Saint Seiya doesn't belong to me in any way or form. Some of us have to live with it. –Sad sigh-
The story, however, does belong to me. So if you don't want to see an Argentinian lady right pissed and sueing your asses, don't steal the story.
Enjoy, leave reviews with opinnions, ideas, and all that jazz. Support is also well taken, if not greatly aprecciated.
Part One: Prelude.
People are usually more than we bother to give them credit for.
We are humans and, for that, we jump into conclussions. It is, sadly, what we do. It is, (wat a shame!) part of our nature.
But I could never take a definitive conclussion about her, truth to be told. I could, for facts, only know that she would always do amazing things to inspire us all. Noble things, take decissions for all the humanity, selfless decissions, compassive decissions. Actions and words out of love, always.
Love. Curious little thing, that one.
Love can be represented by many things, and can be found in many situations and relationships. Say, for example, the love of a mother for her child. The love between siblings. The love of a child for his, her progenitors.
Friendship, itself. Friendship is a wonderful example of love.
And then, there is the romantic love.
The kind of love that has lead to deceave and heartache, betrayal, madness. Total, complete insanity. The love that produces blindness and lack of judgement.
I, myself, fail to date the day, exactly, when I fell in this latest category of love with, to call her in a way that you might understand better, my boss.
You see, I hate clichès. But I hate them more when they are right.
She is beautiful, you see.
I am now going to fall into a long description of her physical self, for my own delight. Poetically, even. Cheesy, if I might say so myself.
She has long hair. It's a shade of violet, I believe. Long, and smooth, and soft, almost like liquid; falling to her gracious, full hips, only able to be compared to a crystaline cascade. Her features are almost perfect; with her high cheeckbones, and thin complexion; naturally carmine lips, perpetually contrasting with her her pale, almost colorless skin and her blue eyes. Ocean blue. Deep, endless blue, framed by sinfully long, thick eyelashes.
She is also tall, and slender, and elegant, dignified. Gentleness is marked upon her features, and it doesn't change, no matter wether she is taking to either a Saint, or a rapist.
She is obnoxiously calm and in control. She chuckles when she doesn't find it appropiated to laugh, and would rather be opulently well dressed than leaving a bad impression, or no impression at all.
She forgives it all, and asks nothing in return.
She also likes hot black tea with three cubes of sugar in the morning, before going to her paperwork in the Foundation.
Now, seriously.
I have tried to find even one imperfection in this woman, and found none.
See, my dilemma is this. I was about fiveteen years old when she was just a baby. I tried to kill her thrice in my life. And she is also supposed to be a virgin Goddess whom is not allowed to love –in the romantic sense of the word-, and much less have sex.
Now, this is where the "lack of judgement" bit enters the whole scene.
Please, do allow me to elaborate further.