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Description

The long process of healing done with, the young woman Xizor has taken under his wing gains a new name.

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           "I will inform the palace staff that you shall be given full access to the garden," Prince Xizor assured her. "And while we are hovering near the landing for the subject," he added thoughtfully, "have you decided yet on a name? I shall need one to give to the staff. We may as well choose something you like since you will not let me call you by the one I already know."

            Don't call me that! she remembered snapping at him with a burst of violent emotion, something she had experienced only rarely in the past several months. She is dead.

            It had been when he found her on the floor of her chamber that second evening after her arrival, sobbing and hacking off her hair with the knife she had offered Xizor when she begged him to kill her on the landing dock. Self-consciously, she reached up to finger the shortened locks that fell just below her jaw line. The medical staff had trimmed it into something more aesthetically pleasing, but she still felt awkward at having been caught in such a rash, emotional action. She also felt insecure in such a short hairstyle. She could not remember the last time her hair hadn't fallen at least halfway down her back. She felt now like she had cut away a part of herself.

            And well, she had, hadn't she? She had cut away the person she was before, the slave who was so badly abused by the man who had captained the light freighter she'd flown here. Like removing gangrenous skin, she had done it to move forward, to put whom she used to be behind her and to start again, a new person.

            Xizor had assured her she would soon have a new face to go along with this new persona; not just a new face, but new retinal scans, fingerprints...even her vocal chords could be modified slightly if she wished that. She just had to decide who she was going to be, first. That was the part she did not yet know.

            She looked across the table at her rescuer and shook her head. "Every name I can come up with is associated with my past in some way. I don't want to take the chance that someone might make the connection," she told him. She did not say, And I don't want to be reminded, myself, but she knew she did not have to. The words hung in the air between them without being spoken aloud. "But I suppose we should try to come up with something sooner rather than later." She sighed, and then looked to him hopefully. "Or you could give me a name."

            "Me?" he asked mildly. Again, one eyebrow ridge rose on his forehead.

            "Certainly. You're the one stuck with addressing me the most often, and always as 'my lady' or something equivalent. Why don't you give me one? Something you won't mind using over and over."

            "Hmmm." Xizor hummed with pleasure at the thought. He sat back again, rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, and steepled his fingers together as he regarded her with a lazy half-smile. "Name you myself. The idea has merit…my pet." He chuckled when she made a face at his addition of the word "pet" but otherwise he regarded her thoughtfully. "Would you be willing to accept a Falleen name?"

            "Would it be as harsh sounding as 'Xizor' is?" she countered with a half smile of her own.

            Xizor chuckled again. "By the stars, no. The names for our females are softer on the ear. Mostly." He tilted his head to one side, looking at her thoughtfully. He wanted the name he chose for her to be appealing, to be something she would find pretty. At the same time, it had to be worthy of her, to be meaningful. "Perhaps I might call you…" He narrowed his eyes in thought, and then he smiled slowly. "Yes. I think I have it. I shall call you Deyja."

            He pronounced the name, "Day-zha."

            "Deyja," she repeated slowly, feeling the name on her tongue, tasting it. "That's lovely, Your Highness. I thank you."

            "I'm pleased you like it, Lady Deyja," he returned with a gracious nod, acknowledging her thanks. "I will see to it that all the staff here are made aware and address you thusly from now on."

            "Deyja" gave him a tiny smile in return, and then murmured the name to herself once more. Now she had a name again, one wholly unconnected to her past life. One to start over with, if she chose to. "Does it have any particular meaning attached to it?" she asked. "I know that not all species and cultures have meanings attached to names."
            "Not all Falleen names do," Xizor agreed, "but this one does. It means 'remembrance.' In my culture, it signifies the commemoration of those we have lost, honoring their lives." His smile turned predatory then. "It can also mean remembrance of those who have done us wrong and must pay for their misdeeds." Rising from the table now, he dropped his napkin in his empty plate and moved around the table to her side, and then he held out his hand to her and waited a moment while she put her small hand into his palm. "However," he said, bending close, "I chose the name only with the hopes that you would find it appealing." He raised her hand to his lips, his eyes still on her face while his lips brushed a warm kiss over her fingers.

"You are a phoenix, my dear, risen from the ashes of the past you will now put behind you. Let this moment be the death of Yesterday, and together you and I will create a new Tomorrow for you to look forward to."

Description

The long process of healing done with, the young woman Xizor has taken under his wing gains a new name.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           "I will inform the palace staff that you shall be given full access to the garden," Prince Xizor assured her. "And while we are hovering near the landing for the subject," he added thoughtfully, "have you decided yet on a name? I shall need one to give to the staff. We may as well choose something you like since you will not let me call you by the one I already know."

            Don't call me that! she remembered snapping at him with a burst of violent emotion, something she had experienced only rarely in the past several months. She is dead.

            It had been when he found her on the floor of her chamber that second evening after her arrival, sobbing and hacking off her hair with the knife she had offered Xizor when she begged him to kill her on the landing dock. Self-consciously, she reached up to finger the shortened locks that fell just below her jaw line. The medical staff had trimmed it into something more aesthetically pleasing, but she still felt awkward at having been caught in such a rash, emotional action. She also felt insecure in such a short hairstyle. She could not remember the last time her hair hadn't fallen at least halfway down her back. She felt now like she had cut away a part of herself.

            And well, she had, hadn't she? She had cut away the person she was before, the slave who was so badly abused by the man who had captained the light freighter she'd flown here. Like removing gangrenous skin, she had done it to move forward, to put whom she used to be behind her and to start again, a new person.

            Xizor had assured her she would soon have a new face to go along with this new persona; not just a new face, but new retinal scans, fingerprints...even her vocal chords could be modified slightly if she wished that. She just had to decide who she was going to be, first. That was the part she did not yet know.

            She looked across the table at her rescuer and shook her head. "Every name I can come up with is associated with my past in some way. I don't want to take the chance that someone might make the connection," she told him. She did not say, And I don't want to be reminded, myself, but she knew she did not have to. The words hung in the air between them without being spoken aloud. "But I suppose we should try to come up with something sooner rather than later." She sighed, and then looked to him hopefully. "Or you could give me a name."

            "Me?" he asked mildly. Again, one eyebrow ridge rose on his forehead.

            "Certainly. You're the one stuck with addressing me the most often, and always as 'my lady' or something equivalent. Why don't you give me one? Something you won't mind using over and over."

            "Hmmm." Xizor hummed with pleasure at the thought. He sat back again, rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, and steepled his fingers together as he regarded her with a lazy half-smile. "Name you myself. The idea has merit…my pet." He chuckled when she made a face at his addition of the word "pet" but otherwise he regarded her thoughtfully. "Would you be willing to accept a Falleen name?"

            "Would it be as harsh sounding as 'Xizor' is?" she countered with a half smile of her own.

            Xizor chuckled again. "By the stars, no. The names for our females are softer on the ear. Mostly." He tilted his head to one side, looking at her thoughtfully. He wanted the name he chose for her to be appealing, to be something she would find pretty. At the same time, it had to be worthy of her, to be meaningful. "Perhaps I might call you…" He narrowed his eyes in thought, and then he smiled slowly. "Yes. I think I have it. I shall call you Deyja."

            He pronounced the name, "Day-zha."

            "Deyja," she repeated slowly, feeling the name on her tongue, tasting it. "That's lovely, Your Highness. I thank you."

            "I'm pleased you like it, Lady Deyja," he returned with a gracious nod, acknowledging her thanks. "I will see to it that all the staff here are made aware and address you thusly from now on."

            "Deyja" gave him a tiny smile in return, and then murmured the name to herself once more. Now she had a name again, one wholly unconnected to her past life. One to start over with, if she chose to. "Does it have any particular meaning attached to it?" she asked. "I know that not all species and cultures have meanings attached to names."
            "Not all Falleen names do," Xizor agreed, "but this one does. It means 'remembrance.' In my culture, it signifies the commemoration of those we have lost, honoring their lives." His smile turned predatory then. "It can also mean remembrance of those who have done us wrong and must pay for their misdeeds." Rising from the table now, he dropped his napkin in his empty plate and moved around the table to her side, and then he held out his hand to her and waited a moment while she put her small hand into his palm. "However," he said, bending close, "I chose the name only with the hopes that you would find it appealing." He raised her hand to his lips, his eyes still on her face while his lips brushed a warm kiss over her fingers.

"You are a phoenix, my dear, risen from the ashes of the past you will now put behind you. Let this moment be the death of Yesterday, and together you and I will create a new Tomorrow for you to look forward to."