Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

She dances.

Cael averts his eyes. He has no interest in watching this. He finds no pleasure in watching this. Not for all the gold in the world would he cast an eye upon the spectacle between these four walls.

The absence of his attention shall not be mourned. A hundred other eyes take his place. Countless eyes, filled with desire and appreciation. Filled with lust and anticipation. They eagerly take his place in viewing the scene before them and in turn, they might be the ones to meet their maker instead of him.

Their gaze is set upon the small courtyard, hidden deep within Castel’Angelo. Their stares transfixed upon a lone figure in the middle. A creature so unlike anything else in this place of excessive grandeur.

the Sky Queen dances. She dances with passion and conviction. She dances a foreign dance that is not known to the civilized corner of that is Earth Kingdom and the limber movements of her swaying body cannot help but catch the attention of all those who risk to watch.

She is a sight to behold. Her barely clad body, adorned with jewelry and wrapped in the thinnest of fabric, gracefully moves under the light of the full moon, its cold light giving her skin an alabaster glow. Her white hair, covering her neck and shoulders like a lush thick mantle, moves behind her on the soft breeze. Her deep crimson eyes, looking up from underneath a thin veil and gilded eyelids haunt her observers and make it difficult, if impossible to turn away.

So Caelum does not bother to look. Why should he, if so many others do it for him? He simply stares at his boots, studies in the swirls he makes in his wine and casually listens to the excited whispers of the crowd that seems unaware of his very existence.

The women sneer at the exotic display. They voice their contempt, denouncing the dance and wardrobe as scandalous and primitive. They boast about their own virtue and civilization, berating the weakness of men to fall for such disgraceful trickery and turn their eyes away from cultured beauties such as themselves. Their own tongues betray their hypocrisy and the sweet, honeyed words of poison they direct towards the men that shun them expose their own failed attempts at manipulation.

The men, on the other hand, are unable to look away. They know all too well the dance is directed at them and it does not fail at entrancing them. They cannot tear their gaze from the lovely creature, so lithe and quick on her feet. Their eyes glide across her curves and subtle flesh and their mouths sing praises of her captivating skills. They call her an enchantress and an angel. A siren and a nymph. They describe her as all that is tempting about womankind; a goddess in a human body.

Graceful and alluring, like Salome dancing before King Herod.

Caelum finds it amusing they use that allegory. That they compare Mika Lulianne of all people to the woman who caused the death of John the Baptist. He too is familiar with her story of seduction, but he tends to view it much differently than most.

Salome, after all, was a victim. A naïve, young pawn under her mother’s thumb, thrown at the mercy of a lecherous stepfather for her murderous designs. A girl with few choices, innocent and helpless, a mere lure for those weak of heart and even weaker of mind.

True enough, Mika is as young as her. He knows now she is much younger than she lets on, her body's age and young spirit not adding up. Even so, she too is excellent at using her youth as bait for those who could not help but fall for her charms. She too is a pawn, bound by many strings, as are all of their kind. Yet, unlike the famed dancer from a past long gone, she is anything but innocent or naïve for that matter.

The man does not know whether to find the words his fellow men speak amusing or alarming. How could one voluntarily choose to be so blind? She is an enchantress, but not an angel. A siren and the kind of forest nymph that will drag you under the water. While she is truly a symbol of all that is tempting about womankind, she also signifies that which makes them dangerous and if Mika is a goddess, she is one of death.

He knows her ways. He knows them very well. After all, it is almost expected of him to get entangled in them. As her guardian in secret ways, he is obliged to follow her wherever she goes and more often than not, it is him who plunges a knife into the men under her spell. It is not her that bloodies her fingers. It is him, as the third wheel in a Biblical act of conspiracy and murder, picking up the pieces of the lives his greed and her beauty unavoidably shatter.

Meanwhile, in the courtyard, the music stills and the soft wind can no longer be heard floating past Mika’s limber body. The cheers and howls around him signify the dance has come to an end. Some shout louder than others and shrill cries indicate there are a few who has the pleasure of the lovely creature batting her eyes at them. They consider themselves the luckiest men in the world in this evening, but he knows it is only a matter of time before this changes.

Mika has danced and she has looked. She has turned her eyes towards some men in the crowd. She has captured with her gaze and conquered with a smile. From the corner of his eye, he can see a filthy smirk creep onto his master’s lips as he and his pawn exchange looks and it tells him all he needs to know.

Tonight, someone is going to die.

He quietly notes this inevitable fact and looks down at his blades, checking the sharpness one last time. He will need it if he is to be thorough and unnoticed in his work. He relaxes the aching muscles in his back, inhaling deeply as he cracks his neck. Yet just as he is about to rise, slender fingers reach under his hood, lifting up his chin to a pale face framed with white hair and penetrating crimson eyes.

Mika is standing in front of him, but she no longer exudes the demeanor that seems to drive the men at ballroom wild. Her look is one of assessment, curiosity, even confusion. She regards him with a sense of tentative worry, hinting at a sliver of vulnerability he does not often see from her. She stares at him as if she tries to see through the shadows that are covering his face, but the frustration in her movements proves to him she is unable.

“Why will you not look at me?”

Her tone is poised, but Caelum easily detects uncertainty. It does not surprise him. The both of them are creatures of subterfuge and manipulation and what deceivers fear most is that which they cannot discern. Mika is used to being shrouded in mystery, but she cannot abide another who shares that position. Here, he is the one in the shadows and it suits him just fine.

And yet…

As he looks upon the woman’s face, even he cannot deny her exquisiteness. Even he sees what draws all others in. He is only a man himself and a lifetime of loneliness takes its toll. He too cannot refute the stirrings of desire as he gazes upon her form nor the temptation to reach out and feel the warmth of her body against his own. She truly is a goddess to behold and there is nothing in this world he would not give to lie in her embrace.

But not tonight. Not ever in the presence of the Earth Kingdom. Not if he knows what is good for him.

Just like that, in that brief moment of clarity, the haze is lifted. The world again seems as ordinary as it was before. Mika’s spell, however short it lasted, is once again broken and the need for self-preservation wins out over the needs of the flesh. He ignores the feeling of her warm fingers against his face and he succeeds in making his lips form a grin as he manages to meet her eyes without averting his own.

“What is there to see?”

His words do not miss their mark. The brief flicker of insult shows on her face, contorting her features, and he feels how she roughly lets go of him. An icy look pierces his own and he calmly takes it, not having expected otherwise. It are especially goddesses who do not well when faced with indifference.

She turns away from him, her voice cold and to the point. All semblance of flattery is gone and he can detect a faint trace of anger. It does not matter to him. He prefers her as the Queen over a woman. It makes her easier to deceive, easier to read and above all, easier to resist.

“The man in the blue doublet has scorned me. His sister, in the yellow dress with the diamond necklace, spoke ill of me. Deal with them swiftly and leave no trace, Paladin.”

He does not reply to her angered command as he watches her move away, so lightly it seems she is barely touching the ground. He is well aware there is no point in that. Instead, he finally rises from the shadows in the now calm courtyard. It is best to remain keen on doing his task.

He knows better than to look at Mika. Better than to think of her for too long. There is no virtue in stopping to pay heed to her, to waste words on her, to admire her beauty. In the end, she also brings death and he knows that if he will look, when he will look, it will be his heart that is served on a silver platter. He loved her, after all.