Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jul 23, 2007 8:29:22 GMT -5
My short outing into Mont Nuit two days after the Coronation seemed to have accomplished naught on the outside; I'd left with the foul taste of brandy heavy upon my tongue, my demeanor hadn't changed, but the memories... The memories that had stirred had left me aching in my heart, more than what I had before. The following day I'd gone back, and though I'd shied away from the Generous Patron I had scoured the shoppes, searching for one able to take on my commission. It'd taken most of the day, and twilight was fast approaching as I finally found it, my stomach growling from not having eaten since I'd left my home earlier.
It'd taken but a few minutes before I was out again, my face unchanged, still holding the mask of serenity that I'd come to adopt since that fateful evening at the Generous Patron less than a week ago.
I knew. I waited for my carriage, memories swirling now that the path was set in motion, relief swarming me like a powerful rush that I failed to completely understand.
I could barely wait until I was in my carriage before the tears fell, trickling down my face in paths that should have been well worn from the past few days. It's all it had taken, just standing in the same room where we had met; I swear I could feel his arms around me in there, guiding me through a series of dance moves to music only we could hear. The crowd around us, murmuring softly, stealing appreciative glances or outright watching, the feel of the glowing floor beneath our feet, the soft swirl of air that stirred both our locks... And it all blurred around his face, looking at me kindly, tenderly, patience unbound, adoringly obvious. Oh, it all hadn't been there at that moment, but in the time since, at the fete and after, in a misty morning at a city park - it was all there.
My shoes were left on the floor as I drew my knees up to my chest, heedless of the dirt that might stain my lightly colored dress as I buried my head into my knees. His arms, strong and caring, holding me even when he was terrified of himself, his self loathing obvious and pushed aside. Gods, he was everything I knew I wanted, everything I knew I needed, but the swiftness of it, the sudden bloom of a flower I'd only begun to realize grew had driven me to hurt him out of my own shortcomings.
And still he waited, patient and caring.
My knees were soaked with the salt of my own tears as the carriage pulled up to my townhome, and without waiting for it to roll to a complete stop I flung the door open and exited, my gait giving a half-graceful hop to make up for balance lost. The stones crunched under my feet in quiet protest as I gathered my skirts and rushed into the house, moving up the stairs and leaving a pair of maids staring at me in complete shock. It was no secret that I was withdrawn, though I'd not allowed them to see me cry, holding my tears til the small hours of the night before shedding them out to the dismay of my lined pillows. His scent was still in my bed; whether it were remembered or real I wasn't sure, but I barely waited til the door to my room was closed before I stripped out of my gown and shoes, stealing away to curl under the covers of the one place where I still had something of him. The solid, soft press of the coverlet and the surrounding sheets held me as I drew them up, my breath growing deep as I tried to pull the scent of him into me. It was fading now, with so many days gone since he'd last been there, but still I clung to whatever was left, wishing... hoping...
I fretted; I couldn't help it. It ebbed at me like the tides of an overfed river, eating away at me from deep inside and parting me like small threads of silk, tattered and shivering in the slightest of breezes. I knew how he felt, I knew how I felt, but what if he had rethought the wisdom of attaching himself to a woman who put him through such merely because she was scared, unable to live by the precept of her ancestors until she could have space, sort herself out? My face fell as I curled more into the blankets, struggling madly to bring more of him into me, not daring to even let myself wish that it were he holding me rather than the cursed blankets. It would be too much.
Blame would not be on Gillermo Stregazza if it turned out that he had rethought the intelligence of it, not in whole. Worry continued to gnaw at me, fretting along my seams and I forced my thoughts elsewhere, remembering the warm hold of his tender embrace, the gentleness in his eye and his expression, the handsome ruggedness that I found so endearing. It would take but a few days for my commission to be completed; doubling payment ensured that, and until then all I could do was wait, throwing myself into the affairs of my far-off estate, hiding from the questioning, considerate looks of the staff here, holding onto the pillow he'd slept upon at night. My body ached for his caress, my lips for his, but more than that... My heart for his love.
My Fox.
It'd taken but a few minutes before I was out again, my face unchanged, still holding the mask of serenity that I'd come to adopt since that fateful evening at the Generous Patron less than a week ago.
I knew. I waited for my carriage, memories swirling now that the path was set in motion, relief swarming me like a powerful rush that I failed to completely understand.
I could barely wait until I was in my carriage before the tears fell, trickling down my face in paths that should have been well worn from the past few days. It's all it had taken, just standing in the same room where we had met; I swear I could feel his arms around me in there, guiding me through a series of dance moves to music only we could hear. The crowd around us, murmuring softly, stealing appreciative glances or outright watching, the feel of the glowing floor beneath our feet, the soft swirl of air that stirred both our locks... And it all blurred around his face, looking at me kindly, tenderly, patience unbound, adoringly obvious. Oh, it all hadn't been there at that moment, but in the time since, at the fete and after, in a misty morning at a city park - it was all there.
My shoes were left on the floor as I drew my knees up to my chest, heedless of the dirt that might stain my lightly colored dress as I buried my head into my knees. His arms, strong and caring, holding me even when he was terrified of himself, his self loathing obvious and pushed aside. Gods, he was everything I knew I wanted, everything I knew I needed, but the swiftness of it, the sudden bloom of a flower I'd only begun to realize grew had driven me to hurt him out of my own shortcomings.
And still he waited, patient and caring.
My knees were soaked with the salt of my own tears as the carriage pulled up to my townhome, and without waiting for it to roll to a complete stop I flung the door open and exited, my gait giving a half-graceful hop to make up for balance lost. The stones crunched under my feet in quiet protest as I gathered my skirts and rushed into the house, moving up the stairs and leaving a pair of maids staring at me in complete shock. It was no secret that I was withdrawn, though I'd not allowed them to see me cry, holding my tears til the small hours of the night before shedding them out to the dismay of my lined pillows. His scent was still in my bed; whether it were remembered or real I wasn't sure, but I barely waited til the door to my room was closed before I stripped out of my gown and shoes, stealing away to curl under the covers of the one place where I still had something of him. The solid, soft press of the coverlet and the surrounding sheets held me as I drew them up, my breath growing deep as I tried to pull the scent of him into me. It was fading now, with so many days gone since he'd last been there, but still I clung to whatever was left, wishing... hoping...
I fretted; I couldn't help it. It ebbed at me like the tides of an overfed river, eating away at me from deep inside and parting me like small threads of silk, tattered and shivering in the slightest of breezes. I knew how he felt, I knew how I felt, but what if he had rethought the wisdom of attaching himself to a woman who put him through such merely because she was scared, unable to live by the precept of her ancestors until she could have space, sort herself out? My face fell as I curled more into the blankets, struggling madly to bring more of him into me, not daring to even let myself wish that it were he holding me rather than the cursed blankets. It would be too much.
Blame would not be on Gillermo Stregazza if it turned out that he had rethought the intelligence of it, not in whole. Worry continued to gnaw at me, fretting along my seams and I forced my thoughts elsewhere, remembering the warm hold of his tender embrace, the gentleness in his eye and his expression, the handsome ruggedness that I found so endearing. It would take but a few days for my commission to be completed; doubling payment ensured that, and until then all I could do was wait, throwing myself into the affairs of my far-off estate, hiding from the questioning, considerate looks of the staff here, holding onto the pillow he'd slept upon at night. My body ached for his caress, my lips for his, but more than that... My heart for his love.
My Fox.