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It’s why they named me Belladonna. Deadly. Sinful. To them, my name is the same thing, and they never let me forget all the ways I’ve failed. Why not be useful for once in my life?
my supposed gluttony is written in my soft stomach, in my wide hips, in my inability to say no to the short-lived comfort that food brings.
I don’t mean to say it. I’m not supposed to say things like that, to make people uncomfortable by revealing the deep well of hopelessness that resides inside me.
“Consider me cowed and obedient.” Rusalka sounds anything but.
We are not immune to the petty fights and bullshit that everyone experiences if they live long enough, but community is at the center of everything.
“The more pleasure given, the greater the worship. The more orgasms, the more satisfied our deity.”
“Because, darling, it’s what we were made for.”
A good leader is ruthless, yes, and cunning, but they don’t trample on people more fragile than they are. Doing so damages a community—do it enough and there’s no community left to speak of, nothing to protect.
“Lust is natural, darling.”
seeing the wonder bloom on her face makes me want to hunt down everyone who warped her concept of pleasure and love to remove them from existence.
“And why do you want to help people so desperately, Belladonna? Is it out of genuine desire? Or is it because you don’t think you have worth if you’re not of use?”
The moment feels unreal. I haven’t been nervous about kissing someone since I was young, awkward, and filled with more need than I knew how to satisfy.
I have more to give.
I don’t require an orgasm just because I gave you one. Your pleasure is enough for now.”
“I don’t want to be another memory that you flog yourself with at the altar of your cruel god.”
“We all disappoint people sometimes. It’s part of life. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve peace.”
Every interaction I’ve had with Belladonna reinforces the truth that she’s never been able to grasp the idea of sex as something free from shame, something that doesn’t have to be hurried and guilt-ridden.
there are still issues buried in the center of me that I don’t know how to unpack. I don’t know if I even want to. Apparently the concept of being deserving of rest is one of them.
The insidious nature of my internal whispers still strike at the most unexpected times. It hurts. I don’t think it will ever stop hurting entirely. But I have ways to deal with that pain now.
