"How many hundreds of innocent people did she massacre just to make us her slaves?"
Not for the first time did the twins have this conversation. It kept resurfacing, incomplete, as if no possible resolution could be found. The twins spoke softly, as if lost in a daydream.
Bathed in the rich fragrance of a heady perfume, their tent was a maze of sumptuous drapes and tapestries adorned with gold thread and jewels. The flames of the bronze candelabras danced in a thousand glints on silver chests and seats, on gold statues, on the heavy jewellery adorning the two young Elves' naked bodies.
Amidst a thousand masterpieces, the two sisters lay on huge velvet and silk cushions, languidly staring into space, impossible to tell apart other than by the jewellery they wore.
One had laid her head on her sister's chest, who played distractedly with her hair.
Their alien beauty eclipsed all the wonders assembled in their tent.
"All these deaths…," said one.
Yet Asharah, their mistress, had done much more than that to finally achieve their capture. She had devastated entire nations, toppled kings, even defied the gods.
One cannot expect to enslave the Elf King's daughters without making some sacrifices.
"But remember," replied the other. "Were not our courting suitors all but noble honeyed cowards? Not a single one capable of true love for us... "
A smile lit up the face of the first sister. She reached out to the platinum dish placed beside her. Her slender hand grasped a purple fig.
"Remember the look on their faces when Father had them mobilize their armies to face him?"
Her small white teeth bit into the perfectly ripe fruit.
"…But Her… She was willing to lose everything for us."
"You think she loves us? " replied her sister.
"I hate her."
It was the other one's turn to smile. "Passionately?"
"Look at what she's done to us…" Unable to find the words, she continued to play with her sister's hair. Then her hand stood still for a moment as a memory crossed her mind. "I think I like it," she whispered.
"Slut!" Her twin pushed her hand away sharply, rising. "You think I do not see how proud you are carrying her banner on the battlefield, you whore?"
Silently, they glared at each other.
Then one bowed her head, long hair tumbling around her alabaster face.
"I think I like watching these would-be saviours felled at our feet as they try to reach us…"
Quietly, a tear rolled down her cheek.
Her sister took her in her arms.
"I know ..."
They remained entwined, quietly, for long minutes.
"What we live is so…"
"Nobody has ever loved us like she does. No one has ever given us so much…" "No one else could have discovered who we really are…"
Outside arose the low rumblings of the drums. The army was ready to move. Soon the twins would be on the frontline, at the feet of their mistress. They would bear her Standard. They would lose themselves in the trance of battle.
It was so good.
Still hugging, they began to cry.