Jealousy - Emilia (Patreon)

Emilia has no right to feel the stifling jealousy wrapping tight around her throat, depriving her of both oxygen and reason. She has no use for it, no need; it is the byproduct of emotions dead and gone.

She doesn’t need to dig this grave up, she insists to herself. She doesn’t. Not when she’s the one that dug it to begin with. Not when the ghost of what could’ve been haunts her still.

So she watches you from across the rickety inn you all had reluctantly agreed on. Or, more specifically, her eyes dart between you and the barmaid who has no issue staring at you as if you’re water and she wants to drown.

You have a small smile curving your lips as you chat with Florian and Marcella. Finally the barmaid approaches, drinks in hand, and passes them out accordingly.

“And for you,” She says, giving you a wink, “Dinner’s on the house…and anything else you’d like.”

She moves uncomfortably close as she speaks, and you avert your eyes. Her point comes across well enough and it makes Emilia dig half-moons into her palms with her blunt fingernails.

“I’m alright with paying,” You say, your words kind but not inviting.

The woman blinks, frowning. Her grip on your cup tightens.

“Not very polite to turn down the hostess,” She says, her voice a touch colder.

Your eyes widen, and you glance around the table as if looking for help. Marcella is frowning now, and Florian gives the barmaid a hard side-eye.

Emilia feels her jaw tighten as she clenches her teeth; honestly, it’s a miracle things haven’t devolved into violence yet, what with the look on Marcella’s face. A rule of thumb; never trifle with this particular knight’s friends. It never ends well.

In this one case, however, Emilia can sympathize. Her own hands twitch with the desire to throw a blast of magic or two at the attitude. Or, actually, maybe it’s not the attitude. Maybe it’s because she wants you, and Emilia doesn’t want her to even have the possibility.

“Not very polite to insist, either. The, uh, offer was kind. I’m simply not interested.” You say neutrally, giving a feeble attempt to de-escalate.

You’re normally willing to talk to anyone and everyone. Emilia is ridiculously happy that doesn’t extend to pushy, rude strangers.

“Well, if it’s like that.” The barmaid sniffs, obviously offended, “How about you give me another silver for the ale?”

Florian nearly spits out a mouthful of his own drink, giving the woman an incredulous look. Marcella and you don’t fair better, your eyes widening is disbelief.

Emilia, however, doesn’t restrain herself from glowering. At this point, she’ll finally allow herself to step in.

She doesn’t want this woman flirting with you. That doesn’t matter. You not wanting this woman flirting with you? That’s all that matters. And you’ve made it abundantly clear that her aggressive flirting isn’t welcome.

Summoning every bit of haughty condescension her parents taught her, Emilia raises an eyebrow, “I do believe one rejection is more than enough. Requiring two is just borderline pathetic on your part. And a sore reaction to boot…that’s even worse.”

For a brief second, it seems like the woman wants to say something else. Perhaps collect the silver she demanded for your ale, or perhaps to try and put Emilia in her place.

Then white mist flickers at Emilia’s fingers as she takes a slow drag of her wine, her magic reacting to her anger. The mage keeps her eyes locked on the barmaid the whole time.

The woman falters immediately, muttering something about forgetting the silver, and flees back to the front.

A wise decision, certainly. Emilia has never been overly fond of violence, but she certainly feels like having a spirit pluck the woman’s eyes from her skull. An overreaction? Certainly. Does Emilia care? Not in the slightest.

Marcella says something, and Florian responds with what vaguely sounds like a quip. Emilia doesn’t hear the words, however. Her ears are ringing, and she’s looking only at you.

You’re looking at her, too.

Your brow is furrowed a bit, confusion in your eyes. Gods, but she loves your eyes. Then your lips tilt up, the barest whisper of a smile decorating your face, and Emilia feels vaguely as if she’s been punched in the chest.

Florian and Marcella are standing to leave, she notices suddenly. They scamper off upstairs, exchanging grins, leaving the two of you behind. Emilia is confused; you, apparently, are not.

You stand and move around the table, taking her hand in your gentle grasp. Her magic had rattled her glass, spilling wine over her hand and down her cloak. Funny, she hadn’t noticed.

Her heart is beating in her throat at your touch, but she still attempts to remain visibly neutral.

“You have wine all over you,” You say gently.

Emilia freezes at the concern before brushing it aside, “For a worthy cause.”

For you, she silently says in the meaning between her words. For you.

Your eyes brighten, and it appears you understood regardless of if she really wanted you to or not.

“You should go clean up,” You say, averting your eyes for a moment like you can’t bear looking at her.

She can’t relate. She could never imagine not wanting to look at you.

She doesn’t say that. She can’t; not out loud.

“Alright,” She says, pulling her hand from your grasp.

She realizes she mourns the loss of your touch more than anything else in her life. Then she turns around, quickly going up the stairs to her room.

She’s not fleeing. She’s not.