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The Queen’s Heart

Today is a special day which I celebrate with the one I call my heart. He does not wish for anything special mind you, but then… anything is possible…


The Queen’s Heart
By TeraS


Some believe that the Queen of the Succubi has many to advise her. They believe that she must have hundreds of residents of the Realm who give her thoughts, ideas, and more. They see her and know, because it must be so, that all of her decisions are made after having to consider many, many thoughts of others.

In fact, there are but three who have the Queen’s … well, the common saying is ear, but, in the Realm, the more important thing is who has the Queen’s tail. There is her Eternal—her King—who, of course, speaks his thoughts. There is another, seen in the shadows sometimes, who is the only one allowed to address Tera as ‘My Queen’ without her becoming bothered by the words.

The one that remains is the Queen’s Heart.

And their talks over the fence, beside the koi pond, are those that she cherishes more than anyone can truly understand.

They always—always, mind you—begin with a huggle from Tera for her heart and a simple ‘Hello, my heart.” The answer—always, mind you—is a snug in return and the words that are simple, but mean so much to her: “Hello, Dear One.”

Sometimes the next things said are about the day they have had, the ups and downs, the better or worse. It simply is the moment where they are, as they are, concerned about each other more than themselves. They talk about the weather, for that is what they do. They speak about their hopes for one another, for each of them only wishes and hopes for the dreams of the other, the wishes of the other, to be true.

Sometimes they pause then, another hug shared, sometimes with a pastry, sometimes sharing a cup of tea, a mug of hot chocolate, or the ever-present soft drink that the Queen, for some reason that they both know well, enjoys so very much.

Sometimes one or the other—or both, sometimes—talk about something that has happened on that day, or days past. How they feel about it, their thoughts about it. They talk about what could be, might be, and what will be … possibly.

They always share a smile, an understanding, something that her heart knows because he is her heart; something that she knows because she is his Dear One. The words are not needed at this point because they … just know. And they always will.

She asks about his Beloved, her thoughts being of her, how she is, when they are not talking at the fence. Her thoughts are also of him, her concerns about how he is, how she might help, for that is how she is.

He asks about her then, knowing as he does that she tries not to talk about her spirit, not wanting to be a burden upon him—something that she would never wish to be. She hesitates, and he simply waits, with more patience than anyone that she has even met or ever will.

She speaks in a roundabout manner, for that is how she is. It is her personality, her own silly way that she believes that she can deal with anything on her own. That burdening him with things is, if not a sin, then what would be unkind. He, however, does not quite accept that. He understands why she thinks the way she does. He, after all, has the same thoughts, the same feelings, in himself.

He tells her that she speaks from her own soul, that her words tell more than she knows. That the day they met, at the first time she spoke the words, she knew. somehow, that he was her heart. That truth he knows as well. She tells him, as always, there is no-one else in the universe that could be her heart, and that she is grateful for the moment when they were drawn together.

She reminds him, again, that his words are the same to her, that she cherishes the stories, the thoughts, the moments. It is not simply friendship; of that they are both aware. They are family and family always knows, for that is how families are.

Usually, as their time at the fence comes to a close, she wishes him and his Beloved a good night and a better tomorrow. He wishes that she and her Eternal have the best of days and to hold each other tightly in the night.

Usually, next comes the telling, as always, of their love for each other and how that love, the love of their family, will be now and forever with them both. A last hug, a simple two letters spoken with a double meaning that they only know, and then they both return to their own lives, warmed and happier inside for knowing.

On this day however, she pauses and then reaches down below the fence and picks up something that he could not see. She then reveals a simple thing: a cupcake … a single candle lit upon it. It is chocolate, of course, but there is her little touch: a pair of red candy horns and in red icing a heart-tipped tail.

She makes her excuses about her cooking abilities, noting that there is a certain Baker that is much better at such things than she is. He smiles, in that way of his, knowing exactly who she speaks of, but promises her that her baking is every bit as good.

She places the cupcake—which, of course, is resting upon a red plate—on the edge of the fence and it waits there. There is no rush, no need to blow out the candle, not just yet. That moment will come when it does. She takes his hand in one of hers, and tells him a truth, one that she does not share with anyone else. That truth is one that they both believe in, both cherish, and both know that in the light and dark it is a truth that no one can tell them it is not.

What is that truth? It is very obvious if you think about it, if you know them … but few really do.

She leans against the fence, just enough that she can share a loving kiss for him and him alone over it; an expression of her love for him, for what he means to her and always will. He smiles, perhaps a little bit embarrassed, that she shows such trust in him, belief in him. But then he shows the same in her, and always will.

She wishes him, on this day, a happy birthday. She would love to hold a huge party for him, the entire Realm to be there to celebrate his life, his thoughtfulness, his faith, his all. But she also knows that he would be uncomfortable being in the spotlight, the centre of attention. He would rather be there to see her, as he says, be awesome, be the one that should be the one seen. His place to be there, always, as her heart.

She, of course, accepts that, in spite of her own wishes on this day. She does, however, threaten, with that bemused smile of her that he knows so well, that someday she will find her way past the fence and appear on the other side of it on this day. That day, when it comes, will be a joyous one for them both.

They both say one simple word: “Promise.”

He takes the cupcake, blows out the candle, and then breaks the dessert in two, offering her half, as is their way. She knows that her baking will be lousy, it always is, but somehow the cupcake is quite good and both of them are rather surprised that it is (well, he isn’t so surprised). Perhaps that certain Baker and a certain red-headed, black tailed succubi have something to do with that.

Perhaps. Or perhaps, on his day …

… anything is possible.

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