Coraline: The Price of a Question
The slaves have been freed, the Copper Coronet is safely in Hendak's hands, and there is general rejoicing all round. And I am sitting in a darkened room, under the pretext of prayer (may the Morninglord forgive me), trying to keep tears from smudging this parchment.
Mellonamin... I know you could not have meant to be cruel. But your words cut to the heart all the same.
Less than an hour ago I was celebrating with the rest, laughing and drinking giddy toasts to freedom. Then I found myself in a quiet – relatively – corner with Kivan. I do not know how much of it came from the wine, but he was smiling that sweet, rare smile of his, and somehow he began telling me how I had become all the stronger for my ordeal. Stronger, more resolute, and... more beautiful. You look a challenge, he said – and was it the wine and my imagination, or was there something more of warmth in his voice than usual? – and men love a good challenge.
It was as though all mortal emotion there is and ever will be had been transmuted into a hundred different colours and smeared across my soul by a careless hand. My heart lifted at the thought that I could be pleasing to his eyes – and at the same time part of me wanted to weep. And through it all another part wanted to ask: And you, Master Elf? Do you love a good challenge too?
I cannot remember what I replied – something trite, I expect. But I do remember his response: his smile widened and he clapped a hand theatrically over his heart. I am half in love already! he declaimed.
Oh, mellonamin... can you understand what that did to me? Words that I so longed – so long – to hear from your lips, but not like this, no, never like this, not as the subject of a lighthearted moment's jest...
Instead, feigning lightheartedness, I asked him: What will it take for you to go all the way?
Oh, foolish, foolish Coraline. You knew full well what the answer would be.
It was almost frightening to see his expression's swift descent into sombreness. He looked past me for a long moment. His reply, when it finally came, was a single word, spoken in a low voice devoid of any merriment:
Deheriana.
That was when I made my excuses – somewhat incoherently – and left. Too little, too late.
And now I will pray, in truth. For courage and patience and strength, and for dominion over my emotions at least, if not over my heart.
Mellonamin... I know you could not have meant to be cruel. But your words cut to the heart all the same.
Less than an hour ago I was celebrating with the rest, laughing and drinking giddy toasts to freedom. Then I found myself in a quiet – relatively – corner with Kivan. I do not know how much of it came from the wine, but he was smiling that sweet, rare smile of his, and somehow he began telling me how I had become all the stronger for my ordeal. Stronger, more resolute, and... more beautiful. You look a challenge, he said – and was it the wine and my imagination, or was there something more of warmth in his voice than usual? – and men love a good challenge.
It was as though all mortal emotion there is and ever will be had been transmuted into a hundred different colours and smeared across my soul by a careless hand. My heart lifted at the thought that I could be pleasing to his eyes – and at the same time part of me wanted to weep. And through it all another part wanted to ask: And you, Master Elf? Do you love a good challenge too?
I cannot remember what I replied – something trite, I expect. But I do remember his response: his smile widened and he clapped a hand theatrically over his heart. I am half in love already! he declaimed.
Oh, mellonamin... can you understand what that did to me? Words that I so longed – so long – to hear from your lips, but not like this, no, never like this, not as the subject of a lighthearted moment's jest...
Instead, feigning lightheartedness, I asked him: What will it take for you to go all the way?
Oh, foolish, foolish Coraline. You knew full well what the answer would be.
It was almost frightening to see his expression's swift descent into sombreness. He looked past me for a long moment. His reply, when it finally came, was a single word, spoken in a low voice devoid of any merriment:
Deheriana.
That was when I made my excuses – somewhat incoherently – and left. Too little, too late.
And now I will pray, in truth. For courage and patience and strength, and for dominion over my emotions at least, if not over my heart.