A path that began at the forearm, she traced the subtle ripples of musculature through the silken veneers towards the rigid curve, however gracious, bringing her to the stalk of white. A sheer, wiry fulcrum from which his head blossomed. From the lidded hoods which curtained all but what was before her, she caught enough to see his lips twist into a smile. She returned one, folding her hands upon themselves as she lowered her eyes once more to the creamy decadence below.
She could hear their voices. Their insults, resentment. Their envy. At last she lifted her gaze, seeing distorted faces through the fine latticework which separated them by decree. They could not hold a candle to her. Russet villages and duller greys had conceived them, inherent in the slashes of ebony that cut through their visages. Born to the simplicity of the modern world, they could never bear her ilk, nor ever truly understand what it was to be implicit within the winding wooden halls, decorum somewhat like the paulownia leaves which ornamented the intricate trellises.
Turning her back to them, it was a flaunting act. One done with delicacy, to brandish the untarnished fabric she lay swaddled within, a veritable doll which would have flattered any lesser dress. Her skin, lacquered in the marbled polish of an unparalleled craftsman. By touch, he swivelled her chin to meet his gaze. It was gentle, yet imperfect. The lines drawn with a certain prideful flourish. His eyes were soft in their shrouds, the bones situated right, lips pursed and full. Yet it was not enough. It was still flowering, an inchoate form of a greater shape yet unseen. She would draw it out from him. She had worn on his patience enough, she could see. The desire was palpable, intoxicated by her, in the temptation of what he thought was to come.
“Touch me,”
With a faint smile, she stood and moved towards the corner of the room. From within a wooden chest, inlaid with golden vines, came another much alike. With a delicate hand it too opened and from within she laid her hands upon black leather gloves. A perfect fit as she returned to his side, placing a palm on his cheek. In spite of the distance, it had a pronounced effect. Slowly dragging her across his cheek, her cold touch lit a fire across his skin, dyeing the white a momentary red with her touch which disappeared as did her fingers.
He wanted for more. Slowly, his fingers began to slide from hard wood to the delicate folds of her white gown until he reached the enamel which lay within the folds of her bodice. Holding impossibly still, she continued to touch until he undid the first button. As it came undone, her hand retreated softly, not so much a reaction but rather discipline. It was she who reigned. Without another word, she rose once more and began to depart, ignoring the faint whimpers of apology he left in her wake.
As she returned to her chambers her retinue went to work, unravelling her body from its silken cocoon. Their hands worked with skill, but a cool form of distance as if they were made of the same porcelain that made up her kitchens. Looking to their faces, she could see naught but their headdresses, the girls bent over in work as if proselytising before her.
Once her body was bare she felt a shiver travel up her spine. She remained motionless, however, absorbing the feeling as they began to unravel the knots in her hair. Not raising her voice, she wanted to ask for robes while they continued their work unheeding of the wintry breeze which flowed through the wide breathy halls of her estate. But for whatever reason, the voice died on her tongue. She had grown accustomed to bearing discomfort in silence, so she simply waited whilst her body was worked upon by the hands of so many courtiers. Their cold fingers traced across her skin, as if attempting to coax something out of her. The pain felt somewhat perverse, as if its acknowledgement of it would be a cause for shame. Through the shutters in her grand chambers she could see abundances of snow lazily floating onto the expansive yard amidst the umbral dark of night; the pond, covered in a thin sheet of ice, was likewise blanketed by white drifts that would give way so easily to touch. At last it became too much to bear and her body gave way to a shiver as the maids at once halted their efforts.
“My lady!”
Looking down, blood had begun to trickle down her leg. It was dark, almost the colour of midnight. As if from the deepest depths of within.
As the sun rose in the darkened sky, a golden eye which wept light onto the pure, unadulterated powder that she gazed onto as she dressed for the morning. By contrast, she seemed dirty. The blood had been wiped from her skin but its traces remained, their immaculate work undone by soft droplets near the lip which blotted her inner thigh subtly. Draped in the trappings of her rank, she made for him once more. He occupied a room in the estate opposite to her own, causing it to be somewhat of a trek to meet with him. While they would tend to meet by happenstance, brushing together in the library or by chance seeing each other across the yard, today was different. It was as if she was being pulled towards him, at least today. She exhaled into puffs of smoke, caught in the chill that remained with the sun. Her ears had begun to freeze but she had instructed that nothing should cover her today. She had to display herself as she was, the blood red tips of her extremities perhaps even providing more blush to liven her face.
Lightly, she knocked upon his door. Dominated by a feeling of impatience, she took her time to adjust the fineries of the filigree embellishments that lined her neck and down her body towards her hips.
No one came. She opened the door to find an empty room, wispy with the hush of death that consumes any place so accustomed to being lived in, then stripped of it. She felt as if it had been hollowed out, his clothing shed about like viscera as he had come out, evolved. Still, it was not right to have her wait for him. Arriving in the great hall, she called an attending maid and asked her.
“My cousin. What of him?”
“My lady…”
“Find him,”
She would not have it slip away, not have him slip away from her grasp. She was his sun, light and divine, nourishing the chrysalis which was now on the verge of shedding its skin and becoming worthy of her. All that was left for him now was to break down, to reach out and take her wrist — to wrap her in his fiery embrace, leaving her powerless to resist. He had not the courage before, but now that he had come out on his own behalf, it was necessary that they must meet.
As she fixed her gaze on the downfall which had become even worse than it had been yesterday, she saw in the midst of the storm a sole figure, solemn and almost fragile in the forecourt in a slow procession towards the front gate. She wanted to scream out, to call him back before he left into the untamed wilds of the dark city which the estate sat solemnly above, free from. Instead, she simply watched him go, speaking to a servant who drew open the large, ornate gates and disappearing into the city.
Strangely, she found herself worrying for him as the day progressed. She spent the day with her eyes fixed on the gates, even as the snow faded into a storm of rain which seemed to cut away and into the white, turning it quickly into greyish mounds as the loud droplets struck at the wood above her head. Without heeding it, she tapped her wooden sandal to the floor, as if worried.
In truth, he had come to her as barely anything more than a boy. He was timid by nature and prone to flights of concern whenever not swaddled in the reassurance of her word. It was another rainy day, visitors had been filling from her property as the day wound to a close. She had been taken that day by a suitor who had come to claim her with the hushed assurance of a large fortune and anything that she had or will ever want for. What the lowly beings never truly understood is that she had never wanted in the first place — but intending to string him along, she had brushed up close, pressing her bosom against his arm as they strolled the expansive gardens together. When he offered his hand in marriage she had simply smiled, admiring the gloves he had given her as a sign of his deliberateness. The hundreds of letters from him in the months afterwards that she discarded into the flames of her hearth was worth the sight of him, hunched over in worry as she found him alone in their private little sanctuary, separated from the dining hall by latticework that cut them apart from the rest of the mansion.
As she sat in the very same place, she felt disgusted at herself. It was as if she could feel the ghosts on the opposite side of that screen leering at her, a chorus of hatred which wanted naught but to ravage her, to unleash their resentment all at once and to see her sink beneath it.
Through the black frame she could see the figure of a man. He was dripping with rain, but she could not see his face with the leaves which blocked the sightline. Taking a seat among the rows of the great hall, he was brought tea by a maid, to whom he whispered something soft, inaudible. The girl giggled in response, a grating noise. Slowly rising from her spot, she looked towards the chest in the corner of the room and decided to do without it for today. Opening the door, he did not turn back until she was above him. Rain fell heavy from above, drowning out the noise of her lips pressing into his. It was a deep embrace, tight. Her nails dug deep into the white of his flesh, clinging to the ivory as if winter would never come again. Where her fingers pressed the red remained, permanent like a brand. Digging deeper, her tongue bore its way into his mouth as she moved to claim him. As he moved to return the gesture, she could feel his hands. They were cold. Unbuttoning quickly, they met in the passions of lust, her naked body pressed to his.
She thought she could hear the individual droplets coming to the basin of her soul. His skin was no ivory, but rather blood red. She had tainted him with her touch. As he exhaled slowly into her ear, white mixed with red and slowly peeled herself from the supple body and quickly dressed herself, before leaving the room hurriedly. In her half disrobed state, she could hardly hear his entreaties. They were drowned out by the rain that tainted the pure, delicate decor that had once shone with such unalloyed grace, illuminated into a crystalline twinkle by the sheer and singular force of the sun.