Vercingtorix
—
T
he truth is, Adonai, parties have never been my thing.I might have written you that. But writing is not within my forte, either. No. I have always been an individual of incredible, decisive action. It is what made me so successive as a captain; and what condemned me as a man.
Tonight, my actions are simple. The best ones typically are. In war, the over-complicated strategies are destined to fail; only the most clever, the most straightforward, have any chance of surviving first contact. So, the course of action:
Talk to Adonai. There is no requirement for the conversation. The memory of our first interaction remains enough to make my flesh burn and my mind to prick with intrigue. A cursed prince.
I know nothing of princes, and my ignorance is something I cannot stand. Tonight, if nothing else, I may come to understand the dual coin of royalty and soldiery—a lifelong knowledge that I have nursed since boyhood and only now may comprehend.
I walk through the Hall of Statues and am reminded of Delumine’s garden.
But those statues had been immersed in bursting, vibrant foliage. These stand alone; I find them haunting. I have never been exposed to art, at least not in this magnitude. The only place in Oresziah decorated with any degree of refinement had been the church, where the stained glass had bled with the setting sun.
It does not take me long to find the golden Prince. He shuffles—doing his best, I suppose, to hide the lethargic gait—among patrons, and smiles politely when they ask questions. He looks as if he belongs there; as if an artist, perhaps the De Clare fellow I continue to hear whispered, could transform him into a gilded statue with a single touch. With that kind of beauty comes a certain fragility; a certain inescapable essence.
In that moment I decide he is better than the rest of us, and the decision nearly makes my approach impossible—but I cannot refrain from touching someone so dove-like, so brilliant, as if that purity might rub off onto me. If only I can touch it; if only grasp it, for a transient moment... I know the long road of suffering; I have walked it many times. And seeing Adonai excites in me the same excitement as a man drowning who sees the shore; even the idea of touching salvation is enough to salvage my misery, transform it into hope. Perhaps he could take the pain away. Perhaps he is different.
And so I delve into the crowd, taking two bubbling drinks from a tray as I pass by a server.
I approach from behind, as lions do; and stop close enough for my breath to gust against Adonai’s ear, fluttering the fur of his cloak.
“My Prince, you have quite an impressive… hawk.” The innuendo is utterly brazen and inappropriate. I pull away with a smile that belongs to Lucifer as he fell. “You invited me. Hopefully you don’t regret it, and I don’t disappoint.”
True it never was, Yet because they loved, it was a pure creature.
They left it room enough. And in that space, clear and un-peopled,
it raised its head lightly and scarcely needed being.
They didn’t nourish it with food, but only with the possibility of being.
And that gave the creature so much power.
