![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: Snake Eyes
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG (for a very little language)
She couldn’t leave well enough alone. People had said so on more than one occasion, and it was true. From the scrap of food in the gutter that might or might not be good, to the lie she might or might not be able to get away with in court, Zoyala was more addicted to risk than she liked to admit even to herself. Survival took risk, that was true, but she also loved the little electric thrill of a gamble paying off.
Then again, she had never lost so utterly before. Her mother, true, but that was one, personal loss. Now… She ignored the sidelong looks of her companions as best she could, because if she acknowledged them, she’d have to talk. And if she talked, she’d have to confess everything, or enough that it was practically the same thing.
She’d have to confess her stupid optimism had nearly gotten them all killed.
She’d have to confess that everything she loved was about to be smashed out of existence by the one creature in the world that she hated with the single purest emotion she’d ever felt.
She’d have to confess that the man she’d thought was her friend had been playing her, had been playing them all, for years now.
And mostly, talking about what happened would mean that she had to confess, to herself if to no one else, that not only should the little bastard street child have stayed in the gutter where she belonged, but that she had been arrogant enough to gamble with the fate of nations.
And that she had lost.
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG (for a very little language)
She couldn’t leave well enough alone. People had said so on more than one occasion, and it was true. From the scrap of food in the gutter that might or might not be good, to the lie she might or might not be able to get away with in court, Zoyala was more addicted to risk than she liked to admit even to herself. Survival took risk, that was true, but she also loved the little electric thrill of a gamble paying off.
Then again, she had never lost so utterly before. Her mother, true, but that was one, personal loss. Now… She ignored the sidelong looks of her companions as best she could, because if she acknowledged them, she’d have to talk. And if she talked, she’d have to confess everything, or enough that it was practically the same thing.
She’d have to confess her stupid optimism had nearly gotten them all killed.
She’d have to confess that everything she loved was about to be smashed out of existence by the one creature in the world that she hated with the single purest emotion she’d ever felt.
She’d have to confess that the man she’d thought was her friend had been playing her, had been playing them all, for years now.
And mostly, talking about what happened would mean that she had to confess, to herself if to no one else, that not only should the little bastard street child have stayed in the gutter where she belonged, but that she had been arrogant enough to gamble with the fate of nations.
And that she had lost.
