Kayse (prime)/Vignette: Vulnerability

“I am feeling an immense amount of pain right now,”  her own voice quivered as it echoed in her thoughts.

Lifting her freckled face from a pillow, her eyebrows merely raised as her half-opened eyes focused on the glass of scotch she still held in her hand from the evening before.

“It makes me vulnerable right now.  I can not be that."

Bringing the amber liquid to her lips, she finished off the liquor before shattering the glass against the stone fireplace.  Her face contorting in disgust at the act. Or perhaps the stale drink.

"You have all that you need to keep those things separate” a male voice assured her. 

Stumbling sleepily to the mirror, the aelotoi’s eyes adjusted to the small amount of dappled sunlight breaching the black velvet curtains of the cabin. Her reflection, partly shadowed, stared hollowly back at her.

Her eyes closed and the bustle of Wehnimer’s filled her vision. Moonlight bathed the cobblestone as her mind retraced her steps to a dark narrow alley a few evenings prior.  

The quiet male voice continued, "You have had a lot going on recently.  Those that underestimated you paid a heavy price." His piercing gray eyes met hers sharply.

Her skin grew warm.  The betrayal she felt was hard to acknowledge. She nodded faintly. 

"How do I manage it?”  She broke her speech as a couple wandered by the entrance way of the alley. Both the half-elf and Kayse melded into the shadows as they passed by.  Her eyes gave a calculated look over the area before continuing, “I do not want it to build and get the best of me at the worst time."

She inclined her head as if to show him she was not actually as weak as she thought her words were. Asking for help was never something she enjoyed.  

But surprisingly, the half-elf nodded almost in understanding.  "Would share that with only those you can trust.  Outwardly there can be no sign of that."

Her nose wrinkled at the word, “trust.”  Her ideas of trust were always skewed. This week brought a new perception of the meaning. Does this  mean she trusted the half-elf?

"I am hoping the pain can just fuel my work,” she admitted. “I am no stranger to hiding my emotions and being calculated.”

He nodded knowingly, “As I said you have all you need to accomplish this.  Let the pain narrow your focus when necessary."

"That is usually what I do,." she said to the mirror, her brow furrowing at her words, as she opened her eyes back in the cabin.  

Kayse examined her reflection, her lips pursing in disapproval as she roamed her eyes over her face.  Her hair in disarray, her clothes wrinkled, and the brightness that once was in her eyes faint. 

Turning she regarded the home. Half-eaten food on the table, wine bottles, clothes tossed haphazardly in every direction. 

“Drektor would not want me to be this way.”  She bit her lip to hold back tears, then to stifle a grin, “And he’d kill me if he saw his cabin like this.” 

She spent the afternoon cleaning the cabin and herself. By evening, as the sun cast its last light, Kayse’s eyes met the mirror again. She recalled the male voice for the last time, "Your vulnerability may only be shown to a close confidant and that should be a very small number."

Her head canted at the memory, her face painted with an impassive expression. “No one gets to see that anymore,” she said sharply as her eyes narrowed at the mirror.  Her mournbloom black hair cascaded elegantly over her shoulders, her clothes pressed, but the brightness from her eyes now replaced with an icy gaze.





As she walked through the North Gate, a courier in passing informed her she had mail waiting at the post office. She skeptically raised an eyebrow, but handed the messenger some coins before heading south.  

"Kayse Thaellian, I am here to pick up my mail?"

The raven haired clerk half smiled at her request then disappeared into a backroom.  "Wonder what this could be? Another wedding invite?"

Upon her return, the clerk placed a small string-bound oilcloth package on the counter.  Kayse eyed it curiously before grabbing it, then her heart pounded as she regarded the return label, "Drektor."

Suspiciously glancing over her shoulder at the clerk, she quickly unwrapped the package. Her eyes growing wide as she dug out a striated wild pink geranium and a piece of grey parchment.

In a matter of seconds, the vulnerability she had washed away earlier in the day slowly began to creep back in.