AUTHOR'S NOTE: I DO NOT OWN SAINT SEIYA
This is going to be a romantic fic featuring Shaina :). Advice and comments are very much appreciated.
*= I am referring to René Descartes here
Middle section is a flashback.
Reviewers receive my undying love and affection 3.
12/17: Revised.
Chapter 1: Woman vs. Makeup
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," the woman muttered under her breath as she walked through a long corridor lit by a series of torches. "How could I be so stupid?"
The woman paused then to slam her fist into the wall, her iridescent green hair coming loose from her low bun. The day's events dominated her every thought, every action, every breath.
"Damn you, damn you, damn you."
Cracks spread from epicenter of her punch, and realizing that anymore ranting would literally bring the walls down, Shaina stood back for a moment. Assessing the damage of her handiwork, she was suddenly struck by its unexpected beauty. The pattern spread across the wall like a spider web. The warm light of the torches bounced between the stone wall fragments, and the hue of the flames tinted the bland gray with a fiery red.
A smile graced her lips as she pondered whether or not she should show this masterpiece to Sei-
Oh, she realized. Oh, oh, oh.
No.
Him. The Bastard.
Now Shaina focused the abuse at herself, smacking her face with her palm. She was not to think about that Bastard. To think was to acknowledge, right? She thought. Isn't that what I've-been-dead-for-some-300-years* said? And she most definitely did not recognize that Bastard as a saint, as a comrade, or as a man.
He was just a boy. Always and forever just a naive, cruel boy.
Shaina pulled at the strands of the new frock she had bought for today. The dress was a blush pink color, v-neck with no sleeves and a ruffled skirt. She even wore those goddamn heels that had tight straps that dug into her heels. But now, the sole time she acquiesced to vanity, it was all for naught. Today's events exhausted her, both mentally and physically, and consumed her thoughts. The past 24 hours seemed much longer and painful than usual.
Shaina leaned against the wall and slid down into a ball on the floor. As she tucked her head on top of her knees, she consented to allow sleep to take her, if only for a few minutes.
Flashback to "The Incident"
A young woman, for the first time in her 18 years, attempted to apply makeup. This ancient art form, according to a Greek Teen magazine she read, was a must have weapon when one was likely to encounter a member of the opposite sex. Apparently, smoky eyes and glossed lips augmented a woman's 'natural' beauty. And, also apparent, natural beauty wasn't necessarily 'natural' enough.
The earlier mentioned young woman had in fact bought many editions of Greek Teen magazine recently, desperate and confused. Earlier that day, a certain young man had offered her a yellow rose and an opportunity to spend a day with him. After accepting his offer, the young woman panicked. Although she had led armies, fought demonic specters, and escaped Death's clutches on a daily basis, she held no experience when it came to…dare she say it…. 'Dating'.
Seven magazines and basket of make up products later, the young woman marched home, determined to master the skill set she had yet to have need for. After entering the small cottage she shared with a red-haired woman, the young lady locked herself, the magazines, and the products in the bathroom.
The young woman analyzed the set of images in mag number 3 (so far, her favorite). The model made the process appear easy and simplistic, waving the mascara wand like a fairy godmother, magically transforming her somewhat drab eyes into those of a starry eyed doe.
Sucking up her courage and steadying her trembling hand, the woman unsheathed the mascara and gingerly approached her eyeball with it….and….missed.
On her first try, her eye rebelled at her want to put paste on her lashes and blinked, making the wand brush right beneath her lower lashes. She looked as if she were preparing for a juvenile sports game rather than a romantic encounter.
Reigniting her determination and to a degree, her cosmos, she tried again.
Her second attempt made her first look unmatchable. Once again she missed brushing her lashes and instead stabbed her eye. Shrieking, the young woman dropped the mascara wand to clutch at her now weeping eye
"Hell and damnation! Cursed product! Damn you and all of your petty followers! Arrgghhh!"
Across the hall, the young lady's roommate could not help but hear the cries coming from the bathroom. Concerned that her friend had been attacked, the redhead rushed to the bathroom and knocked down the door. The roommate scanned the room, seeking evidence of foul play, but only found a bottle of mascara and a green-haired teenage girl curled up on the floor, involuntarily weeping.
"Oh, Shaina," the redhead sighed.
Out in the hallway of Sanctuary's main temple, Shaina slept in the fetal position. Although passing saints occasionally stopped to stare at the unconscious girl, none dared to wake or move her. It was an understood fact that the saint of Ophichus was an erratic, unexplainable character with erratic, unexplainable motives.
Only one person dared to approach her prone, sleeping form. He chuckled as he watched her childishly toss and turn, caught in the thralls of a dream. The male saint gently picked Shaina up and carried her bridal style to her small little cottage and to her worried, redheaded roommate.