She once thought she knew herself. That all the little boxes, separate and perfectly wrapped could exist together, their own little universes inside her. Except that one day they spilled, first this one into that one, and then that one into those. A mess of dirt and glitter strewn across a marble floor. No not marble, wet cement. Not only can she never sweep them back up into their seperate secret places but much of the mess is stuck fast, forever out if its neat secret hiding place.
Kensa will have to learn to live with her glitter and her darkness tangled together.
There was a time when she could have shown the hell within herself to Litotes and he would have forgiven her it, even embraced it. Instead she had hidden things, thinking she could grow past it or handle it herself. The absence of love for their child came first. It was not the first secret, she’d spread herself out for a handful of other men by then but it never meant anything. Not loving or wanting Kelynen—she should have confessed—there was something amiss, some dark strangling vine was growing up inside her. Then came Starsin and that should have meant nothing too but she wanted more, more of her, some little corner to tug at when she was hungry for it. He loved that woman and she should not have minded, he should have been able to confess and find comfort in a wife like her who would not punish him (but jealousy instead had been her reply and a violent possessiveness that now makes no sense to her)...And finally Brigade. If she could undo it all, draw it back to the day Litotes returned from Loess she would give up even Hyaline to keep herself from where she is today, even if she were nothing, even if he would have, could have had Starsin in her place and she were still alone in the end.
Right now she’d carve a lovely gothic A into her breast if only she could silence her whore’s heart.
How did she become this secret keeper, this omitter of details, this liar? What else might she have been if there were no plagues and betrayals and lust..? Kensa has acquired an unfortunate self awareness that fills too many of her days with regret and reflection that could paralyze her if she didn’t have so much to keep her moving. On the outside she is still herself, too goddamn beautiful even when she feels only rot within herself.
She still might as well put a dumb innocent look on her face and fuck a little chaos into the world with a precise jerk of her capable hips. Not today though, today is not for that.
For the first time in a while Kensa makes herself freely available in Hyaline, rather than separating herself to patrol or allowing her sons to bracket her and intercept anyone who might try to gain an audience. She’ll need to attend to some diplomatic visits soon but for today she weaves among the autumn colored trees and out into the slowly yellowing long grass south of the lake. Stopping there the Primarch draws a deep, steadying breath and finds a smile for her unholy-beautiful face. Her eyes are still sharp ochre chakrams in her face, an unspoken warning away from her personal heartaches but her posture is relaxed. When someone inevitably approaches she tips her head a fraction, “Tell me anything at all, I need a few thoughts that are not my own.”
—
