Kiss

I did not sleep. I do not sleep easily, kept awake by vicious whispers and taunting tones. So instead I walked, the few ahns until daybreak, coursing a path beneath the lonely flicker of street lamps.

I haven’t seen Olivia in some time and I had hoped to glean information from Madeline. She could tell me nothing however, it seems the Scribe has given her away. I felt saddened for her, for I am certain it is harder for a slave to be released from ownership than a free woman from a relationship. At least I was able to choose what came next and not have those choices made for me.

Disheartened that no news would be forthcoming, I made my way back to the shop, pacing back and forth on the street outside. I was trying to neatly place my thoughts in another slot, a slot that wasn’t corroded with the rust of despair.

That was where he found me, bedraggled and blustery in ink blot blue.

He’s taking the stabilization serums to try and stall the process.. of what is sure to come. The inevitable is a terrible thing, seen by the IV that hung loosely from his arm. I led him inside and tarried though one of Charming’s trunks, the trunk that held the black clothes that she had been required to wear when she was brought to me. I found one of her ribbons and wound it in a lacing manner around his arm, so that the tube would not catch and be pulled out. Just as I snipped the lengths of the knot, I told him I wanted to go with him on his search. Usually I am not so bold, but with the purpose of his journey, there was little time to be coy or calculating, neither of which I am very good at.

He tried to discourage me but I would not be discouraged. I had lived through a trek in the desert, certainly I could journey in jungles despite the dangers, and I countered every one of his reasonable concerns.

I hadn’t moved since placing the ribbon on his arm, a placement he took quick advantage of by closing in on my personal space. He was trying to rob me of my comfort. He was trying to make a point. He wanted to know my reasons. I told him the truth, that if I didn’t go, that I would always be forced to wonder if my being there could have made a difference.

It was a drag of mouth over mouth that contained the words of why should I care, and even though I didn’t return the exploratory kiss, I didn’t pull away either. Not that I could have pulled away very far, because his fist possessed a handful of red that was seeping through his fingers like liquid fire. When his tongue came into play, this time, I did respond, though slightly, to the electric current of his kiss, eyes wide open and intense with study.

He shoved me back away from him and I stumbled, but he immediately got what he had wanted, bridging our bodies with distance.

Sometimes there is a coldness that I exude, an orbit of emotion that lacks personal passion. It’s a barrier of safety, a figurative firewall that screams inside my head, warning me not to surrender. Bidding me not to fall.. or feel, because no good will come of it.

I was suppose to back down, he said. I should have backed down. He wanted to know what else awaited me in Schendi. Who awaited me in Schendi. I think I hurt his feelings.

I tried to explain myself.

I don’t do that well.

I took his reaction as a no to my accompanying him and I nodded. I would not push.

But that wasn’t his answer. I could go. But if I did not keep up, he would leave me.

A sobering statement that I had no reason to believe he didn’t mean.

I am going.
I am going.
I am going..

Hiding from Life

Like a night wisp caught between twilight and absolute darkness I search for something that constantly eludes me. I have become a seeker of reason, and reason avoids me like the plague. Still, my heart lives a secret life, one inspired by hope.

I am not a woman who mingles, that social function having been disabled at some point in my life. I don’t approach people, and for the most part, people stay clear of me. I don’t make friends easily, and I especially don’t usually find friendship in men. If anything, I usually try to remain invisible around them. But today, that was not to be.

The arena is not a place I frequent. I seldom visit public places where there might be crowds. Too many people make me feel uneasy and I especially do not like bumping into them, touching them. The arena however today, was practically empty, save for a few souls in quiet conversation and the skeleton crew of slaves that were cleaning for the coming night’s event.

I was leaning over the railing, watching the slaves rake the sands, eavesdropping on a conversation that was currently being whispered back and forth between a man and a woman about the murders that have been taking place in the city. Morbid fascination had me glancing back and forth between the two. Apparently, one had been murdered nights prior in one of the private boxes that over look the sands. Brave, stupid, or simply someone who wanted to get caught.

I had seen him earlier upon his entrance, a man cloaked and hooded in black, and now, this same man, was heading in my direction, determined to catch the object which was currently being denied him. A writing stick. He dove and slid, his arm reaching out, and as if he knew exactly where it would be.. at that exact ihn, it bounced towards him, off the foot of another, his fingers curling around it, saving it from falling into the sands.

While his concern was for the implement of his.. affection, mine was for him. He hadn’t come near to hitting me, but he did seem caught within the railing that over looked the sands. I spoke the first words, asking him he was alright.

That was the beginning..

At first there seemed to be a nervous, unknown agenda between us. He kept staring at his pack, one that he had left alone when he had chased the writing stick only moments before. He showed me what it was that he had been chasing, a beautiful cylinder that housed the coals he wrote with, coals, that when he tipped it towards me, dropped out into the lap of my robes. He grabbed my upper arm and forced me to stand. I was so shocked at this action I didn’t realize until I followed the path of his eyes that he was saving me.. or rather my robes, from the stain of charcoal.

I gave him my name and we started to talk. Yes, I struck up a conversation with a man I’d never met before. But that was only the start of a day that was so very uncharacteristic of me.

We spoke at length, until lar torvis had submitted to moons of three, and even then, I found I did not wish to go, and if my perception was right, he didn’t want me to go either.

He seems to have a fascination with numbers and calculations, percentages and averages. He held his hand up to cover my eyes a mere ihn before a slave in the sands, who had been seeing to the care of weapons, was injured. It was done as a protective measure, so that I wouldn’t see. Had he only known that I had seen much worse. He did this again as we were leaving the arena, holding me back moments before a chained reaction of events sent a cart wheeling out of control just outside the entrance, where we had been meant to part ways. That wasn’t at all how it was though. Instead, I followed along with him to the library.

In his pack he carries all that is dear to him. A map, notes, books, all with a purpose, a very specific purpose in mind.

This is where the interconnecting twine.. twists. He’s looking for something, an amulet, not unlike one that I once searched for. One that did me little good, a journey that led to nothing but heartbreak.

I have become immersed in a pool of purpose, my flesh dampened with intrigue, my thoughts drowning with what ifs, all while my emotions run ramped as to where this might go.

Palter

Being too eager to have faith in those who don’t necessarily deserve it is my grandest flaw. I am too susceptible to truths that do not exist, to whispers that mutate into maddening deceptions.

With touch, comes knowledge, but without it, one is always left in the dark, left to wander amongst the shadows and peek through the iron grail that separates fact from fiction. He is not mine, but simply an illusion of blood and bone, the largest lie of all.

I place no blame, I point no fingers, I play no melody of melancholy. That was a battle I lost years past and to revisit such sorrow would only be foolish and self destructive, a means to an end. No, not end, release.

Freedom has a price under any banner.

My Three Lives

It is said we all live three lives at once.

The first life is that of the past, lived through the fragile interpretation of memories. The second, our present, which is lived through actions, or in my case, evasive actions, and the third life is perceived by thoughts, hopes, wishes and dreams, desires which I’m seldom lacking in. It is the combination of all these things that helps us through the darker periods of our lives.

I am free, by the hand of someone I would have never thought, which is testament that we really never know someone simply by the perceptions we have of them. I am grateful to her and perhaps someday I can truly repay her for her bravery, if I ever see her again.

Charm has gone to the island to visit my mother, who had been writing me ceaselessly asking that she be allowed to come. Given what has happened of late, I could think of no better way to keep her safe.

Of late, I have found myself at the building that Chance had purchased, one that was once mine. It’s nothing save an empty, grassy lot now, the debris from the fire having been cleared. Twice I’ve inquired to buy it, but no one seems to know where he has gone, though on my last sojourn into the narrow alley I caught sight of a small sign on the building next. It’s mine now, another venture that I wasted no time in purchasing.

It’s bigger, three stories instead of two and it has a large balcony on the third floor. It needs work, but at least I don’t believe it will take too much coin to make it livable, which is a good thing.

Again I find myself the proud owner of property. I’ve always liked the feeling of having something that was completely mine, something that no one else could take away. I suppose it’s the stability that I crave, the need to be protected and safe, even if it is only by four walls and a ceiling. I’m learning. Slowly, but I am learning.

Some times life doesn’t put us where we’d hoped, but it always seems to put us exactly where we need to be.

Yes, safe. That’s where I need to be.

Autumn Sonnet

Meet my obsession, my opium dream
Lost in indulgence I'm not what I seem
Come to my arms and let me seduce you
Surrender your soul, and I will reduce you
To simple sensation and fleshly delight
So fly to my side and embrace the night;
We will defy the greatest commands
And heedlessly walk the forbidden lands.


Gaze into depths of emerald absinthe
And plunge through the twists of the labyrinth;
Gather at crossroads and chant to the wind
Dance in the graveyards and revel in sin,
Our innocence lost and our faith destroyed,
Spiraling down into lightless void,
Drunken on dreams and ceaselessly sleeping--
Here in the garden the angels are weeping.

They will despise us but we will be strong,
The road to fulfillment is rocky and long;
Misunderstanding is genius' curse--
They call us evil but nothing is worse
Than passive submission to meaningless rules,
These are oppression and misery's tools;
Ultimate freedom is our delight
To quaff the nectar of forbidden night.

Gaze into depths of emerald absinthe
And plunge through the twists of the labyrinth;
Gather at crossroads and chant to the wind
Dance in the graveyards and revel in sin,
Our innocence lost and our faith destroyed,
Spiraling down into lightless void,
Drunken on dreams and ceaselessly sleeping--
Here in the garden the angels are weeping.

Blinded by pleasure we long to be free,
Striving towards something we no longer see;
The world is burning, our minds are on fire
Consumed and consuming in seething desire,
Slaves of sensation, there's something we've lost
We've ransomed our passion, heedless the cost;
Promethean gods, we have seized the flames
But our theft is rewarded with eternal chains.

Gaze into depths of emerald absinthe
And plunge through the twists of the labyrinth;
Gather at crossroads and chant to the wind
Dance in the graveyards and revel in sin,
Our innocence lost and our faith destroyed,
Spiraling down into lightless void,
Drunken on dreams and ceaselessly sleeping--
Here in the garden the angels are weeping.

Gaze into depths of emerald absinthe
And plunge through the twists of the labyrinth;
Gather at crossroads and chant to the wind
Dance in the graveyards and revel in sin,
Our innocence lost and our faith destroyed,
Spiraling down into lightless void,
Drunken on dreams and ceaselessly sleeping--
Here in the garden the angels are weeping.

The Angels are Weeping
Nox Arcana/Michelle Belanger