This was a very fun scenario of ‘what if Dolle actually hadn’t been improving as a person at all’. Sure, Loira’s fun but what he wants is to get her – to win. She’s hard to get, and that makes her an enticing prize. He won and doesn’t keep trophies. As Janni said: “she never has to worry about him telling anyone how he played with her heart like that even. Because that’s his, that’s theirs, and they’re gonna share that for the rest of their unnatural lives, even if they never see each other again~”
So this was obviously in both of our heads and Janni wrote that moment out – I’m sharing it below with their permssion. Loira’s response is below that. Happy reading, and when your heart hurts recall that it is in equal parts Janni’s responsibility as it is mine!
Severin Dolle was relieved. He really hadn’t been sure it would be worth it for all the time it took. All the work he’d put into keeping up appearances, to toeing the right lines and putting just the right amount of pressure on the right boundaries.
It had been exhilarating, just how many pitfalls he’d had to tiptoe his way around. Keeping Loira in his hands had been like holding a glass bird, not just for its fragility but for how badly it would wound him if he broke it the wrong way. But it was worth it. His hands lifted towards her cheeks, her face delicate between his palms in a way the woman herself was not. Not usually. Now, he wondered if he hadn’t managed to thin her resilience enough, after all.
Hurt was plain in her expression, sharpened by confusion and anger. Her golden eyes stopped searching his face when he didn’t amend what he’d said, or add, or reveal it as a slip of the tongue. After all this time, she’d finally confessed her feelings for him, and he felt purely joyful. Like he was back to being a boy fishing treasures from the river, its water not unlike the color of her hair.
“Don’t be like that now,” he purred, lips curling into a mean smile that narrowed his eyes. His voice dropped to a rough whisper. “Y’knew who I was, darlin’. Ain’t that why ya liked me?” He paused, his smile opening to show teeth. “Ain’t that why ya love me?”
It seemed to sink home that his rejection was sincere, the laughter beneath his cold ‘I know’ the most genuine thing about his response. He hadn’t needed to say more than that. She knew him—maybe more than anyone, by that point.
“But, baby, think about it,” he continued in that low tone, head ducked towards her and thumb brushing her cheek, just above where the skin had worn away. It was a mockingly gentle touch.
“This pain yer feelin’, now? That burnin’, humiliatin’ cut right down the middle of yer lungs?” He readied himself for her retaliation, eager anticipation curling down his nerves, though he didn’t move away from how he held her yet.
“This pain is ours. No one can take it away from us.”
“I know.” Laughter colder than even the deepest depths of Loira Winford’s magic followed the words, made worse by the familiarity of its source.
Seconds stretched out before her, impossible in both certainty and length. Around them, the world was spinning. She was out of her depth, off-balance and out of place. She wanted to step back but if she did was certain she would fall. She would not fall. Could not.
Severin Dolle stood less than a hair’s breadth away. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his familiar leather jacket, a jacket she had herself worn once. He towered over her, he always had, but never had Loira felt small in his presence. Never, until today.
Gold eyes searched the harsh lines of his face a moment longer, looking for something, anything, but Severin’s expression betrayed nothing at all. His eyes glowed with a dull red light, studying her. She could see the anticipation building, an eagerness for her reaction which scoured her more deeply than his words and laughter.
Loira didn’t understand. All this time, all this effort, for…
‘You were his amusement after all.’ The voice came unbidden, unwelcome, in her mind, ‘all this time, you were nothing more than his entertainment. You thought it was real? You are a fool.’
Her hands curled tighter, skeletal fingertips digging into the soft flesh of her palms. She needed to say something, do something. Anything. How dare he. How dare he.
Shock gave way to confusion, to hurt. She didn’t understand: why was he doing this? All this time, all these months… it didn’t make any sense. Her mind said no; it said no to the evidence presented, against the underlying cruelty in Severin’s expression and words. Loira could not reconcile what she had seen, experienced, and felt, with what he was now presenting to her.
They had danced together in the quiet corner of a city, the privacy allowing them both a lowering of guards rarely seen. The way Severin had looked at her when she’d swept them onto the opera stage, how his hand had lingered when he’d dipped her, and her bun had come undone… Loira knew she hadn’t imagined it. Nor had she imagined how he had refused to let go of her hand following an evening at the docks, of how they’d both wished to remain in the moment, unwilling to part ways.
Loira hadn’t imagined his relief when they had met on a battlefield, where if recognition had come a moment later, he would have been dead. Severin had been happy to see her, his smile something she had come to recognise as warm. Loira hadn’t imagined that. She knew what she had seen, she knew what she had felt. How could it all have been a lie?
How could he have kept it up for all that time? Why had he sought her out again, inviting her to join him at the disco? Despite the dangers, the complications, it had been a good night. Severin had held her like she was… cherished. His joy was quick to surface, his admiration surrounding her as surely as the cardigan she’d worn. He’d remained when danger had threatened them both, risking himself to save her. Loira remembered the panic with which he had called out for her, how he had run across the flooded basement and wrapped her tightly in his arms.
‘How much time have you wasted on this man? How long have you allowed him to distract you? Drive you from your duty, from your purpose?’
Loira’s lips twisted, a heaviness settling around her eyes. It hadn’t felt wasted. She remembered how he had curled into her shoulder, holding her tightly. She remembered the feeling of his forehead pressed against hers, of the jolt upon him pushing wet hair back from her face. Their night at the carnival, their conversations, the games, the photo they took together…
‘There is nothing else. There has never been anything else. They all leave. They never love you.’
“Don’t be like that now,” Dolle purred. Loira watched without seeing as Severin’s lips curled, the mean smile decorating his expression one so intimately familiar to her. She wasn’t sure if the icy grip on her heart or her stomach was stronger, but both were twisting violently with steadily increasing pressure.
“Y’knew who I was, darling,” he continued in a rough whisper, “ain’t that why ya liked me?”
She didn’t understand. All this time. This singular focus. All this time she had been nothing but a goal, a prize to acquire, a challenge to overcome. And she had let him. Slowly but surely, he had worn her resilience down. She had lowered her guard. Opened her heart. When Dolle’s smile opened to show teeth, Loira’s gaze flicked down to his lips. Lies. Everything that had come from them: lies.
“Ain’t that why ya love me?”
It felt as if the ground was breaking beneath her feet, opening into a vast chasm from which Loira could see no escape. It wouldn’t have opened without him. His voice was the only thing keeping her grounded, even as Loira felt an increasing distance from herself.
‘Nobody will ever love you,’ the voice whispered, certain and true, ‘you are underserving.’
When Severin leaned down towards her, Loira froze, gold eyes fixed on the burning, delighted pricks of red across from her. He was enjoying this.
“But, baby, think about it,” his thumb across her cheek prompted a hissing inhale, tension knitting itself back across her shoulders and up her spine, drawing her back up where moments before shame and humiliation had left her without an anchor. The gentleness in it was a lie, a mockering of everything she had been brought to believe.
“This pain yer feelin’, now? Tha burnin’, humiliatin’ cut right down the middle of yer lungs?”
Loira felt it, expression looking struck as he identified exactly what she felt. She could feel her anger bubbling. She knew he knew it. She knew Severin. Knew what he wanted now was a reaction. She had been at his side many a time when he had created similar situations, manipulating his targets into reacting for his amusement or advancement of his – or her – goals. Never had Loira thought she would be on the receiving end.
‘You thought you were special? You were only a game. Foolish, foolish, foolish.’
“This pain is ours,” Dolle continued, his thumb still stroking her cheek, “no one can take it away from us.”
“I can take it away from us,” Loira’s snarled, words sharp with anger, humiliation, and shame. Her face jerked away from his touch.
“I can take it from us, from you, and from myself.” Loira repeated, demonstrating a calm in the steadiness of her tone that she did not at all feel. Her fingers unfurled, smoothing down the sides of her skirts.
“How hollow would your victory feel, knowing you had won while unable to recall against who?” The corners of her lips quirked up in a brief and unfeeling motion.
“Your perfect memory failing you, a blank where once I was.” The longer she spoke, the calmer she felt. Loira had found her center, detached and cold, and floated in it. Outside of it there was pain, confusion, anger. She would not give him any of these. Her feelings were hers, her own, and Severin Dolle would not have the satisfaction of seeing her break.
“And the memory of you?” Her brows lifted but a fraction, “do you forget what you first purchased from me? It will take what I do not want.”
Loira’s expression hardened, “you do not tell me what I can and cannot do.”
‘Take them. You can take them. He does not deserve this victory, take the memory,’ it urged, ‘scour his mind and tear yourself out, leave an ache and emptiness in its place, make him feel it, make him feel how you feel.’
Anger twisted deep around her ribs, snaking vines winding their way up and around her chest, unforgiving and cold.
‘You can do it. You know you can do it. You’re stronger than Morgan. You can do it. Do it. Do it.’
She could do it, Loira knew that. She had the skill, the strength. But it was Severin. How could she possibly, how could she ever… her fingers twitched.
‘Show him. Show them all. You are strong. You have no need for him, any of them – you never have. You are better without them.’
Somewhere, Loira knew this to be true. Her friendships, her closeness to others had brought her nothing but pain, and loss. He had used her for his own amusement for over a year. Over a year.
‘You can make him beg, make him kneel,’ the voice continued and it brought a sense of satisfaction. She could. She could bring him to his knees with an unrelenting pain he would not be able to escape.
‘You have the power,’ the voice urged, ‘you are stronger than he. You nearly killed him once. You can do it again. You can do it. He deserves it. You knew who he was. He knows who you are.’
‘Show him where the delicate stops. You aren’t his flower. Remind him why they are afraid of you, why they don’t trust you, why they don’t like you, why they can’t love you, why they will never accept you.’
Loira’s eyes, usually gold, flickered with specs of cyan as her magic began to gather around her. They turned fully as she stared up at Severin, the man she loved – the man she had finally, after all this time, been able to tell she loved.
It had all been a lie. A game.
She had been nothing but a piece on his board, used for his amusement and now ready to be discarded. Even now, Loira knew, Severin was waiting for her reaction – explosive, angry, dramatic. He would take further joy in it, delight in the damage his careful manipulations had caused.
Her jaw tensed and an icy wave of cold rolled off her. Loira could feel her lips starting to curl back, was aware of the power she was calling in around her, around them – power enough to force him to his knees.
But he would enjoy that. Severin would enjoy knowing he had prompted such an intense reaction from her. Already she could see the eager light of anticipation in his eyes. He was curious, eager to see what she would do next. Even now, it was a game to him.
“Enough.” Firm. Quiet.
Loira’s eyes closed, her fingers flexing outward with her palms towards the ground. Around them, icy and crackling magic dissipated through the soil. It was enough. She would not give Severin Dolle more than she already had. Not another moment of herself, not to his face. He would not gain further satisfaction.
Her expression smoothed, the skin of her cheeks pulled tight against exposed sections of her cheekbones and jaw.
“My congratulations on the attainment of your goal, Mister Dolle.” Distant formality surrounded Loira in a way she found comfort in. She was so far from herself, aware of the words she was speaking while hearing them from several miles away.
“It is one you have pursued with singular focus for some time, and I was entirely unsuspecting,” she continued, fingers tapping together once at her front.
Loira stared at him for another long moment before her hand moved up towards his face. A mirror of his gentle touch, with none of the mockery, none of the condescension. This was goodbye, she knew, and could feel her heart breaking and hardening at once.
She loved him. Severin had made her love him, fourteen months of careful movement and manipulation twisting her feelings in a way Loira hadn’t expected to ever feel again.
Her thumb ghosted against Dolle’s cheek, her gaze fixed and intense. Loira would remember his face in this moment and her words, when they came, were quiet, sincere, and not without underlying bitterness.
“You must be so proud.”
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