She tries, valiantly, to recall her own strength of character. She has manipulated and broken men far stronger than the likes of Ashamin - had she not told him that, in the flickering light of his cavern? That she held no remorse for the destruction that lay in her wake? She who held monopoly over the hearts and loins of lesser creatures, twisting them cruelly to align with her own motives? Hotaru had never let them influence her, for the moment she did, she no longer held the power. Even Thranduil, in all their perfectly matched, sadistic equality, could not sway her far. Until Ashamin, he had been the only one to throw himself against the cracking facade she held, intent on finding and utilizing her weaknesses. But through the shadows Ashamin had sidled close, intoxicating her with his gentle nature, his unassuming, trustworthy countenance. Hotaru had never learned to shield her heart from the likes of love. What little she knew of it was dead and dust - unattainable. Mere memories, like a glimpse of a ghost or a faint scent that reminds you of something better. Something lost. 

She has broken so many souls, has dug her pretty hands into the gaping caverns of lonely chests to sink her nails into the yielding flesh of a thousand aching hearts. But maybe she was wrong in proclaiming that she had mastered stallions far greater than Ashamin. Maybe all along he had been far better than they, with their simplistic desires and disgustingly plain motivations. Because no matter how she tries to lift her chin, to reclaim power over the situation, she can't. In fact she feels quite feral, backed into this corner he has built just for her. A trapped animal waiting to lash out and injure in her own desperation. Because she cannot grasp that thread of power, where it lingers beyond her reach. Hotaru is nothing but another mare in his eyes, and she cannot sway him. She cannot save herself from this.

Do you want to? Alice's voice comes softly as Ashamin steps forward, crowding her, sending her stumbling further back into the snow. The deer and the hound circle ever on, her own sister trapping her in this situation. It's a betrayal she cannot focus on, not with the intensity of Ashamin's dark eyes, the insistent press of his body closer to hers that she tries to counter with her own pitiful retreat. The Queen hates herself deeply, intensely. She loathes her own cowardice. How is she any better, in this moment, than those she has conquered in the past? A weak, pitiful creature. A slave to her own heart, an organ dedicated to misleading those who could be great. 

His words are like background noise, except she cannot help but listen even as her thoughts spiral into depths she cannot fathom. As if the idea of ignoring him is preposterous. 

At first Hotaru can still fool herself, pretend he is merely trying to coach her divergent morality. Reaching out to her on common ground, the story she clutched ridiculously to her heart even after all this time. The great, beautiful bird that haunted her dreams when it had no right to. It reminded her of Phaedra, of Stella. Perhaps, if she was feeling particularly hopeful that evening, maybe even a little of herself. 

But then he's stepping closer and reaching out for her, and her skin shivers but she's frozen, trembling all over like some delicate maiden. I'm not, I'm not, don't take this from me! But her lips won't move to give birth to her begging. She's not sure whether it's a blessing. Because Hotaru knows. She knows that if she lets him see through her, a rosen glass casting subdued light over all he sees, that she will lose everything. Her power will be nonexistent. She will always have an Achilles heel, a glaring weakness for others to exploit. Love is life's greatest disease. It is the lie, the illusion, that culls and controls the weak masses. 

Yet even as her mind is screaming in abject refusal of this impending proclamation, the Lady does not move. His breath is warm, a contrast against the cold fear leeching at her bones, the cold snow against her ankles. She bears his touch like a weight upon her shoulders, and yet leans into it like it's a sweet drug and she a mere lowly addict. He is a study in contrasts in application to herself. But what does it reveal about her own dual nature, to be reacting so passionately? It's unbearably intimate, the touch of his lips behind the crook of her jaw, the warm caress that flutters up against the edges of her ear, and she whimpers softly. It's inherently sexual and yet not. If he were that type of man perhaps she would not be here in this moment, so deeply controlled by the presence of his untainted emotions.

"I want to be the mountain that cradles you. And I know it's not my place, that you're a queen and I'm only a stargazer, but the mountains rose to greet the first snowfall, and..."

The soft, agonized moaning spills from her mouth once more in denial. There is no denying Ashamin's intent now, no escaping through averted eyes and the common agreement to forget that anything potentially happened. "Ashamin," she whispers, because where words will fail her, he never has. And the truth must surely lie within his name, this title she has shouted, whispered, laughed. Hotaru has expressed more emotion through the medium of his name, his mere existence, than most souls have ever seen her display in their lives. 


Until he's stepping away from her, and the ashen remains of her heart lurch, sending one hoof skittering rebelliously forward as if to follow him. But two differently painted eyes fall to his chest, this canvas he paints upon with the currents of her heart, the electricity he utilizes to show her what he means. He doesn't need to - the image has been part of her dreams ever since he spoke the words to her from across a crackling fire. Nothing more than two acquaintances, a Queen and her underling. How did we come so far? But Hotaru watches, enraptured, nonetheless. Sees the beautiful bird spinning, falling, her death as poetically profound as it is grievous and sorrowful. Remembers the rest of the tale on her own. The first snowfall, the tears of loss that nobody could explain. The way the earth moved to cradle the remains of her pure existence. Brought into being by her life and will alone. Standing in testament to her until the earth itself broke apart - the most loyal kind of love. 

Is that what he is offering her?

And she realizes, as the electric currents of her own heart show the last moments of the gorgeous bird, that he sees her in that magnificent creature. When even she found herself unworthy in the nighttime hours where she contemplated her connection to the tale, he saw only the grandeur they both shared. Her tear stings her cheek as it falls, because she doesn't deserve this kind of respect. This kind of love, damn it, because that is what he's offering her. 

He pleads with her, a broken murmur of sound, but she cannot look away as his heart's currents embrace her own. It's easier than gazing into his eyes, where she will have to face the rawness of his devotion. Devotion she shouldn't have earned. He is too pure for her. 

"I'll ruin you," she choked, because she had surely warned him before. Why didn't you listen back then? "Ashamin, I -" it hurt to speak past the lump in her throat. She wrenched her eyes up to his, her heart surely stuttering hard enough to ruin this beautiful image he has made for her. "I can't do that to you," she urged, manic in her fear of what lay beyond this encounter. I can watch them all burn, but not you. Never you. "I love you," she croaks, and it burns to be the first to say it. No matter how heavily he implied it, she would always be haunted by the fact that she broke first. That this weakness was hers to carry. "I love you and I can't let myself ruin you." It was a refusal, one she hated to utter. If only I was pure, if only I was whole, if only, if only, if only. But she wasn't. She was made for the likes of Thranduil. Her heart was destined to belong with him, to tear each other apart in their possessive, unkind love for one another. She wasn't allowed this kind of deviation from fate. She could not pretend that accepting this beautiful love would lead to anything more than heartbreak and ruin for the gentle stag. And she could not bear that kind of end for him - a demise orchestrated by her own fatal love.

Hotaru loved him so much that she refused to love him at all.

OOC thingies here