Hibiscus

[selenias]

Hibiscus



She was fascinating, to say the least, with her foreign accent and brash and brutal honesty. The first time I thought her to be a mirage, her spoken words only so graceful and her unsettling demeanor with which she regarded my existence so methodically. She exuberated a type of confidence that my kind lacked in general—and a grandness that I knew did not come naturally to anyone of normality.

I came to conclusions quickly. She was special. Her words spoke more than her actions, and when they did, they were nothing but sincere. Her questions? Perhaps they were what truly defined her. They came without warning periodically, and usually, they were as a result of her long contemplations. I knew because she would pass by my room often when she thought I to be deep in the lulls of sleep, and her gaze itched.

I did not wish to read the mind of a woman like this.

“Wine,” she started briskly one evening. “Do you drink wine in Serenes?”

I swallowed my nervousness as she approached, swaying in the torch light of my chambers. I was listening—listening to the sounds of an area I did not know; the birds singing nighttime prayers and the geckos in the room thumping their heads in victory of a dinner–

One, two, three—step. I felt as though I could have been choking when I saw what she carried by the neck, but she did not see her actions the way I saw her:

A Goddess in everything but the crown, a little too lovely and a bit too cunning—a wolf’s scheming indeed.

“Yes…” I bit my cheek and imagined myself to look pinched—lips taut and wings dead. We both knew my current state was not to be taken lightly.

Her teeth flashed as did the glass in her hand. “What kind?”

“Bitter wines; so potent they cannot by drunk unless honey is added, and are rather unwelcome to the taste buds. I wouldn’t recommend it.” My breath was rushed, and her inquiring eye was more luminous than any candlelight.

“Mm, I imagine then, you would find something like this to be more than to your liking, perhaps?”

The bottle of wine landed with a small thunk on the tabletop beside me, and her piercing gaze tempted me to say many things that I did not wish to think of or voice. An unsaid proposal? An act? She was perceptive—and I did not need eyes to see her offhanded gesture.

“Would you like a glass?”

“…I suppose. It would be rude to say no to you.”

“Good. I’d rather drink with company anyways.”

I didn’t laugh, because her humor wasn’t funny. Seeing her tipsy, assiduous grace abandoned and ardor liberated was terrifying to picture. Her esteem would be overbearing, and her throne compromised. Of course, all the wolves seemed to have an appreciation for alcohol. Perhaps exceptions were warranted and my worries were inconsequential. For her.

“Here.”

I took the glass in my hand, tall and round and filled with a wine so aromatic and sweet I had to pause my breathing.

“Nailah, what is this?” Her fingers clenched her glass meticulously and she took a seat, legs splayed out playfully across the vast silken cushions.

“Hibiscus. Brewed with honey and yeast and stuck in the cold rooms for months on end. It’s color bellies its true potency.” She took a sip and swallowed in example, her lips turning purple. “Mead of the best quality—or so I believe. I’m sure you’ll develop your own opinion on the matter.”

I reached for the glass, clutching the base cautiously. The rippling liquid was ominous, and seemed to hold a future I wasn’t sure I presently wished light to see.

“Nailah…”

“Yes?” Her adornments twinkled in her movement, and my confidence vanished like puddles on a hot day. Not now.

“It’s nothing, My Queen. Never mind…”

Her look held a realization, but she did not voice what I did not desire said. Instead she smiled, teeth glistening and skin baked from the sun. “Another time, then,” and she left the room without inquiring to my condition, bottle abandoned on the table for my benefit.

Secrets were meant to be kept, and I would keep mine buried tonight.