THE LONG DRIVE, THE COAST LINE ★ open

[Margaery]

MARGAERY FOLIE-MIKAELSON

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MAKE ME QUEEN OR
I'LL MAKE YOU BLEED

Margaery was not the musical one. She had dabbled briefly in piano per her father's orders, pale fingers awkwardly stumbling over the keys as she strained to read the music, the melody she produced far from the emotional beauty Nik had demanded. He had bought her a grand piano, the best one on the market moved into their parlor so that she could practice and learn and then entertain just as she was supposed to. But she hated it - hated it with ever fiber of her being - and it soon became painfully obvious that she was not getting better, nor would she ever. The piano was still in their manor, more of a centerpiece, a conversation starter, than anything else. She didn't miss it.

The young woman could sing though, and often did she sing her heart out, entire concerts preformed for invisible audiences as she went about her day. But she didn't think that that made her musical... No, there were so many others that had better voices than her anyways, ones filled with heart and soul, capable of devastating or blessing any listener. She was not like them and admittedly, she was okay with that. Her talents rested in different places - in complicated mathematics and literature, in sports, and, as much as she detested admitting it, in art. But she hadn't painted anything in such a long time, the supplies that were really hers (though she had insisted they once belonged to her father) dusty and old now.

That had been their bonding activity once upon a time ago, the act of bringing something beautiful to life threading them closer and closer together. She had never been as good as him, his masterpieces hanging in galleries all around the world and hers, in their mansion, but she had never been particularly mad about that. Margaery had merely appreciated the few rare hours that she and her father were not painfully estranged, laughing and pretending that they were very much mundane individuals who hadn't seen the world and all of its horrors. Hadn't wrecked the world with their own horrors. 

But that chapter of her life had long since closed, and now she was trying to escape the adverse effects it had had on her. Where once she existed in a state of fragile harmony, she now fought tooth and nail not to slip under and permit one of her many counterparts to seize control. They had fallen out of resonance a long time ago, some difference along the way causing each and every one of them - Ingrid, Genevieve, Maarit, Margaery - to no longer be content with the way things had been forever. So she did what any logical person did and took up meditating. Before, well, today, she had never even thought to try the act. Margaery was usually one to repress her issues and move along, but she was too aware of the fact that that plan of attack no longer worked.

She needed to face her demons head on.

And so, the young woman sat criss-cross on the floor of her bunker room, palms resting on her knees. She had lit a few candles and the scent of lemon verbena practically choked her. She was of course allergic to verbena, the plant making it hard to do much of anything and leaving her skin patchy and red - burnt looking - if she physically touched it. But she was trying to weaken the hold that Genevieve in particular had on her, clouding her mind as she relaxed into the strange warmth of her own-

Was that music she was hearing?

The calm reverie of the scene was ruined as blue eyes flew open, Margaery rising quickly only to turn on a heel and out of the room to investigate. She was coughing when she arrived on the scene, and it appeared as if she had just missed Bastille and all his anger and jealousy. Instead, she came to a stop next to Shay, gaze trained upon Hazel and the ukulele she held and played.  For a moment, she detected her own jealousy, memories of that piano haunting her mind again. Hazel was good, very good, for someone who was relatively new to the instrument. She picked it up beautifully not to mention, her voice... oh, how wonderful her voice was.

"You really hate the piano, don't you love?"

Her father's voice rang in her mind, a jagged reminder of her own failure when it came to instruments. But she couldn't let that consume her... not when she knew that she was supposed to feel proud of Hazel and her accomplishments. And so, Margaery smiled, leaning into Shay only slightly as she did so. No doubt her wife could feel her disarray, no doubt that it probably worried her. She didn't feel like explaining though, hopefully her touch was enough to dismiss any concern.

[b]"Hello, love," Greeted woman easily, words coming easier than she had initially anticipated. Margaery had feared that what she could only have described as an inevitable bitterness would have laced her words, that smile turning sour the moment it happened. Maybe the lemon verbena was working. Maybe she was alright again. "You're very good at that, you know. I wouldn't be surprised if you came for Shay's throne," She joked easily, nudging her wife as she did so. "Also... Your voice is lovely. Absolutely lovely."

She was oblivious to the tension caused by Bastille, to the splintered earth that rested directly next to Hazel, to Vera's confusion and even awkwardness. Her throat felt tight but that was because of the verbena... she had arrived far too late to detect anything amiss - to watch anything misalign itself. Perhaps that was for the better though.

"We should sing together some time."

© MADI