[/html]Over time, she had made herself stronger, but they were mostly surface-level tricks and defenses. She could deceive easily, put on a convincing smile, grin like a fool, play the part of a meek, silly girl. She could lie and laugh and stick a knife in someone's stomach without a moment in between to pause. She could play a slyer role, the enchantress most wanted her to be, and after they'd given everything to her, her teeth would find their throats as well. She could run and dodge, twist out of outstretched arms and dart in between bodies. She played pretend and she killed and she survived. She had made herself stronger. But merely strong was a lonely thing to be.
And none of her new strength went into her heart. It, alone in the dark, protected by her teeth and her disguises, had been withering slowly, growing ever weaker. She would not trust; she would not believe. And she practiced her lies on herself. She didn't care. And these things didn't matter.
Cassandra was desperate to trust and believe, and she pulled her sister closer, dying of want for closeness and warmth, for touches that were not so unwanted and poisonous. Again she buried her nose in the auburn hair, slowly inhaling. "I'm glad you're okay," she said. "I'm glad you've been safe." Part of her was even glad for Inferni, in that moment, but she could not say it. She was glad Myrika had found her sense of belonging, though she still felt certain it would not last. Inferni was a place of betrayers, as much as any other place was, and one day, they would hurt her sister; physically, emotionally, she didn't know, but she knew they would. Perhaps she would be there to stop some of it, but she had no delusions of being able to forever. But there would be time enough for vengeance, and Cassandra would murder them in their beds.
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