Daydreams (Be careful what you wish for)

She could feel herself coming to. The process was painfully slow, but she couldn’t summon the energy to speed it up.

Neither could she remember, just yet, why it was important to do so.

Slowly she became aware; a growing ache filling her mind.

‘…no.’

No? No what? The ache grew the more she tried to think. Wakefulness started coming a tiny bit faster, as though she had been floating slowly upward in a lake of mud, and now, she swam. Still not remembering the need to remember, just following it.

Noise came to her through the murk of her own mind. No comprehension, but a small part of her brain breathed a sigh of relief, nonetheless.

‘…no…’

There it was again. What does it mean? She stilled mentally, once more, ceased her swimming and floated once more.

The noises kept coming, and now, came some understanding. Words formed around her, coming in bits and pieces, broken by the white noise of silence.

“…been under too long” this, from a gruff voice that tugged almost imperceptibly at her memory. “...never done...other marks...n’t survive...”

The words made sense, but no feelings came. Recognition without a deeper connection. She stored the words to mull over later.

“...quiet.” Another voice replied. This one came with a stronger pull at her memory, as well as a wash of fear and hatred.

‘No.’

She calmed again, recalling that for some reason she had to float for now.

“...rummaged around in...mind. She’s one of...House...had to...only way to subdue...”

Subdue? An image came of a broken looking female form slowly crumpling to the floor of some small, dark prison. A sense of hopelessness surrounded the image.

Kiera grew more aware with every passing second. She listened to the voice with half an ear as she started taking inventory of herself. The voice she’d heard before the others, the one in her own mind was silent, but she could feel...something there. It urged caution.

She focused on her heartbeat and her breathing, trying to make sure that neither changed. Limbs seemed to be intact, as did her mental faculties. She noticed, after a time that she seemed to be lying down on something, not carried, not touched by anything else, save her own clothing.

The voices trailed off as the end of the conversation came and went. Shortly after, and ever-so-carefully, a finger of power came into her mind. She could almost see this intrusion as a physical manifestation, worming through her psyche. With it, came the voice that had caused the hatred to swell, talking to itself and, apparently, to her as well.

“Come out, come out wherever you are. I hope you’ve let down those impressive walls of yours, little Weaver.

One last time.. One last... Damn. How...? No one has defied me like this. How can she, who has never been trained, and does not show even the smallest hint of power?”

The voice alternated between muttering and trying to entice her as it poked around in her mind. In the same way that she saw the first image of the broken girl, she saw others; her own memories, played like movies for his perusal.

His?

‘Jack...’ The first voice whispered. Jack. Again, the pull on her memories came, more insistent this time. No images came this time, but she remembered, all the same. He was her captor.

The tendril of thought started to recede from her mind, not having found what it was looking for. It had stopped talking to her and itself, but there was a sense of frustration and anger about it.

“Put her there,” a woman’s voice commanded, cold and efficient, with a notable sense of dominance. “Has she not woken?”

“No. Not yet,” Jack replied. “The girl has not yet regained consciousness. I fear that our traipsing about in the Ether was a bit much on the poor dear.” Insincerity and arrogance permeated every word, and were she even more awake, it would have turned her stomach.

‘You are waking.’

The voice again. It sounded pleased this time. Someone...something else...was speaking to her. Distantly, she noted that there was a lack of fear or confusion on her part at hearing voices in her head. It simply seemed to fit.

Not to mention the turn for the bizarre that her life had taken.

Jack and the woman were talking. Bartering, really. Kiera listened with mild interest. They seemed to be talking about her, but kept their voices hushed.

“...last of the House...” She’d heard Jack mention some House before. The word caught in her mind, tugging at her, not as a memory but as something that she should know.

“...damaged goods.” The woman didn’t sound as ruffled as Jack was beginning to. Kiera got the feeling that she did this more often than he did, and that it mattered less. Efficient came to mind again.

‘Dangerously so,’ the voice in her head agreed. ‘Watch that one. Watch yourself when she is near. Trust her not.’

Who are you? Why do you talk to me like this? Do you know me? Kiera thought back.

‘I know you. I know you of old, though you do not remember.’

But, who are you?

‘That must wait for another day. I must leave, for the woman approaches, and she will know me. Heed my advice, young one. Trust her not, and watch her as the bird watches the cat.’ The voice was gone. Not simply silent as before. It left a void in the back of her mind that she’d never felt before.

“She is fair, but she still does not wake. She may be the last of the fallen House, but she does not posses their Power. My offer is final. She is potentially damaged, and by your hand, and she is, aside from a name you tell me she does not know, ordinary. The standard fee is more than fair; take it or don’t. I care not.” The woman, now standing above her, told Jack in a tone that brooked no possible argument.

“My employer will not be pleased,” he replied, darkly. He’d lost the argument, and knew it. Kiera grinned at him from the safety of her mind, imagining the look he wore.

“As I have already stated: I care not.”

Jack made a sound of frustration, and strode out of the room. The woman walked to another place in the room, and spoke. “Revaan.”

Another voice spoke immediately. It came distorted, as though through a speaker of sorts. “Yes. The standard fee is to be paid?”

“It is,” she replied, the beginnings of a smile in her voice. “He should arrive shortly. Pay him and send him away.” Then, as she returned to Kiera’s side, muttered to herself, “My dealings with that man are never brief enough..”

Kiera, figuring that it was as good a time as any, began to reach for consciousness once more. In doing so, she found that it no longer felt like swimming through mud, but now waking from lucid, early morning dreams. Not difficult, per se, and certainly not bogged down, but not without difficulty, either.

“Hn.” The woman seemed to regard her, watching the process. “Good timing, girl. Jack has gone. He will not return today. When you finish waking--” Kiera opened her eyes.
“Well. When you are readjusted, come to me in the other room; I shall leave the door open for you.” With that, the woman walked away.

Readjusted? What could she... Kiera’s thought trailed off as she realized that she couldn’t keep her eyes focused. ...Oh.

A few minutes more of reacquainting herself with her body, she decided that she was as ready as she would ever be. Kiera stood, with minimal wavering, and slowly walked to the open door. On the other side, she was met with a sitting room, sparsely decorated, but very tasteful. The woman was seated in a chair looking out over a carefully manicured grass. Kiera went to her and sitting in the chair near the woman’s looked to her expectantly.

The woman, after looking at the garden a moment longer, turned to Kiera and regarded her with a keen interest. Kiera, in turn, did her best not to glower and tried to school her face into something neutral, bored. Neither said anything.

She took in this woman before her. She could have passed for late twenties, save for her eyes. Her eyes held too much knowledge, too much intelligence, just too much to be only twenty-something. She was beautiful, black hair, pale skin, full, red lips, and a curvy, yet athletic body. All of it framed with her professional dress and manner.

Not often a woman can roll model and school marm into such a neat package, Kiera mused. But still. Fuck you, lady. You may be gorgeous, and apparently powerful, if you could make Jack back down like that, but I’ll be damned if I speak first.

The silence stretched between them. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the woman made a sound of amusement. Kiera’s eyes burned at the woman.

“Stubbornness is unbecoming of a lady.”

Kiera said nothing.

The woman stared at her a moment longer with a look that said ‘Silly, little girl. You know nothing of the situation you find yourself in. You will, though.

‘You will.’

The woman broke eye contact, finally, looking down at her lap and then back up to Kiera. “Very well, then. I will do my best to answer the questions I am quite sure are flying about your head. If I do not answer them sufficiently, you may ask after I have finished. Do not speak until then.

“Where you are, now, is known as The Academy. Your place is that of a student. That is all you must know about your whereabouts for the time being. I know not from whence you were brought here, but it is here that you will remain, until you are allowed to leave. The length of time for each student here is different for each student, though the average time is around one and one half turns of the seasons. The length of time you stay is, in a way, entirely up to you.

“The purpose of the Academy is to train Shi’ira, companions. Shi’ira are, in essence, courtesans with no political ties. They are neutral company sought by the nobility, but remain courtesans, nonetheless.”

Whores. I’m gonna be a fucking whore. Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant.

“Upon your release, you will take clients, and you will be expected to provide for their needs while they are in your service.”

Kiera couldn’t help the darkness welling in her eyes.

The woman noticed, her own narrowing slightly. “You have a head on your shoulders; I can see by the look in your eyes. I hope it does not hinder you in this endeavor.”

She paused, and then waved a hand dismissively. “I digress.

“Rest assured that you will not be a common whore. Whores, as I am quite certain you are aware, are anyone’s meat that can afford her master’s fee. Subject to beatings from both master and client, among other downfalls, they do not, generally, lead long lives.

“A Shi’ira chooses their clientele, choose their rules, and choose, for the most part, their own schedule. This is not to say, however, that you will not be expected to know, and well, the ways of the male form. However, you will also be expected taught courtly manner, dining etiquette, dancing and the like. In short, and as I have stated already, a Shi’ira is a companion to nobility of your own choosing.

“Your life is now spent in study. In slumber and in waking; all you do will be under watchful eyes. You will be instructed in blocks of time during your day, individually, at first, and later on, in small groups. During meals, you will be scrutinized and be taught proper conversation and manners. Should you rebel, the meals will not come. Only those who work are fed.

“Even your sleep shall be monitored, as it is unfit and base for a lady to toss and turn. This shall be done indirectly, as it is improper to watch a lady sleep. You shall earn your bed and pillows, and until then, will sleep on a pallet, dye-filled beads around your head. When you rise each day for a month with no unnatural pigment on your face, you shall be given a bed and proper accoutrements.

“I believe that should cover the basics of the school. Now. Have you anything to ask?” The woman gazed at her, eyes pleasant, but hard.

“I think you’ve covered things fairly well,” Kiera said. “My only question would be: Am I allowed to return here should I think of any more questions?”

“You may, but you will be expected to seek out your instructors first. Welcome,” she said. A smile began to tug at the corners of the woman’s mouth. It spoke of things that she Kiera did not and could not understand yet.

‘You will.’

“Welcome to the Academy.”