Hey, tis Purest Shadows, and I feel like writing again today. It's been a few years, but you know, when it comes to me, it comes to me! Today I feel like writing a little Dragon Quest IV, haha. I don't know why, but I've been seriously shipping AlenaxCristo. Hard. XD
I got inspiration for this from the song "Just the Way You Are" by Bruno Mars when my boyfriend dedicated this song to me. Made me go, "D'awww"
Cristo liked to write letters no one will ever read. They are always addressed to one person, but he never liked to write her name on the parchment, as if his hand cannot betray his mouth and would never write that name, even if he would take those letters and shove them away in a dark box beneath his bed.
They are always addressed to his 'heart', his 'light', his 'life and soul', but never by the name he cannot even utter when she is near. Still, it is only 'Princess', as if they are not even friends after the whole ordeal with Necrosaro. Even when she approaches Cristo with all the candor and camaraderie of friends so dear and demands that he call her by name, he still can only call her 'Princess'.
And in his eyes, that is who she is, wall-shattering kicks and champion-bravado aside. She is a princess, and he will treat her like one till his dying breath. As far as Cristo is concerned, she is a towering force, and he is a meager bug, waiting to be stomped on by her marching feet. He doesn't believe he is worthy of her attention. And weren't priests supposed to be celibate anyway?
That small voice in Cristo's head likes to remind him that he can always give up the priesthood. That his god would not begrudge him a taste of true love. But Cristo cannot. The princess is still a princess, and Cristo, priest or not, is still Cristo and still unworthy.
But when he writes his letters, my heart, my light, my life and soul, Cristo is brave and worthy, his words bold and loving. He writes that she is a star in his sky, one that dims all others. He writes that if he could, he would pluck every other star from the night so she could stand alone and be admired by all. In the back of his mind, he reminds himself, he thinks that she may as well be the sun. He then has to remind himself that it was at night when he began to fall for the princess, and why she is more than the sun that glares down on him in the summer. Why she is more than the moon that can disappear from sight periodically.
She is a star, a beautiful, distant star that Cristo will never feel. He is content to watch her from afar. He recalls when she first snuck out of the castle. Cristo was barely falling asleep, unused to this new home of his. He had recently moved to the castle, nothing more than a cleric with dreams of helping others. As he finally began to drift off to sleep, there was a loud crack and crumble above his window, and Cristo leapt out of bed to see what was amiss. He caught a flash of a flowery gown that landed before his window and Cristo saw the face of an overjoyed princess. Her bright smile had stunned Cristo, and he found himself unable to look away, even when she had noticed Cristo watching. And that ladylike image Cristo imagined all princesses to have shattered in that moment. She made a face, as if she knew Cristo would never utter a word of this, and ran off, giggling. She must have fallen from the sky, so she must be a star, Cristo's biased heart concluded from that moment.
It wasn't for a few more months when the princess forced him to a dance at a ball (to avoid those damned suitors, she claimed) that he began to write letters. They graced the hall, avoiding the older, lecherous men who wished to dance with the princess. Not Cristo's princess, but the princess. The men who only saw a future queen and power. Not what Cristo saw, a girl sparkling with life and jubilation, who just happened to be a princess. A princess who was very much not like a princess, but still deserved the love and adoration of one. They danced, and as they danced they talked, and as they talked, Cristo fell more in love with her.
And as he fell in love, he wrote his first letter. My heart. It was full of clumsy words, and simple expressions of his feelings. Not quite so love, though the word was a close enough example, as Cristo hadn't yet been exposed to the word infatuation and the word crush seemed so childlike and inappropriate. Cristo sometimes thinks of that and laughs when he realizes that in fact, he was still a child. And four years later at eighteen, he is still no better than a child, only with a widened vocabulary. But the word love seems to truly fit now, as he stands in the castle and watches her pass by with a bright smile.
Brey likes to make fun of Cristo, and the priest is sure that if the old man knew what lied under his bed-my heart, my light, my life and soul-, the teasing would reach no end. Cristo is glad that the box has remained a secret for so long, and even more so that the letters inside remain one too. If Brey found them, that may open up a path for the princess to fi-No! Cristo doesn't let himself think of what would happen if the princess knew. He likes to think that he would simply pack up and leave, but he knows that he can never leave her side. After everything, he could never leave.
Cristo once went to Brey for advice. Not to woo the princess, but simply to deal with the difficulty in being around her. Brey could only shrug, telling him to go about his business. There was nothing more Cristo could do but ignore the feelings that welled up within him like a fresh spring when she was around. Brey, despite his underhanded comments, was a great friend and support.
Cristo keeps on writing his letters. My light. He wonders what next to call his beautiful princess, and in a moment of silliness, once compared her cuteness to that of a slime. Not that the slime could ever compare. Her smile was beyond any other, it illuminated his days. Even when everything seemed lost, her smile never disappeared. Faltered, on occasion, but never faded. Cristo likes to dream that the soft smiles he rarely catches on her face are for him, but he wouldn't trade that full-toothed grin that he has so closely come to associate with pure, unadulterated joy.
When they retuned to Santeem from Endor the first time, it was the only time Cristo had seen her smile fade. His princess had dropped to her knees, her face twisted in something close to rage coated in grief. Cristo wanted nothing more than to hold the girl, to tell her it would be alright. But he too was hurt, and Cristo is ashamed to admit that he was somehow wrapped up in the shock and pain to help her. He asks Brey if that was natural, and the man assures him it is. It doesn't make the guilt any easier.
And then they left Santeem, and everything is a blur until Cristo remembers being poisoned. He recalls that feverish haze, where only Brey was by his side. It depressed him to know that the princess was gone, but delighted him to know that she was toiling to find a cure. When the cure came, Cristo found his haze disappearing and the clarity of that princess he cared for so dearly wrapped around him. She hadn't left his side until all traces of poison were gone from him. Cristo likes to tell himself that it was a sign of mutual devotion. That same voice in the back of his head reminds himself that devotion does not equal ardor and passion.
The box is nearly full when she somehow stops being just Cristo's heart and light. My life and soul. And that is truly what the princess has become to him. He has seen her fallen in battle and was always the first to revive her even at the expense of his own safety. Fear grips him every time he sees her fall, and around the time of that incurable fear is when Brey chuckles to himself and tells Cristo that the princess is more than a silly infatuation and truly a treasure to Cristo's heart.
Not that Cristo needed to be told that, at this point. His letters had evolved over time, and what was once a clumsy confession is now a smooth declaration of devotion. But at the heart of every letter is the same phrase. I love you. Not necessarily in those exact words, but every letter conveys that meaning.
Cristo has never had the heart to sign his letters either. Another precaution in case they were to be found, he suspects of his subconscious. He wonders if he will eventually go mad and start locking that box, even if it never came with a lock in the first place. Cristo needs a bigger one anyway and he thinks that maybe one with a lock will suffice. He thinks that his secrets are safe in his letters, though paper easily betrays when the right eyes stare.
It is in what he does not know that hurts him most. He does not know that his letters are perused daily by another, and when his papers unwillingly spill his heart to Alena's eyes, she wonders who could possibly be lucky enough to be loved in such a way. She is not optimistic enough to believe that the letters he writes are meant for her. Alena does not believe she could be the priest's star, his heart, his light, his life and soul.
She did not originally feel this way for him, in fact, she could not see him as anything more than her friend. Alena didn't even know that he had written private letters to some lucky woman until she had returned to Santeem. They had all split up momentarily, and Alena happened to pass by his chambers. She heard words being spoken, and thinking someone was still alive, she rushed in. The orator happened to be a minidemon, reading his letters out loud.
Alena had caught the monster off guard, as he dropped the letters and ran away. Alena slowly approached the letters in curiosity and began to read. She recognized his tidy penmanship, though simply by being in his room would have clued Alena off as to who had written them. She slowly got lost in his words, and knew that she would have to read them all. But at another time. Placing the letters away, Alena left his room to catch up with the others.
She found that she couldn't look at him after that moment. Alena couldn't meet his inquisitive eyes. When she did, all she could think of was when the hell did he learn to be so expressive? When the hell had he first fallen so deeply for a lucky girl? And since when had Alena thought to call another girl lucky with a tone of jealousy in her thoughts? Alena wasn't born yesterday, though she felt close in retrospect to some of her peers, and she knew that she was feeling jealous for a reason.
She began to reevaluate their relationship, and Alena began to appreciate him even more. After they had come home, Alena began to read his letters more and more. Obviously, she would when he wasn't around. Every now and then, he would feel the wanderlust and trek the hills for a quick fix. When he was gone, Alena would rush to his room and read. And she perused his letters, finding their chronological order and reading them from past to present. Every now and then, she'd find a new letter. As always, they were addressed to no one, and never signed by his name. Alena wished the priest would slip up and write a name for once. But it never happened.
Alena began to watch for the other girls in the castle, knowing one of them must have caught his eye. She nearly obsessed with her fascination at who he could possibly love so much. She watched as he spoke to a maid one morning, orating the tales he, Brey, and herself had experienced over the years. In awe, the maid listened, a rosy tint to her cheeks. Alena recalled chasing that maid down later, to ask if she had ever spoken to him before. The maid shook her head, aside from the occasional hello and confession, they had never exchanged more than twenty words. The maid had asked why Alena cared so much. Indignant, Alena proclaimed that she couldn't have cared less, almost saying it so loudly that she startled the maid and nearly scared her off.
So no luck. Alena kept reading and rereading his letters when she had the chance, trying to find clues, trying to decode the seemingly impossible riddles he had left on his paper. She wanted to ask him herself. Who was this lucky girl? But Alena couldn't ask him if he had no intent on telling her. He didn't even want to tell his own thoughts on paper! As far as Alena knew, the man's heart belonged to a woman of the castle, and he'd been in love with her for a long time. By the goddess, there were so many letters, it took two long months of sneaking around the priest to read them all!
But as she read, Alena began to fall for her dear friend. And she tried to catch herself, she really did. But every word on the page was a new trip to fall over, and Alena found herself ensnared by the priest. She wanted to reach out to him and ask if the words could possibly be meant for her. She wanted those words to be for her, she wanted it, to the point of writing a letter of her own. But Alena found that her hands were suited for action and words were beyond her. Her chambers were littered with papers, and like her subject of affection, she never wrote his name down, much less her own. Still, her words were a question, nothing close to a confession.
Alena was not one for words, the broken wall in her bedroom was proof enough. So she continued to read the priest's new letters, tripping and falling deeper with every utterance of devotion written. She received a new clue in his letters on her birthday. He had wished his love many more years, and each of those years to come would still be devoted to her. And it truly was the clue she had been looking and hoping for.
Cristo frantically searched his bedroom for his latest letter. It was missing. Had he left it sitting on his desk, awaiting a cruel fate of being read by a passer by? Or worse, to be read by the one he wanted to least? The letter evaded his pursuit, and in frustration, Cristo flopped onto his bed and buried his face in his pillow. Each letter was unique, a written letter that never went backwards, as if it were time itself. There was no way Cristo could write another.
There was a soft knock on the door, and if not for the pause Cristo had given himself to look under his pillow, he would have never heard it. He opened the door to find his only princess standing there, two papers in her hand. Cristo felt the color drain from his face, as the young woman began to flush a light pink. He opened and closed his mouth in a manner which made the pink-faced princess giggle a little. He started to splutter about how she found that, then in his haste to cover his tracks, began to say he never wrote such a letter.
The princess giggles again, her face turning pinker inversely to Cristo's paleness. She took the second paper in her hand and hands it to him. Cristo read the solitary sentence on the paper, his eyes widening in shock. He stared down at the princess, who could only smile brazenly, as if she knew she had her prey in grasp. Cristo could only smile back, and for the first time, addressed the princess by her name.
His Alena is shocked to hear her name spoken from his lips, but she liked how it sounded on his tenor. Cristo knows that Alena is not one for words, and though he knows to expect the unexpected, he is truly caught off guard when Alena takes his face in her hands and plants a kiss on his lips.
But Cristo already knew that he liked this kind of unexpectedness and returned Alena's affections gladly.
For a hiatus, I think it doesn't seem that bad. XD