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[knelt]

WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK

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HONEYSUCKLE

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text — un: LITTLEPRINCE

[hymen]

Hi, Isolde.

[ kitten. completely normal greeting for some girl he fucked around with in an animal cage who also happens to be mark trevena's betrothed. how many bad decisions can he make? results pending. ]

So you got hired at the Pink Slip?
There are probably some things you should know about me and Ani.

[knelt]

( disassociating, staring at this message for a minute. you ever remember all the slutty, debauched, biologically questionable things you got up to while high on drugged candies, and feel the sudden urge to kneel on the floor and beg god for forgiveness?

okay. time to lock in. )

hi, embry.

i did, yeah. ani seems like she isn't your biggest fan.

cw incest, assault

[hymen]

She's not. But she has good reason not to be.
This place will take you out of yourself. Drugs, drinks, or just breathing the air, and you'll find yourself doing things that aren't you. It's usually just sexual, or you end up spilling secrets you never meant to come out.
Not that that's good. But there was a month back in June where we all became different people. Lived different lives. Ash was suddenly my brother, my actual biological brother. I was still in politics but I was never vice president.

[ pause. dots appearing and disappearing, wondering how much to say. ]

I was in love with Ash still. You can see how that posed problems.
I was different. Worse than I am now. Way fucking worse. I'd killed people, to cover up what Ash and I were doing. We'd throw these sex parties and make everyone sign NDAs so everything was airtight. It was like Lyonesse, but without any of the safeguards.
Ani was in our lives. She was Ash's mistress, but we both... were with her. It wasn't a good idea in any sense of the word. Not for me.
Things spiraled from there. Ash would play hot and cold with me, I would get fucked up. I fought with Ani constantly. I was obsessed with her. I hated her. I cared for her, too. But I loved Ash, and there was no getting around that for me. There was no happy ending ever coming my way, and so when Ani told us she was leaving because she'd found hers, I snapped.
I broke into her room and I attacked her. I don't know if I would've killed her. I don't know. But I do know that I hurt her. Maybe it wasn't really us and it wasn't really our lives, but the damage was real. Dead fucking real.

Anyway. I've been trying to make it up to her ever since, but I don't think there's any coming back from it. Not anymore.
I don't know how much of it was really me, and I don't blame her for not wanting to find out.
That's the story. I thought you should know. There's not many people that knew of me back home, but since you did, I felt like I owed you the truth of what I really am.

[knelt]

( isolde has a clementine heart, and feels it peeled apart with the revelation — the taking of one thing out of context too personally, about a story that has nothing to do with her. i'd killed people. her hands are so red with bishop and cardinal and priest and parishioner blood you can't see the flesh underneath anymore. embry's self-denoument is the same thing isolde feels every waking hour of every waking day, crippled by the weight of guilt and only interrupted by exhausting herself with physical activity, running until her lungs burn, kickboxing until her muscles are jelly, kneeling on the stone floor of the chapel and begging, begging, begging god for a kind of forgiveness that feels impossible to wrap her hands around. you kill, and you kill for your god. you kill, and you kill for ash. to her, it makes perfect sense — and it makes perfect sense why embry hasn't forgiven himself. isolde hasn't, either.

what to say, though? god doesn't owe him forgiveness, and neither does ani. you don't get more opportunities to the kingdom of heaven just because you're on your knees longer. isolde doesn't pray so she can be welcomed by loving hands, she prays so she can live with herself, day after terrible day, basked in the knowledge of who and what she is. just like embry moore: a monster. )

i see.

( she also sees: he told her before ani could, and that feels like more of the point than just them knowing each other. president of the united states, standing in front of a crowd, i did have sexual relations with that man, yes, and i loved him. )

the best you can do is try to be better. whether or not you feel you deserve forgiveness, you aren't going to be different if you don't work at it.
i don't think my advice is why you told me that, though. i don't think the reason you gave is it, either.

( who are they to each other, really? two people who like pain and fucked up stuff, who feel cleansed when they're struck and forced and held by the neck and beaten, total victory, conquered land.

no. isolde doesn't think he wants ani's forgiveness at all. )

letter - forward dated to secret santa

[nishtha]

[ The presents themselves are an unexpected delight, perfectly chosen, but the giver -- he's fascinated, immediately and inevitably, by a woman who would select nipple clamps and write a psalm with the same hands.

He sends a note in return, via a blushing maid. It feels appropriate, a shibboleth of sorts. ]

Isolde,

Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.

Thank you for the gifts. Perhaps we can worship together some time.

— Armand

P.S. This young woman has skin like fresh cream. I have tasted the inside of her thigh. If you ask, she will show you the bruise. If you press against it, she will tremble for you, as she did for me.

— text.

[knelt]

( unexpected — her fingers around the fine parchment of the note, a lingering lady in her doorway, sweetly pink. isolde understand the energy like it's a first language to her, aroused woman on the tail end (or beginning) of kink. she opens the note. reads it. too fascinated not to bite the worm in front of her, even hopeful for a hook — isolde asks, is shown, kneels in the doorway, presses, and tastes. she does it all without thinking overmuch. she does it with an audience. she's a little ashamed, but mostly not. )

hello, armand. this is isolde.
now i'm the one to give you thanks, and i can't help but wonder if we find ourselves in a cycle. not that it would be unpleasant — gratitude is a virtue.

do you have very sharp teeth?
if that is a rude question, please ignore it.

[nishtha]

I do. Sharper than ever after our sojourn with the Flock. Does that shock you? Or do you like men with sharp teeth and hard hands?

@hap, text (snow lodge era, post-blizzard)

[angelhunter]

Hello, Isolde.
This is Hap, clearly.
I hope you don't mind my reaching out.

[knelt]

hello, hap.
i don't mind at all, don't be silly. are you well?

[angelhunter]

[ He's heartened to hear that. They did meet under very particular circumstances. Hap earnestly tried to give her what she wanted. Because, not despite, of that, he can think of more reasons she would never want to see him again than reasons she would.

Silly, indeed. She knows herself, or at least has pride enough to lie about it. ]

I still have all ten fingers and toes, respectively.
Did you make it through the blizzard alright?

@blackrock00 | text, early cabin times

[temporicide]

*** TOP SECRET TRANSMISSION ***
Do you want to smoke up with me (no boys. They will pretend they don't notice if they know what's good for them)
*** TRANSMISSION OVER ***

[knelt]

( smiling (small, stupid) down at her phone. )

are you going to laugh at me if i never have before?
that's not a no, just a warning for you.

[temporicide]

I would never! You didn't want to try before?
I am making us a fort btw

[ Which she has decided on a particularly buoyant breeze of whimsy, but if it's Isolde's first time, they should make it scenic. (And maybe Roza likes the idea of being the more experienced one. Just a little.) ]

@thomas.

[consents]

[There's a lot of opening and closing the messages app, of staring at the photos he's taken of Isolde during their time here and trying to stamp down the feeling of pure want that overtakes him every time his thoughts turn to her. He loves her, plain and (not so) simple. So knowing what he needs to be saying right now breaks his heart in a way he knows there's no coming back from. But it has to be done. He has to...end this. Completely.]

We have to stop.

[Four words, and it feels like he's torn out his heart and stomped on it. So why not grind his heel into it too?]

You and Mr. Trevena should move next to each other. It'll give you more time to reconnect before the wedding.

[knelt]

( something drops in her stomach, and makes her feel sick — it's not exactly a surprising message because she knows the content is necessary and nothing she hasn't thought about herself, but that doesn't stop it from hurting. she feels the cold again, that seeping loneliness that's been in her since her mother died. she can't imagine being left to play pretend with mark forever and maintaining any happiness.

then again, it's not about isolde being happy. it's about getting the job done. )

i know you're probably right.

( about stopping. for the rest — )

but i'm not moving anywhere.

[consents]

[He supposes it makes sense, Isolde not wanting to uproot her life entirely on Mark's behalf. But it still screams danger to him, knowing that the two of them won't be living together. That finding his way into those rooms would be so much easier without the worry of being interrupted. They could continue on, taking that risk. But if Mark ever found out...]

Do you want me to stay away? If it makes things easier, I can hand my resignation in to Ani.

[And, after a few moments of hesitation, and an extra grind of his foot.]

And to Mark too.

@alphabet_soup

[scathe]

Hey Isolde

what's with you and Mark

[knelt]

hey.

( there's little artifice to isolde now — elias knows all the worst parts of her. little room for a fake exclamation point. )

he's my fiancé. mark trevena.

[scathe]

[oh he does not like that piece of information.]

He know about me?

[which is a big question elias uses to umbrella: does he know i fuck you, is he going to have a problem with it, do i need to expect him at my door.]

text

[nishtha]

[ Noting the messiness on the network. ]

Sweet flower, how long has it been since your petals have been bruised to your liking?

[knelt]

( texts to be depressed (horny) to )

it feels like forever.

do you have someone who takes care of you?

[nishtha]

I meet my Lord Set in worship frequently.

If you like, I could ask if he would take us both, so long as you don't mind the blasphemy.

@thomas

[consents]

[...two weeks later.]

I lied to you. I'm sorry.

[And, after the briefest of pauses-]

I've missed you.

[knelt]

i miss you too.

( it's easy to say — or, not easy, but obvious. if tristan is in a room, her eyes are on him. if tristan isn't near her, she's thinking about him.

offered, like an olive branch, )

we're not ourselves in the dark.

[consents]

[It's more than he deserves, after the way he spoke to her last. But two sentences alone, and the knot in his chest finally starts to loosen. Finally lets him fill his lungs for what feels like the first time in weeks now. And it's enough motivation to have him continue with airing the one thought he hasn't been able to shake throughout his absence.]

What if I said I didn't want us to stay in the dark anymore?

[It goes against everything they've talked about since the moment Mark arrived. But he needs to say it. Needs to know how she feels.]

Everything has to change when we get to Lyonesse. But we could still have Saltburnt.