N E F E R T A R I
Drowning feels so much like falling that if it weren’t for the crashing waves, one might not be able to tell the difference. The complete lack of control, oxygen being ripped from tired lungs, and desperate pleas that fall on deaf ears. If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it still weep? If you are drowning and there is no one there to offer the hand of salvation, you might die clinging to a fleeting memory of solid ground. The clawing, desperate searching hands of a once drowning man brushed so tenderly against her mind the mare’s breath caught in her throat.
She had felt that same drowning deep in her own bodice, and a nearly forgotten memory began to ache in her bones. The clairvoyant had been drowning, once. Nearly every night those first two years she had been swallowed by the ocean tide of her own desperate loneliness and found solace only in the consistency of the stars. She had followed them until at long last, her weary legs found Solterra, a blessed place of solid ground, for the god of the sun dried the sea of her sorrow. For a time she had been able to stand strong and breathe fresh the air without a threat of suddenly being pulled under. But no person could run from themselves forever, and always there had been storm clouds chasing on her horizon.
With the stallion this close, it was too easy to lose herself to the swell of his emotion. In the mare he had found an island amidst his drowning, and a calm inside his hurricane. Her own desperate cries for serenity echoed back to her in his silver eyes. For an eternity their gazes locked and she knew that he had seen her. Not in the way that others claim to see- not with his mortal eyes, but with his very soul.
The liquid silver spin of his gaze caressed her body, following the trail of her throat and the pulsing vein directly to her heart. She wondered if he could hear it trying to break free from the prison of her ribs. She wondered what it would feel like to hear his own heart muscle march in a steady rhythm, and what it would be like to match his. It felt as if those pale pools of silver were made of hot iron rods, reaching straight into her and melting the very core of her being.
Nefertari had never been very skilled at tuning out the emotions of those in her close proximity. She had made a habit of turning away or keeping a distance, lest she lose some part of herself to the fury of someone else’s passion. But how does one turn away from a cosmic mirror? How could she run from a reflection of her own thoughts, her own feelings magnified? Could a person run far enough and fast enough to drop their shadow and not once have to face themselves again?
His rich tones cut through the staccato of her heartbeat and filled her mind with a sense of clarity. ”Who are you, to have such exquisite timing as to save me from the memories that would devour me?” Such an elegant way to ask her a simple thing as her name. But surely it was more than just her name he was asking her. Who are you? The mare had not dared to ask herself that same question for so long. She had worn so many facades, her life had become an elaborate masquerade. Who was she? The mare carved from marble and incense. The mare born from stars and shadow. The mare who had been cursed with the gift of knowledge far beyond what any mortal had right to bear. She was a child, who had run from the uncertainty of family obligation and headlong into the uncertainty of the vast world. She was a woman who had crafted a life built upon half truths and frivolities. The mare was all of these things, but she was also so much more.
The stallion’s words echoed again in her mind, and it shattered some piece of her wall. The one she had forged in secret and tended to so carefully. The one that had protected her for so long. Perhaps it had been the day’s festivities, and perhaps there had been some lingering kiss of liquor in her belly. Perhaps she had just been struck so thoroughly by this gift from Caligo, for who else could have sent her such a brilliant beacon of light in her darkest hour? His coat may have blazed proudly the colours of Solis, but he was as brilliant as the fullest moon, and he pulled at her like the goddess did the tides, and she felt blessed that his gaze made those churning waves soft.
She had felt that same drowning deep in her own bodice, and a nearly forgotten memory began to ache in her bones. The clairvoyant had been drowning, once. Nearly every night those first two years she had been swallowed by the ocean tide of her own desperate loneliness and found solace only in the consistency of the stars. She had followed them until at long last, her weary legs found Solterra, a blessed place of solid ground, for the god of the sun dried the sea of her sorrow. For a time she had been able to stand strong and breathe fresh the air without a threat of suddenly being pulled under. But no person could run from themselves forever, and always there had been storm clouds chasing on her horizon.
With the stallion this close, it was too easy to lose herself to the swell of his emotion. In the mare he had found an island amidst his drowning, and a calm inside his hurricane. Her own desperate cries for serenity echoed back to her in his silver eyes. For an eternity their gazes locked and she knew that he had seen her. Not in the way that others claim to see- not with his mortal eyes, but with his very soul.
The liquid silver spin of his gaze caressed her body, following the trail of her throat and the pulsing vein directly to her heart. She wondered if he could hear it trying to break free from the prison of her ribs. She wondered what it would feel like to hear his own heart muscle march in a steady rhythm, and what it would be like to match his. It felt as if those pale pools of silver were made of hot iron rods, reaching straight into her and melting the very core of her being.
Nefertari had never been very skilled at tuning out the emotions of those in her close proximity. She had made a habit of turning away or keeping a distance, lest she lose some part of herself to the fury of someone else’s passion. But how does one turn away from a cosmic mirror? How could she run from a reflection of her own thoughts, her own feelings magnified? Could a person run far enough and fast enough to drop their shadow and not once have to face themselves again?
His rich tones cut through the staccato of her heartbeat and filled her mind with a sense of clarity. ”Who are you, to have such exquisite timing as to save me from the memories that would devour me?” Such an elegant way to ask her a simple thing as her name. But surely it was more than just her name he was asking her. Who are you? The mare had not dared to ask herself that same question for so long. She had worn so many facades, her life had become an elaborate masquerade. Who was she? The mare carved from marble and incense. The mare born from stars and shadow. The mare who had been cursed with the gift of knowledge far beyond what any mortal had right to bear. She was a child, who had run from the uncertainty of family obligation and headlong into the uncertainty of the vast world. She was a woman who had crafted a life built upon half truths and frivolities. The mare was all of these things, but she was also so much more.
The stallion’s words echoed again in her mind, and it shattered some piece of her wall. The one she had forged in secret and tended to so carefully. The one that had protected her for so long. Perhaps it had been the day’s festivities, and perhaps there had been some lingering kiss of liquor in her belly. Perhaps she had just been struck so thoroughly by this gift from Caligo, for who else could have sent her such a brilliant beacon of light in her darkest hour? His coat may have blazed proudly the colours of Solis, but he was as brilliant as the fullest moon, and he pulled at her like the goddess did the tides, and she felt blessed that his gaze made those churning waves soft.
“I’m afraid I cannot speak much for my timing,”
the mare offered a ghost of a smile, the corners of her lips turning up in a gentle curve.
“For you see, it seems your presence here has done me the same turn.”
The woman lifted her gaze for a moment heavenward.
“It seems that Caligo has blessed us with this chance to silence those demons without carving out our pound of flesh.”
Nefertari returned her warm golden pools to the stallion’s steady silver gaze. She had no desire to run, and as the stallion’s wing caressed her dark pelt, he brought with it the electric rise of the desert sun. If she were the twilight moments before the moon began to climb into the velvet sky, he would be the thundering dawn. He was the beginning of radiant light that pierced through her very being, and she knew in that moment that she could not lie to this man. They had shared only this small exchange and yet she felt so deeply understood. There was a secret promise in the way that his wing kissed her ribs, in the way he so brazenly held her gaze and begged her to walk with him into the endless. For better or worse, their gods had twined them together, and neither had the intention of letting go.
”You can call me Raglan.” She rolled the name on her tongue and savoured it like the sweetest wine. There was poetry in that name, a call to the void and a demand for something greater than this. It was an honest name, proclaimed loudly in festive halls with tankards thrown high, whispered softly in quiet moments to be cherished.
”You can call me Raglan.” She rolled the name on her tongue and savoured it like the sweetest wine. There was poetry in that name, a call to the void and a demand for something greater than this. It was an honest name, proclaimed loudly in festive halls with tankards thrown high, whispered softly in quiet moments to be cherished.
“Well, Raglan, you may call me Nefertari.”
She closed her eyes and sighed into his touch, moving so that she may lean against him and bury herself at the hollow of his throat. So that perhaps she could listen to the hum of his heart and his steady breath, so much like the calm ocean tide. She had no right to ask this stranger to hold her in this way, but she did so because to resist felt like she may as well have been spitting in the face of her goddess. Caligo had gifted her this quiet moment in the desert oasis, her own salvation in the form of a once drowning man. Who was she to deny them both this reprieve from treading water alone?
