It's her laughter that catches my attention; a bright, ringing sound that sends shivers racing up my spine. I stop and turn, not really feeling the shoves of the people trying to go around me.
She's beautiful. Her hair, deep maroon, cherry-red sparkle when the light catches, is pulled up in a messy bun, side-swept bangs curving around a delicate eye, more blue than the most brilliant of Lapis Lazuli. Lips, shining and peach-colored, stretch over perfect teeth as that spine-tingling laughter sounds once more.
I've never met her before, and barely laid on eyes on her prior, but I know that in this moment I am spoiled for anyone else ever.
x.
It's months later when I catch sight of her again, surrounded by people that would be beautiful if not dulled by her brilliance.
I'm envious of them, for they thrive in her radiance while I stand beyond, only able to drink in the sight of her.
x.
The rich scent of wine wafting through the air must have affected me, for I fancied thoughts of approaching the beauty. Having her smile at me when I ask her to dance. We'd spend the evening talking quietly, and I'd bring her to my bed. I'd wake with her still beside me, the rose-water scent of her clinging to my sheets.
x.
"Hello." Her voice, just as honey-rich as her laugh.
I turn; meet her gaze. But only for a second - not anything nearly long enough.
She's speaking to a noble, a young son of a pompous lord, with spikes of brunet hair. His eyes, just as bridge-water blue as her own, are locked on her, just as hers are now locked on his.
I hate him.
x.
She's crying. You can't her hear sobs, and nor does her frame shake, but I know she is. She's sitting in the open window, perched on the perfectly stone-sculpted sill, the hems of her dress brushing the stocks of grass. Like she always does when she cries.
Bare feet sway, gloved hands gripping the ledge tightly. Her hair, normally up and spun beautifully, is left unattended, freely shifting in the breeze. I am startled when I realize my feet are taking me closer to her.
I stop, watch her quietly for a second longer, and then remember my place.
x.She looks beautiful in every color, but white doesn't fit her. It doesn't fit her at all.
x.
The sun's barely risen from behind the hills when she's being lifted unto a mare's back, her face covered by a veil, deep mahogany robe wrapped and clinging to her slender frame.
For the most part. I can see the swell in her abdomen.
And the brunet boy, the young son of the pompous lord, is looking as her so lovingly from his own mare's back. And I can see the love in her eyes as she looks back at him, even through the veil.
x.
"What're you waiting around for, boy? Get back to work!"
The flat of blade is slapped hard against my shoulder. I flinch from the sting, but kneel to pick up the bundle of hay I had dropped at my feet.
The stables are a long walk from the courtyard, and I still have to help prepare the morning's meal, but I stop when I leave the gates and stare down the dirt road, the dread of the ache this day would bring so much worse than I could have imagined.
... Not sure if anyone will get what this thing was about, but basicallyyyy: Riku's a hand on a lord's farm. Kairi's that lord's daughter. Sora's another lord's son, and they get married. At the end, Kairi leaves to go live with her new husband on his land. I hope to think that the 'fic was more, ah, poetical than the explanation.