Work Text:
I.
Only then she understood, only when she saw her, walking among they who were but well-dressed philistines before she, a sacrosanct, ethereal, at times ephemeral figure; only then she understood, only then she wholly comprehended what it was this beauty that forces you to your knees and brings your heart on the verge of tears everyone ( the people, the noblemen, entire countries ) spoke of. Neither she knelt nor she wept, though: she was neither a delicate spirit, nor was she soft. That was perhaps the first time all those eyes in the room were not drawn to her –– although of course, how very different ‘twas, the way they looked at her. They looked not at a woman descending elegantly a staircase, robbing everyone of words and breath alike ( she chuckled under her breath at the thought someone might have as well died because of her ), they looked at a god. With fervour, with adoration –– from a distance. These good Christians warded off the avarice of the heart quite vehemently.
But she was not a Christian.
And she was greedy.
As if she would wait to be graced with a glance, as if she were so patient to wait for a smile ( she never smiled ) –– ah, wait: fortune must have kissed her on that day, because their eyes met. She had to admit, even her own coarse heart skipped a beat. Never had she seen eyes like those, a gaze of silver and bronze, gleaming with unfathomable melancholy. Nobody had ever mentioned in their rumours the sadness of their idol made flesh and gold; nobody had ever noticed how lonely that woman was. The day they will see it at last, this sacrilegious thing they have done, she was certain they will feed the flames with portraits, with music, and poems; once they will realise their sin, she thought, they will revere her with blood.
Her gaze had already drifted elsewhere; that instant had been enough to tell the name Princess Beauty was too sweet for her.
II.
Laura.
Her name was Laura. The princess told her so when she asked for a dance –– a feat you might describe heroic: she had to deflect the stone-stares of certain Medusa heads, she tricked the Hydrae to stumble on their own knotted heads, and dodged the charge of Boars and took the Bulls by the horns; they all fell, because they were weak, and grotesque. The room fell abnormally silent, her audacity condemned with glares. She could imagine them, all those frowning faces, but she wondered what was the roused their bone-gnawing disdain –– the clothing she wore for this special occasion, which befit a prince and outshone His Majesty the Emperor, the fact she bowed oh so boldly, and just as boldly looked at she, awaiting a word, o nod of consent, or perhaps was it her answer? God forbid, they could never scorn her: she is too compassionate, they whispered. And because she was too compassionate, she did not listen.
Nobody had ever looked at this rumoured woman the way she did.
Nobody had ever looked at that fabled woman the way she did.
Hence why she told her –– please don’t call me with this term of ridicule. And she never did, not once.
Apparently on that day the princess’ gaze had not accidentally fell on her: I saw you, albeit I did not know if I would have ever seen you again. As the room spun around them like a whirlwind, she asked if ‘twas because she thought of her as a bizarre character; she canted her head to the side, as if she could not understand the reason why she was asked. Maybe she is the eccentric one, after all. But, as if struck with a sudden realisation, she smiled –– she smiled for the first time, and she was the only witness of this event, she alone reveled in the sight of those red, red lips that curled, and she shone so bright, like the sun that dawns after the longest of nights: I was impressed by your eyes.
III.
Since then she became a regular guest at the princess’ castle, and she invited her to visit her own country and abode on several occasions, however it seemed she had a quite busy schedule. Aside from the pilgrimages that brought people from all over the continent before her presence, there was a long list of suitors. The princess oft confided her her forlorn dissatisfaction –– and how unsurprising! As if there was a man worthy of her. When she found herself entertaining such thoughts, when she found herself nurturing the stinging feeling that she did not want to see her married off to some person who could only live in her shadow, she had to remind herself of who they were –– and what they were. Besides, who could tell what was this thing raging inside her chest when she held her hand in her own, when she sank her fingers in her hair, when she leant close and her cheeks became red like ripe apples? As far as she was concerned, that could be lustful infatuation.
As far as she was concerned, that was a lie.
“You look deep in thought.”
The princess was personally combing the other’s hair, braiding it in fancy tresses. She liked her however she was dressed, but she thought she was all the more beautiful with that day’s attire: of course she was as ostentatious as ever, and as womanly as ever. However it seemed she did not hear her saying she outdid herself, nor her compliments. When she repeated her words, for a moment she seemed to be taken aback.
“I shouldn’t have heard that, that was dangerous. If you are so blunt, I might fall in love with you.” That was a fairly idiotic thing to say: who didn’t love her, who didn’t adore her, who didn’t worship her? Some people are lovesick, but she must be sick with love.
“I would truly feel flattered. Nobody has ever fallen in love with me.”
What they love is my beauty, she said.
That truly was dangerous. Hadn’t someone knocked at the door, she would have kissed her.
IV.
Perhaps she had already fallen in love, perhaps it happened shortly after that. Perhaps the princess had fallen in love before that happened, too, perhaps she realised it only then. That which happened while close enough to forget about safe distances and danger, spellbound by the soft touch of skin against skin, cheek against hand, neck against fingers. That which happened in secret –– once, twice, thrice.
She didn’t turn mad with longing.
A kiss given furtively. A kiss consumed in secrecy. Her lips were so red and oh soft, she couldn’t resist the urge to bite them, and again kiss them. What she resisted ( although barely, although surprisingly ) was her greed when the princess thawed and yielded: she did not lie when she said nobody had ever fallen in love with her; she must have never loved anyone either. She was insecure, embarrassed; she hesitated, as if she constantly questioned her heart, that unreliable oracle. When she first kissed her, she actually ran away, and she left her wondering, have I been rash, have I been harsh, will she forgive it? Why did she always act without thinking?
But she returned to her: she was the one who needed to be forgiven. She had invited her in the rose garden. Gently embracing her, her own heart close to hers, she whispered under her breath: forgive me. Never she spoke of love, or affection, or whatever feelings dwelled and slowly, slowly swelled inside her chest. What she sought –– the touch of her fingertips, a caress through her hair, a kiss on the hand, the eyelids, the lips –– she sought it without words. In those brief, blissful moments when no one watched –– she allowed herself to be human again.
She yearned for that tangle of fingers and hair.
Yet another secret yearning.
V.
Those moments never tasted of eternity. But at last, after a lifetime that felt like eternity, she found her.
Until then, she didn’t even know it. She did not know she had been waiting; that she had been waiting to be found; that she had been waiting for her.