CASIMIRA

dragon-shifting daughter of ashhal and ryatah

She isn’t sure what she had expected when she lashes out at him (or at least, her somewhat mild version of lashing out), but his reaction is not it.

She had assumed he would retaliate, shut her out, or leave—or all of the above. She had not expected him to admit that he had cared for her mother in any capacity. She had not expected him to own the fact that he had played a role in why they didn’t work. Ryatah had never implied such a thing, but Casimira had always assumed that their relationship had been more one-sided; that her mother, as she was so prone to doing, was clinging to the smallest thread of affection as if she might manifest it into something greater by refusing to let go.

Casimira had been living in Nerine when Noel was born. She remembers following the sound of rock being disintegrated, and coming across her mother and a still stumbling newborn in tow. She remembers the look that reflected in her mother’s eyes—a pain that overshadowed what should have been the joy of a new daughter being born, and the way she had given a nearly imperceptible shake of her head that told her to not ask, though later she had learned of what had transpired during the birth.

This, in her mind, had further proven what she had always thought; that Ryatah cared for Ashhal more than he cared for her.

To hear something that disputed this fact clouded her mind with confusion, and there is a glimmer of regret in her eyes for having brought the subject up at all.

But her last confession evokes a reaction out of him that chases thoughts of her mother from her mind, and her own muscles grow taut in response as she inwardly steels herself against what she thinks he might say. “I don’t know,” she says plainly, because it was too difficult to say why she had not told him immediately. Her fears are twisted and tangled, but all of them are knotted around the same thing—that he is going to reject her. “You didn’t seem pleased that I was Ryatah’s daughter to begin with,” she points out, referring to his initial reaction to the mere sight of her face.

There is a heavy pause, and she tries not to sink beneath the weight of it. “I’m queen of Tephra,” she tells him, but this is not a brag, or even said with any kind of pride. It’s a simple statement, and she continues by saying, “I won’t take up anymore of your time today, but that is where you can find me.” She doesn’t expect him to seek her out; she doesn’t expect to ever see him again at all, and this is something she has already accepted. And though she should turn to go before she has to watch him leave, she remains where she stands, eyes locked steadily on his face.