lady jaenelle angelline's Journal

[ for warlord_prince ; between a dream and a reality ]

It hadn't been a long time since sleep had covered her eyelids, in fact Jaenelle had come to embrace the idea of retiring to her own bedroom when Saeten cast a concerned eye in her direction, and at other times when she had decided it was better to tuck herself away with a book than be fettered. More than once the duties of not only the males in the First Circle to the Queen but vice versa had been explained to her and Jaenelle was more than well versed in the knowledge she had to be available for such fussing. Regardless, though, of their well placed attentions she had more than one moment where the solitude and quiet were preferred over affectionate petting.

On this night, Jaenelle had fallen asleep with the weight of a thick book in her lap and her head tilted against the cushion of the pillows that had been heaped behind her. What she had been reading didn't lack interest, but her own fatigue had become too great for her to keep her eyes open. Her dreams had begun as delicate, filtered visions twisting gently into reality and then back again, until the deeper feeling of unconsciousness took over her with both hands.

The dreams, when they began, held no heavy weight that would rouse her from slumber's arms. But Jaenelle had been suppressing her own feelings in ways she had never needed to before, been locking away emotions which were stirring in their midnight clouds of smoke and feeling, and the subconscious mind had a way of betraying these willing confidences and trusts when the proverbial shields were down. Now, in the deepest sort of sleep, there was no controlling what visions came to her mind, what might have been suppressed for far too long for reasons less than pristine and pure.

Now the book was let to slide away, her place not marked and consequently lost, and her hair fanned across her pillow in a golden wave of billowing strands. Where her breath caught in her throat there was a soft, hitching sound of caught air before trailing off and into a sigh that lifted her chest in a deeper inhale. In the past she had never considered a man's touch to be anything other than something meant for the future, and after Briarwood's harsh realities she hadn't wanted to experience it any time soon. The would-have-been union between Daemon and Witch was still fresh in the part of her mind she often locked away, as were the feelings that stirred forth from it.

But now, as she tossed against the sheets with the blankets wound in a tangle about her waist, it would be a wonder if anything could be kept a secret.