العادل (al_3dil) wrote in sons_of_cain, @ 2012-05-02 16:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | al-adil husayn, bellagio, complete, khulud, vampire, zayd al dimashqi |
WHO: Khulud and Al-Adil (with reference to Zayd)
WHAT: A goodbye
WHERE: Al-Adil's rooms, the Bellagio
WHEN: Evening
RATING: PG
STATUS: Complete
“He is leaving,” Khulud said. She was standing in front of the picture window, looking out over the city with its twinkling multicoloured lights, the spraying fountains of the Bellagio below her.
“Zayd,” her husband replied, though there was no question who she meant: his nephew, her other childe. He could feel the restlessness in her, and he did not know what she wanted him to say. Zayd made his own choices, and his uncle did not approve of all of them, but they were his to make. Khulud had been to speak with him. Al-Adil knew that she wanted him to do the same. His last meeting with Zayd had not ended well, but if there was still anger between them, it was not from his side. He had put it behind him and would as soon have it forgotten. He certainly did not wish to speak of it again.
“You drove him away,” his wife accused. He could see her reflection in the dark glass looking at him, her face ghostly white, her eyes black holes of night.
“I did not ask him to leave. I do not wish him to.”
A flare of anger from her. “But you won’t go to him.” She turned to face him. “You have always been too proud.”
“What would you have me do?” Al-Adil asked her wearily. What Zayd had asked of him, what he’d wanted from him… It was unthinkable. But the memory of his nephew cowering naked on the floor was a painful one. He had never in the boy’s life struck him in anger, and he regretted doing so, even under those circumstances, but he could not undo what he had done, and he could not, could not accept Zayd’s desires.
“Live,” she hissed in reply. “Be. Be what I created you to be. You could be glorious.”
Her husband made no answer.
Khulud said, “I am going with him.”
“You have never troubled yourself to tell me before,” Al-Adil said. Her sudden disappearances had become commonplace over the centuries, barely to be remarked upon any more than the eventual return. She was like a shadow flickering in and out of his life, a cloud passing over the sun, while he remained constant. He had given up thinking that he could ever hold her.
So he would not beg for her to stay, either, nor even ask. That he felt no jealousy was an insult to her, and she said, “You know he is my lover.”
“Yes,” her husband replied. He knew. He had always known that she took other men to her bed. Once, it had hurt him. Once, he had been angry and ashamed, but too many years and too many men had sapped even his outrage until he hadn’t the heart for anything but resignation. He had long ago come to the realization – as he suspected she also had – that he did not love her. He loved the idea of her, the woman that he had believed her to be, just as she did not love him, but the idea of the man she had tried to make him. They both had their regrets, and he had never been able to bring himself to despise her. He understood her too well.
“If I said you would not see me again?” she asked him.
“Do you say so?” he asked in return, but she did not answer him. He felt the conflicting emotions she was burying, like a coiled snake twisting in her chest, tightening about her heart.
She did not say goodbye – she never had – to make something closed and final of her leaving. She moved past him, and as she did, their hands brushed briefly. Whether she had reached out or he had, neither of them knew for certain, and then she was gone and only the sweet, smoky incense of her perfume lingered.