oh, we must stop meeting like this / october and amber

[clover ❁]

o c t o b e r     r h a p s o d y     f r a y 

o c t o b e r     r h a p s o d y     f r a y 

 the crown is stained but you're the real queen
flesh and blood amongst war machines 

. . . 

i did not kill waste-of-space fraser birk. i did not kill waste-of-space fraser birk. 

for a moment, i wanted to. after a frenzied, desperate fumble in the darkness, i considered hurting him. he was a prat, after all. but i did not intentionally hit another human being. my knife, although bloodied, does not reflect my conscience. that, unlike the weapon, is (almost) clean. thinking something is not the same as doing it. fraser birk's blood is not on my hands. despite this, waste-of-space fraser birk is dead, and before he died, i said something he deserved to hear. 

i gather myself together, and i leave. i do not really know where i am going, nor do i really know where i came from. everywhere here is stinking water, and slime, and gloom. i could not imagine a place worse suited to october rhapsody fray. they are playing a sick joke on me, testing me, seeing if i deserve my crown. but i do. so i tilt up my chin, wipe my dirtied hands on my dirtied overalls and compose myself. it may not be my best look, but i know i look a damn-sight better than anybody else in this hell-hole. after all, this is my show. fraser birk learned that lesson the hard way. 

when i first hear my name, i think perhaps it is coming from inside my own head. "october!" (october, october, october!)

it is not my troubled conscience, however, because i recognise the voice. it is amber. thank god. finally somebody in this place who appreciates me. i am sick of talking to people who think that just because i am talented, that i am mean. i am not mean. too often, women with dreams are categorised, unfairly, as witches. here i am, out of my depth, over my head in water but not drowning: i see how somebody might make that mistake. but not amber. like me, she is a girls' girl. 

"amber!" i say, and throw my arms around her, kiss her on both cheeks. i ignore the slime that coats us both. as my eyes adjust to the light, i see that we are in a dingy room, mouldering furniture lining the walls, everything damp and sticky but not quite as festering as where i was before. where fraser died. i push the thought from my mind. "i'm so glad you're okay. i thought i'd never see you again!" 

i mean, obviously, she will die, but i'm really glad she's not dead yet. 

you're the new god we're worshipping
promise to be dazzling