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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/EighthMovement|Eighth Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT [[ADanceOfAngels]] |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | == Knight of Spring, Lady of Winter ==
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' ''Clup, clup, '''clup''''' go Vorpal's boots on the corridor floor. Dragging the noble Prince behind her like a sack of potatoes, she marches over mosaics and past pillars made of multi-hued crystals. If She remembers correctly, there was a side-passage breaking off from the main corridor a short distance away. It leads to a balcony where she can... ''talk'' with her... ''love''... in peace.
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| − | Vorpal grits her teeth in a sudden pang of anger.
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| − | ''Love indeed. ''
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| − | She reaches the side-passage and turns around the corner.
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| − | ''White knight indeed. ''
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| − | She fans the fire inside her and allows the anger to grow. He had betrayed her. ''Betrayed! '''Her! ''' ''
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| − | The rage is not as hot as it could be. Vorpal had heard about in infidelity a while time ago and the first wave of fury had already passed. She had already forgiven the Dark Angel and it was likely that she would do the same to the Prince as well...
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| − | | |
| − | ...in time.
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| − | | |
| − | At last they walk out to the balcony. Vorpal turns, lifts Alex once again off his feet and pushes him - quite unceremoniously - against the wall.
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| − | | |
| − | "Whatever you have to say in your defense, say it now."
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| − | '''Alexander: ''' That was ''it! ''
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| − | The moment of truth!<br>
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| − | The moment he would talk to her, sweep the lady in his arms, and show her!<br>
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| − | To show her how much he loved her, that was all that mattered, explaining this whole mess like he wished to!
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| − | | |
| − | The great moment he had waited...<br>
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| − | And his vocal cords could barely work straight.
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| − | | |
| − | "... I love you." He says, weakly...<br>
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| − | "I ''love you. ''" he says, with more determination...<br>
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| − | He could say she seduced him. That all was her fault. That he was innocent.
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| − | He does not.
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| − | "I made a mistake. I should have told you. I had no time. I am sorry." He shakes his head...<br> "She meant nothing."
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| − | "I have no idea what she means to you, but to me... she was just that. Heat. Warmth. Sin."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal stares at him.
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| − | It's easy to believe him. He has always had that sort of honesty in him that makes it difficult for him to say any lies. He's naiive. Pure. Beautiful.
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| − | | |
| − | Or so she'd like to think.
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| − | | |
| − | The Ghost-Blooded lets out a heavy sigh. She lets go of the Prince, listening to the sound of his feet dropping to the floor.
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| − | | |
| − | "Was it only her?" she asks. She tries to stay calm, but her voice cracks. "Are there others?"
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| − | | |
| − | '''Alexander: ''' His hands find hers'. His fingers entwine with hers', feeling her armor, but still...
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| − | He tries to look at her face... tries to meet her crimsn gaze with his'.
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| − | She is so pure. So beautiful. How could he lie to her...?<Br>
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| − | How...?
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| − | | |
| − | "... yes."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' ''...I knew it. ''
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| − | She realizes it with a sinking heart. It had all been like a dream for a while, but she had known all along that it would shatter sooner or later. Just... how, she could not have fathomed. Not until now.
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| − | | |
| − | ''Well'', begins the brutally honest part in the mind, ''Have you been much better than him? ''
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| − | Gently Vorpal disentangles her fingers from his hands. Allowing herself to touch him simply feels wrong to her in these circumstances. Unfitting. Unseemly.
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| − | "Who is it?" Her voice is calmer now. She raises her chin a little, to help her gather her mental strength for the impact.
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| − | '''Alexander: ''' "Kanti." He says... and he feels it. She is raising her chin... but he can see. He can feel.
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| − | | |
| − | He can feel how her heart is growing colder... as his own is while he says the words.
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| − | "She is my servant now, as she asked to be... to be away from the Dark Angel. And she likes me... she wishes to be my courtesan. And that is what she is, protected by me, serving me."His voice begun to harden, as he held her hand once again, twisting the Pale Angel around, pushing her against the wall, and plating his lips so close to hers'... not for a kiss, but for a frantic plea. "But you are my ''queen''!"
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| − | It was now, he knew. He could leave her heart to become colder... but he would not let it. He would '''not! '''
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| − | It was his fault. But he would keep it warm. He would keep the flame burning. He had to! She had to listen, and so he continued, frantic, not leaving her time to think..."If you wish me to end it, I will. If you believe you cannot live with me and another, I will break her free from me. But what I wish, is to live with you, and with her... I want to wake up with you on my bed. I want to feel your warmth close to me as I sleep. I want to be together with you, with all of you. She is in my heart, not like you, but she is. I want to be true to all my heart. But you are its queen."
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| − | | |
| − | He holds her hands, despite her protests, putting it on his chest..<Br>.
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| − | Tears drop from his face.
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| − | | |
| − | "You hold it on '''your hands'''. If you wish to deny it to others.. if you wish to tear it out..."
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| − | | |
| − | "It is your choice, my lady, pure as snow."
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| − | | |
| − | "But I will never leave anything unsaid to you, ever again."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal is too stunned to resist as Alex pushes her against the wall. His words overload her with emotions. His love against his infidelity, her righteous anger against her own guilt, the knowledge of her shared heart. A part of her wants to tear open his throat. A part of her wants to throw herself into his arms and kiss him and kiss him until he smiles again. A small part of her wants to curl up and scream until all of it goes away.
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| − | | |
| − | She loves a man. She loves a woman. They both have a hold of her heart and they tug it in opposite directions. She had thought she could build it into something beautiful. She had thought she could build something functional, something that could satisfy them all, something that she - unconsciously - thought she could rule.
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| − | | |
| − | ''But that is a dream. ''
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| − | | |
| − | ''This is reality. ''
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| − | | |
| − | They are tugging at her heart, and she thinks it is about to tear in two.
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| − | | |
| − | ''And reality is imperfect. It has flaws and impurities. Missing details and little conflicts that make it for what it is. ''
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| − | She calls upon her oldest line of defense. She summons the winter to strike the forest of her mind. She allows the chill to wash over her red-hot emotions, to force her brain to think reasonably. It is like fighting to stop a tidal wave, but she tries hard.
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| − | | |
| − | Her mouth works silently for a moment. She attempts to find the words and the voice to speak them with, but it seems at first that she has lost them both. Finally, however, she manages to force what she wants to say past her lips: "I... think it's time to end the dream, Alex. This is reality. We have to start building on reality, or it will just tumble down again."
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| − | | |
| − | How filthy she feels! She is pretending to be a pure white goddess, but in the inside she is nothing but a selfish whore. She no longer can even meet his gaze. Her straying eyes drift quietly to the side, to stare aimlessly at distance.
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| − | | |
| − | "Can I..." she begins, tentatively, "Can I think on it for a while?"
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| − | '''Alexander: ''' "'''No'''."
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| − | | |
| − | It is powerful. Commanding.
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| − | ''I am not letting your heart sink. ''
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| − | | |
| − | He had his doubts. He drowned in his doubts. He feared... but...
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| − | ''I am not letting you be hurt. ''
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| − | ''I am not letting you go cold. ''
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| − | | |
| − | ''This is a dream. My dream. Our dream. ''
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| − | His lips touch hers'. He kisses her, as commanding as he had ever been. He holds her body, so tightly that all her strength could not pry her loose. And his wings beat, pushing them up, flying them on Spire amidst the kiss... and when he breaks it, he is breathy, he is smiling...
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| − | | |
| − | ... despite himself.
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| − | | |
| − | Inside, he was breaking. But on the outside, he smiled, a smile that begun to brighten his insides...
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| − | | |
| − | From his love, from their love, drawing a power that could only make him smile.
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| − | | |
| − | And the more he did... the more he knew just what to do.
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| − | "''This'' is a dream." He says, breaking their kiss.<br>
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| − | "''This'' is our dream." He says, holding her in the air, in heaven.<br>
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| − | "''This'' is my dream." He says. his eyes hard on hers'.
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| − | | |
| − | "And when I am with you, I cannot wake up. Reality is outside, the cold dead world without you."
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| − | | |
| − | They fell on a balcony, then. And he led her by hand, opening its doors, the doors to his room... a room filled with roses. White and Red. White and Red, everywhere she looked... her colors. Her purity. Her crimson. Everywhere. Everywhere they looked. Everywhere... "''This'' is my dream. The dream that I will lie with you here. That we will talk. That I will hold you, my lady and my ladies, with me. Happy. With love."
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| − | | |
| − | He lets go of her, then, walking to the bed... and retrieving something, amidst the flowers.
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| − | He held it in front of him. ''Season’s Sonata'' the cover said, in golden. ''The of the Knight of Spring. ''
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| − | | |
| − | "There is no reality between us. There will never be."
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| − | "If you want to think... come here, then. Lie on the bed with me. I want to read it to you. Think all you want, while you hear the story. All you want." He says. "It is the story of the Knight of Spring and the Lady of Winter. I... thought you would like it..." The face of Sweet Raiton appeared on his mind for a moment. The one that had unearthed the Pale Angel's romance novel... "I love you. And there is no cold, harsh reality here. None."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' The Pale Angel stands wordless at the sight. Red and white, crimson blood on white snow, once the tracks of death and destruction, now a symbol of love. What a feat of naiivety it has been to change the meaning so! How is she... how is she supposed to answer to that? How can she say what she wants to say, how can she even mention the word such as ''reality'' in face of such an overwhelming demand for dreams?
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| − | Her voice lost to the shock, her red eyes flick over to the book in Alex's hands, but do not seem to register the words written there.
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| − | ''Seasons' Sonata. ''
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| − | ''The Knight of Spring''
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| − | ''The Lady of Winter. ''
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| − | ''Him. Me. ''
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| − | ''A story. ''
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| − | | |
| − | In the end, Vorpal does say something. Oh, by the Heaven in the sky and the Oblivion below, she definitely says something.
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| − | | |
| − | In fact, she shrieks.
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| − | "'''''No fair! '''''"
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| − | Her voice reverbrates across the room, sharp and saw-toothed. She presses her hands onto her temples and shakes her head, her white mane tousling violently left and right.
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| − | The stress accumulated over the weeks rips free then and there. The roiling waters tear the dam apart until the trickle becomes a torrent.
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| − | "''Who told you about those books? ''" she demands and marches across the chamber, her feet kicking the flowers left and right, her cloak sweeping red and white puds in its wake. "''Gyaah'', if I will ever get my hands onto whoever taught you to use such underhanded tactics, I will squeeze him dead!" She clenches her gloved hands before his face as a demonstration, her arms trembling with the effort.
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| − | | |
| − | "''How could you! ''" She bashes her both hands into Alex's chest, pushing the Prince and the book backwards towards the bad. Bright tears begin to trickle down her cheeks and her voice breaks. "''How could you! ''" Another shriek. Another bash. This time, Alex finds himself pushed all the way to teeter on the bed's edge. "''How could you be so damn '''cute! ''' ''"
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| − | Her hair in wild tufts around her face, her eyes bright, she pushes Alex for the third time, sending him tumbling onto the bed. "How am I supposed to be angry with you when you bring me something like this? It would just make me look bad!" Vorpal paces back and forth before the bed, her hands whisking the air. "I have a reputation to keep, you know, but you just keep on tearing apart my armor! Just how am I going to keep on being the Pale Angel when you melt the ice queen in every turn! Huh? ''Huh? '' Answer me that if you can!" She whirls around, abruptly, and jabs an accusing finger on Alex. "And now this! Who told you I'm a sucker for romantic books?! Next you're saying you know I like to collect lace underwear, too!"
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| − | She raises her arms towards the heaven, her cloak spreading into a striking background behind her. She draws breath to utter something more, but her fury seems to drain from her just as suddenly as it had come. Whatever she is in her mind goes unsaid. She just stands there, panting, her face towards the ceiling. She sways a bit.
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| − | And then, she tips forward, her back perfectly straight, and lands onto the bed.
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| − | "It's better be a really ''good'' story", Vorpal pouts. A heap of white hair and white fur, she wiggles into a more comfortable position next to Alex and gives him a dangerous look from under her cloak.
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| − | '''Alexander: ''' When she shrieks, the prince freezes. It goes through him like a torrent, and as if he was made of glass, he simply... breaks. His eyes are wide, his body tenses up and the only reason the book does not fall is that his body is so stiff, that nothing moves.
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| − | | |
| − | And then she is on him, pushing him, cold sweat running down his face and into his wide eyes...
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| − | By the time he falls on the bed, the sweat is enough to soak his shirt.
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| − | And as she asks, he looks up, the words coming from his terrified lips... "S... she... she was... small... pale... I... she just appeared on your room... out of the blue... she was so strange... sorry, she... she said she was... Sweet... Rai..." But he is unable to even finish, as she continues to speak, silencing him... and more and more, her words, despite the tone, seem more endearing...
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| − | | |
| − | ... taking her shining knight to such a strange state of calm and yet shock....
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| − | She snuggles up to him, and he stands there, paralysed, for a long time...
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| − | Until he realises that she is still giving him that look not because he has to be still, but because he has to ''read! '' And so, he begins to open it, clumsily, opening it, trying to find the voice to start...
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| − | | |
| − | ... and yet, there is only one thing that comes to his shell-shocked lips.
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| − | | |
| − | ".... lace underwear?"
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal's dark mien does not change, but her face blushes into a hot and fierce shade of red. In response, she burrows even deeper under her cloak. Her voice is muffled by the heavy layer of fur as she says a single word:
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| − | "''....read. ''"
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| − | '''Alexander: ''' ''Yes yes yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes, Mistress! '' the thoughts come, but sun willing, he does not put them into words. Instead, he breathes... and smiles, finding a white spot in his mind to focus. Finding his love for her... and suddenly, she seemed so... ''warm'', there. She could feel him, warming the bed, opening wings of light beneath them...
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| − | | |
| − | And then, he opened the pages, and a little golden light appeared in his forehead. It shone in the words on the book... and it was there in his voice.
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| − | Shouting with stones in his mouth besides the bridal veil, raising his voice higher than the powerful crash of the water's fall. The training he subjected himself to, for confidence, for power, honing his skills as an orator, channeling generations of divine priests that had been his former incarnations... to read the love in those pages as the holytest of texts.
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| − | And then he begun to narrate, his voice sweet, speaking of the sweet lands of the Northeast, the childhood of a boy with spring in his heart, his first meeting with the lady whose tears formed ice. His first winter, her first spring. When he took the blade, when she chilled an army... when love blossomed between both of them in their incognito chance encounters, unknowing that they were each other's nemesis in that unpersonal war...
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| − | He read into the night, closer and closer...
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| − | Closer to the Pale Angel than he had ever been before.
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| − | Just by reading... until his light went out.
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| − | And all that was, was the light of Moon and Stars shining upon the flowers...
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| − | ... and on their smiling faces, leaning against each other in their sleep...
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| − | | |
| − | === Morning in Spire... ===
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| − | A morning so beautiful, the sun shines down the Palace of Timeless Winters. Warming it... bringing its light over the Prince's room, filled with roses as it is. Making the crimson roses shine like blood, the white ones like purity. And Prince Alexander Holysword smiles, in his suntous room, looking at his lover...
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| − | The Pale Angel. The Powerful, mighty Pale Angel... she who frightens even the Chosen of this Circle.
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| − | ''She looks so cute when she sleeps. ''
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| − | He wanted to caress her, but would not break her sleep. To the side of the bed, a plate full of cut fruits, and a pot of chocolate enchanted with the essence of fire... to turn the chocolate liquid as soon as he wishes, a morning fondue for his love.
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| − | When she wakes...
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| − | But until then, he watches. And smiles.
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| − | Everything is right in the world...
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "''Buh... ''"
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| − | Vorpal had never removed her clothing. She had sulked for hours while listening to the Prince reading aloud a story so sweet that it could rot off the teeth of an Exalt. She had never moved an inch, nor had she said a word. Only after noticing that her breathing had long been deep and even had Alex realized that the Pale Angel had, at some point, drifted slowly and soundlessly into sleep.
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| − | There she lies now even in the morning, curled up in the bed, wrapped thoroughly in her white fur cloak. Occasionally, little bubbling sounds emerge from her lips.
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| − | Her white face is peaceful, relaxed, untroubled. Sometimes, even the most terrible general in the North seems as defenseless as a baby.
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| − | | |
| − | In that instant, her red eyes flick open. The stern mien instantly locks back in place, hiding the vulnerable core behind the barrier only two persons in all Creation have so far managed to brach. She turns her gaze, looking up at the watching face of one of those people.
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| − | Noticeably, she does not say good morning.
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| − | '''Alexander: ''' "''Good Morning! ''" He says happilly, even as he is taken slightly aback.
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| − | He touches the pot, and it glows with warmth from within, as the fire essence within it is activated. He picks a long fork, then, a miniature bident, picking a piece of apple, dripping it on the chocolate, and presenting it to her, a little plate under his hand for the falling droplets of chocolate.
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| − | | |
| − | "Want some? I thought you would like chocolate for breakfast..."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal pouts like a little girl who had been denied a ride with her favorite pony, but who was now being consoled with a lollipop instead. She frowns and puckers her lips and would no doubt sway her shoulders back and forth if it was possible in her position, but she obviously cannot resist the lure of the offered sweet.
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| − | | |
| − | At last she opens her mouth wide, "''Aaaaaaah''."
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| − | '''Alexander: ''' "''Bon Apetit''" He said, the chocolate touching her tongue...
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| − | | |
| − | ... tasty, so tasty. Not like the heavenly chocolates, but still... and the apples, such fruit of live...
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| − | | |
| − | ...and withdrawing the bident from her closed lips, every bit of chocolate left within them.
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| − | | |
| − | "We got strawberries, and peaches too. All cut... what do you drink on your breakfast, my lady?"
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| − | | |
| − | He touched her hair, caressing it... he liked the bed.<br>
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| − | He looked almost level to her, then.<Br>
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| − | He could pretend she did not dwarf him by so much.
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| − | | |
| − | "''I love you''."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' ''Mm.. MMM... m. ''
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| − | | |
| − | It might not be a product of Heaven, but it certainly gets close. His words he says are the perfect spice to complete the taste. Vorpal savors both, her jawbone moving back and forth as she carefully gathers every single drop of chocolate in her mouth onto her tongue.
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| − | | |
| − | ''Damn you, Alex'', she thinks, half-pouting, half-giddy. ''Now you don't even allow me to be angry with you. ''
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| − | | |
| − | The Ghost-Blooded opens her mouth wide. "More. Moooorrrrre!"
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| − | | |
| − | '''Alexander: ''' He smiles.
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| − | | |
| − | All the guilty is gone, now. All the crushing guilt he felt the last day...
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| − | | |
| − | That he had felt since the party. Since before.
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| − | Guilty over being on the Dark Angel's way. On two-timing his love. On crushing her dream...
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| − | | |
| − | For the moment, no guilt touches him, as he turns around, and the bifork touches a strawberry.... and then a peach... one after another, they touch the chocolate, and are brought back to the Pale Angel's lips... and then, after a few, she has a cup of honeyed milk on her hands. "You ''do'' like it! I hope you slept well, my lady... I had such dreams. I dreamt I was with you... I dreamt we were the characters on the book. You looked so well dressed in the ice cloak of Winter..."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' While Alex is collecting the next mouthful, Vorpal gathers her legs under her and pushes herself into a sitting position, propping her back against the pillows and the wall. The fragnance of the red and white flowers fills the air. There is no hurry. No pain.
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| − | | |
| − | ''A little bubble of peace. ''
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| − | | |
| − | Her pout softens and she accepts each treat gratefully. The honeyned milk she cradles between her hands for a while, watching the ripples on the surface of the white fluid before lifting the cup to take a sip.
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| − | | |
| − | "Tell me", she says, softly, lowering the cup into her lap, "What was that cloak like again? I'm not sure I ever got to hear that part."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Alexander: ''' "You have a milk moustache." He says with a giggle, leaning closer, and kissing her. Kissing her lips so warmly, but so fast. Between a peck and a true kiss, his face moves away from hers', and he picks another chocolate-covered apples with the bifork, bringing it to her lips... "''aaaaahhh''"
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| − | | |
| − | "You slept before the description? Aws, so sad..." He looked up, then, remembering... and then, coughing, before saying with the clearest voice, evoking beauty and legend... "'''It was a beautiful cloak, woven from Winterlight and trimmed with pure snowflakes. Each one unique, forming a tapestry of wonders, waves of icy-blue over the cloak, forming the shape of wings...'''" He said, then added "On you, they were not icy-blue, but crimson like your eyes."
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| − | | |
| − | "'''The ends were filled with the fur of the first frost wolf, and as she walked, the snowflakes changed, and the waves moved with ice... and even though it reflected her cold, distant soul, it also expressed the virginal, pure beauty of her own soul...'''"
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal listens silently, not looking at Alex as he intones his story right from his memory alone. She sloshes the milk back and forth in her cup, her mien thoughtful, her eyes distant.
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| − | | |
| − | At last she moves, rising to her feet and turning to face Alex amidst the flowers. "Like this?" she asks, and at those words, her cloak begins to change.
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| − | | |
| − | The white fur begins to bend down towards the cloak, melting so much like snow under the warm sun. Individual hairs meld together to form a glittering fabric, beautiful and strong like the crisp light of winter as it is reflected from fields of ice-crusted snow. As the cloak writhes around her, the fabric moves in the light and waves of crimson begin to wash across the arctic fields. The hems of the cloak begin to gather together, tapering into twin points so long that they drag on the floor far behind her feet. The collar rises and flares out to form the upper part of the wings, a trimming of snowflakes swells into existence along the edges.
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| − | | |
| − | Within moments the transformation is complete - the cloak has ceased to be white fur and has taken on a new existence as a garment worn by the mistress of winter.
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| − | | |
| − | The result is bland and lifeless compared to the real thing, for the Pale Angel's cloak is ultimately an artifact of darkness and as such, it cannot be used to create wonders of the living world. It can, however, do very good imitations.
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| − | | |
| − | Vorpal realizes this as well. She takes a hold of the cloak's hem and rubs it between her fingers, inspecting the play of red on otherwise white cloth. "This... is a copy of a dream."
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| − | | |
| − | She looks back up at Alex, almost apologetically. "I suppose I shouldn't have done that. It's not good enough for this room."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Alexander: ''' Alex looks, bewildered, filled with wonder...
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| − | | |
| − | "Like this. Exactly like this."
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| − | | |
| − | She walks up to her, picking a white rose and placing on her hair. "That is not the copy of a dream."
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| − | | |
| − | "That is like you, my lady, a dream made form, beautiful and wondrous and terrible."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "It is?"
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| − | | |
| − | She stands dumbfounded for a moment. One hand rises to touch the flower placed into her hair. Her fingers only barely brush the white petals, as if she was afraid that even that tiny gesture would be enough to make the flower shatter into a thousand shards and tinkle to the floor.
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| − | | |
| − | ''It is. ''
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| − | | |
| − | Vorpal bares her teeth in a smile. She takes another quick sip of the honeyed milk.
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| − | | |
| − | "Oh my", she remarks after lowering the cup. "I seem to have a moustache again."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Alexander: ''' "It is. My lady, my dream..."
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| − | | |
| − | He touched her hands, then, and his wings fluttered up...
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| − | | |
| − | He was almost like a faerie from legends, small wings flapping to keep his face level with hers', and his lips opening, slowly... he closed up to her face slowly. So slowly. His nose touched hers' first, nuzzling, in no hurry. His lips glazed over hers', just as slowly, nuzzling, communicating with them in the language of love, for them to open, for them to accept him. And then, they opened, and she could feel his warmth, melting over him, his taste...
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| − | | |
| − | His eyes were closed, savoring that moment, no words needed... a silence that spoke volumes.
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| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | ----
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| − | | |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/EighthMovement|Eighth Movement]]
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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