Young and Beautiful

“…But Asleon; even if it were to be, even if father would grace you his blessing… You shan’t grow old as I. Long dead will I be while you still wander this earth, if you’ve not abandoned me to my age.” The Quel’dorei shook his head. “Will you still love me when I’m no longer young and beautiful?” Maria asked, tears just barely held in check, threatening to overtake her eyes. “My peach…” He began, discarding the holy text in his hand along the bedside that it would fall with the cover face down, moving atop her. He whispered as if the very voice of the Gods; Quiet. Gentle. Sincere. “You’ll always be young and beautiful to me… “

“I will always love you, Maria Florence.”

Tonight t’was a dream amidst dreams, or so I fear. I linger between worlds caught in the inevitable flashbacks of failures and ill-gotten conquests. I am revisted by memories of the one I loved but a lifetime ago. My darling Maria Augustine Florence. I was a man of the clergy then. Chaste and pure until I’d met her. A part of me believes that had I not discarded my vows to her heart and soul I’d yet be that young man. Devout. Kind. Pristine. That Anetho Dawnpride never would have been concieved as so much more than passing thought for a novelized character in some fictitious work of tragedy.

“Will you?” She asked coyly, pressing her lips to his own. “…Always and forever…” Asleon replied, easing himself between her legs, her hands and his own pulling away the clergy robes, as white and pure as the driven snow. He couldn’t control his raging heart, his passions long ignored. Every stolen glance, every subtle smile, every meeting in secret finally culminating in this moment of broken chastity. “Never have I seen anything so eternally wonderous..” He whispered, his bare chest now exposed. Slim frame not much larger than her own. “…Marry me. Marry me when we’re of age.” She demanded passionately, draping her arms around his neck.

“As m’lady wishes.”

Beyond the musings of courtroom drama, staged perfectly as to be a parody of what true law and justice was. Beyond the mockery of Orcish demands that we extradite one of our own, beyond even the vice I’d sustained myself upon to the darkening hours of my mentality that I’d yet lost the capacity to discern reality from fantasy. I recall pardoning Westlynn Quan’tico and sparing her the ‘legal’ channels of Orgrimmar’s twisted perceptions. I recall Astoreth and Westel there, standing around me. I recall his reproach as I reach for something to keep my failing eyes open and alert. The empty vials taunt me by falling to the floor and shattering to peices, denying me the comfort of the finely ground mana powder to which I’d given myself. I feel his beration beyond words, striking chords of emotion like a pianist.

They were both naked now, wholely engrossed in each other. The mind drowned out by the sounds of their passionate reprieve of duty and tutoring sessions. Two hearts meeting as if one. His hands found hers, fingers intertwined. Her breath warmed his skin, further enthralling him. She bit at his ears, even drawing blood, and it still would not dissuade him. Her nails buried themselves into his back and ripped at his flesh as he gave her everything. She writhed and quivered beneath his every thrust, his every touch, his every attention.

“…Oh my Gods… Gods… Asleon…”

My hands begin to shake, and the room fades in and out momentarily. I am enraged. We engage in a battle of verbatum and he takes me by the crown and casts me to shame. This simpleton has bested me in a moment of blindness. I compose my temper, I riposte, and I claim clarity but a moment long enough to rebuke him. He takes his leave, and I attempt to find myself. My mind has left me and now I ramble incoherently, trying to find something to steady myself. I reach within the depths of my robes, looking for some source of comfort. My fingers tangle upon a coin purse I’d filled with rings exotic and ostentatious. I use the sound to root myself as Westel departs entirely. The bottom of the worn bag gives way beneath the weight of my devotions. They cascade to the floor, scattering about. I sink to my knees and attempt to collect them. Astoreth endeavors to assist me. My mind goes dark but a moment.

When they’d finished in their labors and their bodies lay exhausted and empty, still their raging passions would not abandon them. Their lips demanded each other, drawn by a sort of primal instinct to be near to the other. As closely pressed as they could. They could not steady their hands, still shaking with euphoria as they wandered the lenth of each other, top to bottom. Hours passed, long after the wonderous climax of having taken each other to rapture, still trapped firmly in the jaws of love.

“…Maria…”

 I imagine I will wake to the empty court-room having fallen to the floor, such was the impossibility of what transpired as color returned to my eyes. She was there, Kuvasei was there, lingering just out of sight to the naked eye. But I could see her. I could -feel- her. I call out for her, and there is no answer. We’ve collected the rings, Astoreth and I, very nearly finished in our efforts, my ears percieve footsteps and I suspect Westel has returned again to further humiliate me. Then I hear her voice, my hands fail me and the rings fall once again upon the floor. A hand reaches out to draw me to my feet. My arm falls along her shoulders. I can scarcely form proper sentences, as I ramble about the rings. I beg and plead with myself, as I find that one band hidden within the third pocket of the first fold. The wedding ring I’d purchased years ago, but never employed. The Gods hear my silent prayers and guide it along her finger without fail. I am not truly sure if the sentiment reached her alongside it, or if she even noticed.

That very night, the one preceding the Scourge invasion of the Capital City; Lordaeron they were carefree and liberated from the trials of the world around them. They were the only two things in the world. Not one star in the sky burned as brightly as the intense glow of love shared amongst themselves this night. They were the only real things in the late hours. Nothing else seemed quite as corporeal. “Will you still love me?” She asked again.

Even when all I’ve left is my aching soul.”

She did, it seemed to me, receive it relatively openly after a moment as she dragged me off. As we breached the threshold to the offices, there was Westel leaned up along the wall, out of sight and mind. “You have my blessings.” The words came to my ears. Surely this was a dream, something meant to break me apart further along upon a nightmare, I thought to myself. Kuvasei was nearly as dumbstruck as I in that moment. Though I could scarcely be said to hold my thoughts in good order as it was. They rambled about as I stammered and struggled to find my words. In the aftermath, Kuvasei continued to usher me along as Astoreth returned my ostentatiously adorned bands within a new satchel. I clutched it tightly to myself as she left with her husband.

As we departed, I spoke to myself. “This a dream.” I said. “It has to be a dream… I must be insane…Surely.” She reassured me. “No. This is no dream.” Her voice was even and disclosed nothing to my mind. I saw Stavier in the streets as we passed and I waved to him in enthusiasm, a warmth and happiness blossoming as never have I felt in recent years. “Stavier! I’m getting marrrrriiiiiiieeeed!” I cried out for all to hear. ‘Even if this is a dream..’ I thought to myself. ‘…This is one I’ll declare my defiance to… Be damned what may follow… I’ll have this singular moment to smile.’ Optimism, another foreign sensation swept over me in my debilitated state.

“What about your vows?” She asked at last, clutching him tightly. “Are you going to be denied the Light?” Asleon thought a moment before replying. “The clergy preaches of the Light as an all-encompassing, and loving deity. They say it is a warmth shared in the greater moments of mortal-kind. It touches us in moments of happiness and duress and we know that it is there by the ripple upon our spine, or the intensity of the warmth within our hearts. If this is to be believed, Maria, then the Light is simply love. Your love and my own form the radiance that is the teachings of the Light.” She nuzzled against him. “That would be blasphemous.” She murmured against his chest, drawing the blankets about their figures.

“…that would be beauty I’ve never before beholden.”

She pulled me to a bed and set me upon it. The soft cushions and the silk blankets felt as if Gods had spent their decades upon it. Every fiber of my being now surrendered to the lullaby of sleep. She spoke with me, stroked my hair as if a house pet. I ran my hands along her cheeks. We spared a few words of the demoness, of the secret I’d learned. She wished to have it and I surprised myself in denying her. Even if t’was her mother, t’was not her secret to know. A sense of guilt took hold of me, quickly replaced again by the warmth her touch brought. I told her a story. Our story. One to which the ending had not yet been written.

“And it will.” She replied softly, still tracing her fingers through my hair as if tracing a flowing stream. I love that sensation. Of a reassuring palm against my scalp, running back and forth. To feel wanted, reassured, owned. How I would love to bear a collar with her name upon it. I want one to hold me like that, and shower me in such affections so as to make forever last indefinetly instead of fleeting moments. I asked of her, I asked of her to speak the words I long to hear ring in my ears. She inquired as to what they were, as I imparted them… I fell to the depths of darkness as sleep took me prisoner.

I love you.”

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~ by anethodawnpride on July 9, 2013.

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