Title: The White Queen Falls
Rating: PG rated for general concepts; language


Theme: Mother Confessors
Genre: Drama/Tragedy
Characters: Original Character
Timeline/Spoilers: Sometime pre-series in the history of the Confessors

Prompt: White/Outfit/Negative Space
Word Count: 527

Author's Notes: Nope, no real notes I think for this one. *grin*

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“Ouch!” Kaya hissed lightly, looking down to the matronly woman kneeling at her slippered feet, needle in hand.

“If you'd simply stand still...” the older woman replied with well worn sympathy, her deft fingers never pausing in their task. “As I reminded you to do not but two minutes ago...”

Kaya held back another restless twitch and forced herself to stand as still as she could. Of course, that only lasted for a few uncomfortable moments of silence before the sound of light, girlish laughter once more drifted up to the Mother Confessor's tower room. It was quickly followed by the deeper sounds of courtly male voices, and a distracted Kaya hissed as she was once more struck by Miriam's flashing silver needle.

“We could just leave the rest for another day,” the Confessor nearly pleaded, and more than half commanded.

“Or... you could just stop acting like a child and let an old woman get this done. An old woman who, I might add, has more than enough things to be doing today without having to coddle you,” Miriam replied with the kind of stern love that only someone who had known the Mother Confessor since infancy would dare express. She ignored Kaya's deadly glare and continued to hem the new, white silken gown that fell through her work and age roughened hands.

“Or I could just confess you...”

“You could,” Miriam agreed simply as she continued to sew, her silver needle flashing in the spring morning light.

“But I don't want to,” Kaya said quietly after a few moments of heavy silence. “I don't want to confess anyone. I don't want this... any of this...” she added in a rush, twitching the gown in her hands and pulling it from Miriam's own.

“I want what they have, Miriam,” she said, gesturing wildly toward the open window. “I want spring, and laughter and a husband that loves me for me. I want to bear children without the pain of knowing that I'll pass this gift on to them. I want to be able to give and have love; not wield it like some terrible weapon. I want...”

She looked wildly around the room a moment before darting toward the small, elegant table that held the remains of their morning meal.

“I want red,” Kaya declared fiercely, snatching up a half drunk glass of wine. “I want red,” she repeated, deliberately pouring the wine onto the folds of her gleaming white confessor's gown. “And blue,” she continued, crushing spring berries against her belly, grinding them into the fabric. “And yellow... and brown... and green...” she nearly panted, staining the silk that confined her.

“I want life, Miriam. I want all the colors of life,” she sobbed, finally dropping down to her knees in a sodden mess. “Life, Miriam; not this damned pale imitation of it... don't make me wear this... please... please...”

Slowly, the old nurse stepped forward and gently, ever so gently, helped the young Confessor rise, and without a word, helped her slip the dress from her shoulders...