Chapter 23: Not So EmptyA week. A full week had passed since the intense, almost-intimate night in Beldonna’s quarters, since the raw vulnerability of their shared truths, and the abrupt halt to their burgeoning physical desire.
Beldonna was still on "light duties," her body mending slowly from the poisoned dream steel arrow, allowing for a fortnight of recovery within the retive sanctuary of Compass Keep. In that time, Amber had, almost imperceptibly, moved into Beldonna’s quarters, their shared bed now a familiar ndscape of soft furs and quiet companionship. Her own assigned room had become little more than a pce to store spare clothes, an open secret among the Keep’s staff who now simply expected Lady Song to be found near Lady Beldonna.
Amber remembered the first few nights she'd spent in Beldonna's room, a subtle, rhythmic tick-tock from a small, ornate clock on the mantelpiece keeping her awake, a phantom echo of the relentless passage of time and the dread it once brought. She hadn't said anything, but Beldonna, with her uncanny perception, had noticed Amber's restless tossing. The next morning, the clock was gone, moved to a distant, unused chamber. The quiet act of consideration, without a word exchanged, had spoken volumes to Amber, a profound understanding of her unspoken anxieties. The sound of a ticking clock was still triggering to her, but here, it was absent.
This week was marked by a patient, almost agonizing tenderness. Amber found herself constantly holding back, her sexual neediness a persistent, low thrum beneath her skin. They continued to cuddle, hands often intertwined, their bodies curled together in sleep or during quiet evenings by the hearth. Amber was meticulously attentive to Beldonna's healing wound, changing dressings each morning and evening, her paws gentle as she applied soothing poultices. She watched the healthy pink skin knit back together, a silent testament to the Dame's magic and her own devoted care, but also a constant, frustrating reminder of the barrier between them.
Amber longed for more, for the physical expression of the profound love that swelled in her chest. Years of using sex as a crutch, as a means of survival, had warped her sense of romance, creating a deep-seated association between intimacy and physical acts. Now, with Donny, where the connection was so much deeper, so much more real, the unfulfilled physical longing felt like a new kind of ache. She would chide herself internally, a familiar voice of self-reproach echoing in her mind: Gods, Amber, are you that desperate? Maybe Babs is right…I’m always wanting, always needing. You’re being too much. Donny’s hurt. Just be patient. This isn’t about that. Yet, the natural want to be with the woman she cared for was an undeniable force. One that fought against her codependence; her ingrained need to give herself, even when it wasn't asked for.
In that week, Lady Cassia, or Babs, as she insisted Amber call her when they were supposedly alone, had made her position as a romantic foil abundantly clear. Cassia didn't believe in deep connection; she didn’t believe in much at all. She had spent days probing the perimeter of Amber’s affections, viewing the young woman's devotion to the injured knight as a mispced liability. But Amber had been able to look at Cassia in her knowing, empty eyes and simply shake her head.
The simplicity of the rejection felt revolutionary. Despite the rejection Cassia left a small, perfectly honed Fey-steel dagger wrapped in dark silk on Amber's nightstand one morning, a gift of pure, practical menace. It came with a note reading ‘You shouldn't trust anyone but yourself, not even me’, which seemed to bother Beldonna the more she stared at the note. Amber trusted Beldonna. Cassia's attempts only served to underscore the growing chasm between Amber’s past, defined by survival and cynicism, and her present, defined by devoted, aching love.
Amber remembered the first few nights she'd spent in Beldonna's room, a subtle, rhythmic tick-tock from a small, ornate clock on the mantelpiece keeping her awake, a phantom echo of the relentless passage of time and the dread it once brought. She hadn't said anything, but Beldonna, with her uncanny perception, had noticed Amber's restless tossing. The next morning, the clock was gone, moved to a distant, unused chamber. The quiet act of consideration, without a word exchanged, had spoken volumes to Amber, a profound understanding of her unspoken anxieties. The sound of a ticking clock was still triggering to her, but here, it was absent.
This week was marked by a patient, almost agonizing tenderness. Amber found herself constantly holding back, her sexual neediness a persistent, low thrum beneath her skin. They continued to cuddle, hands often intertwined, their bodies curled together in sleep or during quiet evenings by the hearth. Amber was meticulously attentive to Beldonna's healing wound, changing dressings each morning and evening, her paws gentle as she applied soothing poultices. She watched the healthy pink skin knit back together, a silent testament to the Dame's magic and her own devoted care, but also a constant, frustrating reminder of the barrier between them.
Despite the unspoken tension, their bond deepened in a thousand small ways. Beldonna, usually so stoic, would occasionally offer a pyful, almost teasing gesture. A subtle, lingering brush of her paw against Amber’s ass as they passed in the hallway, a quiet squeeze of Amber’s hand that spoke volumes, or a rare, soft purr when Amber's pyful banter managed to crack her composure. Amber found Donny so respectfully attractive, her quiet strength and unwavering presence a constant source of fascination. She longed to taste her, to explore the contours of her body without the shadow of pain or obligation. This was a week of love and pre-lust, a tantalizing dance around the edges of desire.
Mornings in Beldonna’s quarters had settled into a comfortable rhythm. Amber would often wake gently nestled against Donny’s injured back, feeling the steady, reassuring warmth of her body, the quiet, distant beat of her heart and a lulby against her own. Sometimes, Beldonna would already be awake, a book open in her p as she sat in the armchair by the window, the Ani’Cora’s soft, perpetual twilight filtering through the gss. She’d offer Amber a cup of warm, spiced tea she’d already prepared, or a piece of sweet, fky Fey bread, their mornings marked by comfortable silence, lingering gnces, and soft, almost imperceptible smiles.
Their physical intimacy had deepened, silent nguage spoken in touches. Handholding became a natural, frequent gesture, whether they were walking through the Dream Garden, sitting by a quiet hearth in Beldonna's private sitting room, or simply resting in bed. Amber would often find her paw instinctively seeking Donny’s, her fingers cing with the knight’s strong, scarred ones. These moments were filled with a profound, unspoken comfort, a connection that resonated deep within Amber’s soul.
Amber, for her part, was still reveling in the freedom from her curse within the Keep, cherishing the unburdened existence under Poris's unwavering light. She felt profoundly safe and seen by Beldonna, a feeling that deepened her love, even as her unfulfilled physical longing created a new kind of internal tension. This was a fragile, precious peace, built on quiet moments and unspoken desires, a rebellion against the harshness of their pasts.
Their pyful banter continued to be a source of quiet joy for Amber. She continued to use "Donny," often with a teasing lilt that would elicit a faint blush on Beldonna’s dark cheeks, a rare, soft chuckle that made Amber’s heart flutter, or a slight softening of her usually stoic expression. Amber delighted in these small victories, seeing them as precious cracks in Beldonna's emotional armor.
They spent hours in the Dream Garden, Amber showing Donny the progress of the Sparklings' css project, the glowing flora flourishing under their combined care. Beldonna, usually so pragmatic, would offer rare, soft comments on the beauty of a blooming pnt, or the quiet joy of the children pying amongst the luminous foliage, revealing a softer side Amber rarely saw. She found soce in tending the garden with Donny by her side, a shared creative endeavor that grounded her.
Amber's feelings for Donny deepened with each passing day. She still grappled with the war in her head about being with a woman so formidable and seemingly unattainable, but the joy and profound safety she felt with Donny overrode her ingrained fears. She longed to break through Beldonna's remaining emotional barriers, to truly understand the woman beneath the knight, and her desire for more explicit physical intimacy grew, a persistent, aching thrum beneath her fur. One quiet evening, Amber tried to strike through to see the woman behind those emerald eyes.
Beldonna sat by the hearth, meticulously cleaning her smaller, ceremonial dagger; a small, double-edged bde about a foot long, easily conceable and as sharp as a razor. It’s ornate handle filigreed with obsidian and some kind of dark-cquered wood. The long sword she wore on her hip was nothing but a decoy - this was her bde that she did her grim work for the Dame. Amber looked at the menacing bde and decided to confront the lingering questions from that terrifying night.
"Donny," Amber began, her voice soft but firm, the firelight dancing in her golden eyes. "That night... when you came back... I saw the blood. And the bde. And you called yourself a monster. You said you chose to be one. How... how do you feel about it? About being a killer?"
Beldonna's hands stilled, her gaze fixed on the gleaming steel of her dagger. Her jaw clenched, a flicker of pain or discomfort crossing her features before she regained her composure. She spoke with a raw honesty that surprised Amber. "It is... a tool, little one. A purpose. I have grown numb to it, to the act itself. The bloodshed is... a means to an end. It has given me direction, a pce. I am not someone who handles idle hands well, Amber. Purpose, even a grim one, is better than the emptiness." She paused, her voice dropping, hinting at a profound loneliness. "It is what I am. What I chose to be."
Amber processed this. The truth was brutal, but it was her truth, freely given. She saw the weariness beneath the stoicism, the pragmatism born of a deeper need. It didn't diminish her feelings; instead, it added a yer of profound empathy and a fierce desire to offer Beldonna a different kind of purpose, a different kind of peace. She reached out, a tentative touch on Beldonna's arm, a silent acknowledgment of the heavy cost of her chosen path.
Then, the other question, the one that had haunted her since she pressed her ear to the Reliquary door. "What did she mean, Donny?" Amber questioned, her voice low, a hint of confusion and concern. "The Dame... when she told you to 'open the box'? What was she talking about?"
Beldonna's composure visibly falters. Her jaw clenches, and her emerald eyes dart away, a desperate struggle pying out on her face. She opens her mouth to speak, but the words come out as a garbled, distorted whisper, like static on a distant frequency. It was a magical scramble, a literal inability to reveal the truth, a magical gift from the Dame that prevented her from revealing her own weakness or the specifics of her oath. She tried again, and again, but the words are nonsensical, a frustrating white noise.
Beldonna let out a frustrated growl, then pointed to her chest, then made a gesture of something being contained, then pulled her hand back sharply, as if in pain. She shook her head, a deep sadness in her eyes. "It is... part of me," she finally managed, the words clearer now, though still strained. "Through it the Dame can pull me back from oblivion... “ Her voice was filled with a profound weariness, the effort of even this partial expnation clearly draining her. “It has happened... a few times. Painful. Every time."
Amber watched, horrified and understanding. The "heart given away" rumor from Jay—it all clicked into pce. Does the Dame have her heart literally locked away!? “Oh Donny…that’s why her…will is absolute, right?”. Donny nodded woefully. The Dame could see inside every Mortal’s heart, perhaps even control them further if a mortal let them or signed an oath of some sorts. A piece of Beldonna was sealed in the Compass Reliquary. Beldonna's emotional armor isn't just a choice; it's a literal, magical constraint. The Dame's control is absolute, and the cost of Beldonna's purpose is her very essence.
This revetion added a profound yer of tragedy and vulnerability to Beldonna, deepening Amber's empathy and resolve. Even though it had been nearly two months since she faced her own phantoms in Valienta, the knowledge that Beldonna was also, in a way, a prisoner of her past and her choices, was a stark reminder that her own journey to healing was only just beginning. It was proof that she had gained a foothold on her trauma, not that the war was won. Amber was reveling in the freedom from her curse within the Keep, cherishing the unburdened existence. She felt more seen and accepted than ever before, especially by Beldonna, whose quiet acceptance had become a balm to her soul. But the revetion of the "box" cast a new, unsettling shadow over their newfound peace.
A crystal bell sitting on a shelf by the door began to move on its own, gentle clinking and ringing throughout Donny’s room. “Really, now?” Amber remarked at the shrill little magical object interrupting her pns. After the clock was removed, the only thing that truly brought Amber displeasure here was that awful little bell. Its ringing meant the Dame required Lady Beldonna. There were no boundaries or limitations on how often or when it rang; only when she desired it. Even at the worst time right when Amber is getting Donny to open up a little more, the Knight’s emotional armor is on immediately as she hears the unique tinkling of the crystal bell.
“Let me go see what she needs.” Donny said, hopping to their feet and beginning to throw on a tunic, basic non-formal armor, and their weapons to approach the Dame in her chambers. The concept of being alone was less terrible nowadays, but Amber was still full of worries as her lover stepped out of the door.
Amber waited in her chamber for what seemed like an eternity. But after what was a brief moment, a gentle knock came at Donny’s door. Amber poked her head out, looking down to see Lady Cassia awaiting her. “Hiya cutie,” She brushed the messy brunette hair out from in front of her face and sshed a predatory smile to the lynanth. Amber’s muzzle sneered a bit and her eyes narrowed. “Aw, not the Knight you were hoping for?”
The lynanthi crossed her arms judgmentally, leaning against the door frame and letting out an exasperated sigh. “What do you want Babs? You know my answer.”
A pyful smirk formed across the shapeshifter’s face. “Oh you ftter me, gd I’m still on your mind.” ughing to herself at Amber’s perceived desperation. “No cutie, this is business. Our Lady has requested your presence post-haste. It seems she has a task for you. Most exciting. Congratutions Lady Song.” Casia hands Amber a small scroll, stepping away to lead the girl on towards the Dame. Amber unfurled the parchment to see one of the stranger sights she’s seen since she came to the Ani'cora - an advertisement for ‘The Celestial Clockwork Circus’ taking pce in somewhere called ‘Fable’s Crossing’. Amber looked at the spy in confusion, her mind trying to put together puzzle pieces that didn’t go together as she was led towards the starlit Chamber of Desire. “I’m not sure why she needs a babysitter in the field, but I’m not stupid enough to ask too many questions. Come on.”
Amber’s mind swirled with a swarm of questions, not knowing which would be poisonous to her if she dared bring them to light as she followed the knight spy to the Dame’s central chambers.
