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The first tremulous rays of morning sun had been completely blocked out.
There was a brief spell of memories that washed over Luigi, playing out in his mind’s eye like an overture to the dazzling current moment.
He recalled sinking into a needlessly ornate lounge in the drawing room of the Mushroom Palace, alone but for the Toad retainer standing aloofly by the doorway. Somewhere, in the Princess’ many chambers, his older brother was partaking in the most exhilirating experience created for man. He watched the afternoon sun crawl across the paneled walls, feeling like a mislaid piece of refuse.
Not only with Peach, but with previous lovers back in Brooklyn, Mario had often waxed lyrical to Luigi about the unmatched joy of loving a woman. Lightning bolts, thunderclaps, the earth moving beneath one’s feet. Floating for miles through the air. It sounded more like the effects of a Koopa invasion, Luigi thought to himself bitterly.
He had never been touched. Not in any real way, at any rate. There had been one or two girls – leftovers from Mario’s bevvy of admirers – who had fooled around with him, but the experience, if anything, had been numb and meaningless. What little interest he had in dating had been directed towards areas that made him inwardly cringe with unease. He still remembered the bright eyes of the Caradini family’s youngest son. He suspected that Mario had known, but had remained mute about the whole ordeal.
It had been no better in the Mushroom Kingdom. Wakeful nights alone, hiding beneath his patched blanket, likening himself to an underground fire. An impassive, self-effacing exterior, his core madly smouldering and crackling. He ached for those thunderclaps and lightning bolts, more than anything.
Now, electricity seared through his body, jolting his nervous system and the deepest vessels of his being.
The beautiful figure easily leapt down from the rockface to join the Mario brothers on the dusty earth. Pleasing arches, curls and curves were illuminated by the last lingering flickers of the broken magical spell – or was this light created entirely by the creature who stood before them?
He approached the two battleworn men with a graceful stride, as if treading only upon the crisp dawn air. His features were now visible through the hazy glow – that face was slightly unreal, like the saturated stroke of Botticelli’s brush upon one of his angels.
Short bursts of memories once again came to Luigi: snippets of Sunday Mass as a child, the misty thread of incense and sections of breathy Latin hymns.
Adoramus te…
Benedictimus te…
“…He is come!”
“Saints be praised!”
“Long Live His Highness!”
The world returned behind Luigi in the exclamations of the townspeople, who had obviously rushed to the summit of the mountain to witness the uproar that had just taken place.
The Prince graced his citizens with a smile. The morning light was blocked out once more.
“Cheers to you, moustaches.”
Luigi started. A voice of the most exquisite, terrifying seraph was mouthing the words of a sassy, spoiled playboy.
“What happened to you, my Lord?”
“I suppose you could call it a bit of an accident.” His tinkling laugh was drenched in silky conceit. “As I was investigating events throughout the country, I encountered Cackletta and that vile underling of hers. They were the fiends who transformed me into… that.” His perfect nose crinkled at the memory of the uncouth shape of the lumbering beast he had been twisted into.
Mario, his tounge unbound and his mind steady, urgently and curtly relayed the now insignificant events of the past few weeks to the Prince. Luigi continuted to stare.
The Prince brushed off the older plumber’s dogged declarations with another tinkling laugh.
“I wouldn’t worry about Princess Peach, I’m quite sure she’ll be fine.” The ease with which he dismissed the situation was almost frightening.
With a sudden gust of wind that made both the brothers flinch, the streamlined form of a bizarre winged creature surfed down from the sky towards them. The Prince mounted it with a perfectly timed leap. The gaggle of townspeople behind the three men regarded this with as little surprise as the growth of the grass beneath their feet. More words tumbled elegantly out of the Prince’s mouth, retained by Luigi’s mind for all of a moment before their meaning melted away.
There were words that fidgeted about on the tip of Luigi’s own tounge: clumsy, ungainly, common words which fought to be released.
Before he could embarrass himself, the Prince swept a gloved hand out towards his stricken victim, presenting a faultless yellow rose: its delicate petals bright and perfumed, its lush leaves healthy and dark.
“Yes, I think a rose matches your green perfectly…”
No lightning bolt could have reverberated like the current that continued to rush through Luigi, long after the brothers had descended from the summit.