, pulling a spare pillow close to her chest. She longed for another’s touch, not the kind she’d experienced earlier, that had left her feeling lonely and unclean, but the kind that soothed, that warmed her chilled bones, the kind that felt like the bath she’d just curled up in earlier. She was thankful for the experience only because it made her feel so exhausted that she didn’t need to struggle to drift off. She was glad she didn’t have to spend the night tossing and turning, wondering why she wasn’t enough and why her husband felt like a ghost lurking at her side.