Of Incense and Passion
Caster awakened and stirred in the darkness. Repeated nights of shallow sleep hadn't been kind to her.
The departure from safety of her homeland to the voyage had turned the princess of Colchis into a habitual light-sleeper. Surrounded by dangers and plagued by nightmares, a single night for her was an alternating routine of shallow sleep and abrupt awakening.
But there was no nightmare tonight, only the unfamiliar smell of rice straws and incense that permeated the temple. The light haunting fragrance of sandalwoods, cloves, and patchoulis kept her from slipping back to slumber.
The dim fluorescent light lit the room in a faint glow as the man toiled away through a stack of paper, his posture straight and his senses keenly sharpened. Only a slight twitch of his right hand revealed that he had noticed slight movement within the futon that located a few steps away, ready to fling himself to cover her upon the first hint of danger. These were tell-tale signs that the man before her was one well-trained in the art of battlefield…
A warrior of the eastern land…
The man was a blade, cold and sharpened, straight and true. Even if he was confined to the desk for as long as she had known, just a glimpse of his sharp movement was usually enough testimony that his edge had not dull in the least. Discipline left no room for him to be deceived by her charm, and neither did she entertain any foolish notion of doing so.
She was not alarmed to have woken in his presence as she had done so for the past few days. Unlike the men who had played her heart like a puppet as she played theirs in return, she knew he bore no malicious will. Unlike most heathens she came across, he was not subsumed by base animalistic desire upon the glimpse of her face. It might be accurate to compare him to a well-polished blade, but his edge was kept sheathed.
Perhaps for the time being…
The days of tranquility would soon end and force his lethal edge to be drawn for both their sake.
The gruff bespectacled man made for the most unlikely Master. Even now, she could barely believe him to have submitted to the burden of becoming her savior, much less accompany her along path of Holy Grail War. Few mortal man can be so hardened that he was callous to even the prospect of death. It was difficult to believe that such a man could still exist in the days and age where the mankind had traded claws and cunning for civility. He was among the few wolves to be found in the world populated by sheep and ewes.
Her right hand was raised to her bosom, absorbing the softness and steady beats from within. The vibration reverberated through the ribcage, transmitted from her ample breast into her right hand.
She recalled the scene of that rainy day with an unfamiliar warmth in her heart. The overflowing emotion burned the memory deep into her with such vivid details that she doubt it could ever be forgotten.
The hand that she took on the verge of death was corpse cold, soaked with rainwater. It lacked any form of immediate warmth to seep into her skin, but the firmness of his grasp reassure her. Though it contained no compassion, there also was neither room for lies or deceit. Though he had not spared a single word of concern, she was soothed by the sturdy arms that had carried her to safety.
Unlike most who would soon succumb to basic desire from seeing her vulnerability, he respected her with a distance that proved adequate for them both. Though without praises or sweet words of love, the occasional gaze to ascertain her well-being made her feel secure amidst the turmoil of Holy Grail War.
She did realize that his was a gaze more befitting of a shepherd dog keeping to his flock, than of one made by human compassion.
But it was enough.
Enough to make her heart swelled in gratitude, and what started as gratitude and intrigue had soon grown deeper and more sensual. Only a few day under his care was enough ripen those emotions into the love that now overflowed from within.
Even Caster herself failed to fathom the reason why it could be so. The process that gave birth to love was always a mystery even to her own mind as well as most who share her predicament.
Her face was flushed before his sharp gaze. Her heart was aflutter. Her tongue was tied down and even words seemed to fail.
And her heart was thawed and melted on its own accord.
She had thought that her heart was hardened toward matter of such frivolities, but how wrong she was.
It shouldn't be possible…
It just couldn't be that a heart so cold and laden with grief could be revived to relish the taste of love so easily.
Alas, the years that passed never seemed to have stripped away the wonder of its taste. If anything, they only feed the longing that had grown inside her heart, and, like a fine liquor, it turned the taste mellow and the smell fragrant. One simple act of kindness was all that it took, a flint to spark the flame of love that had long been extinguished
But to love was to put one's heart in a daring gamble. As great as the payoff could be, the possibility of losing was far worse, incomparable in both the magnitude and the duration which it lasts. Caster had learn firsthand the severity of that mistake from taking the gruff hand that pulled her up and the lips that sealed hers once she stepped into the Argonaut. Fuelled by fleeting moment of passion and wide-eyed innocence, the decision made during that fateful still haunted her till this very day.
Men might wore different skin, but inner chasms of their mind were crafted from the same mold. One might crooned a love song, while one watched her by in silence. One might enchanted her with amorous days and passionate nights, while one shouldered her up and lighted the way when her days were swallowed by darkness. In the end, their passion would grow stale and leave her to wallow in the dark once more.
Her youthful folly exacted a hefty price from the young Princess Medea who knew neither of the betrayal nor the cunning of man. From it, a bitter lesson was learned, ingrained deep within her very core.
But it was equally quick to be subsumed by longing…
All fingers dug into the fabric as she pulled the thin blanket closer to her shivering body. It was not the cold that made her shiver, but an overwhelming wave of self-loathing. She loathed how fickle her heart could be. This was neither the time nor the occasion be indulging in such a foolish notion. The war was upon her, but her heart did weaken and succumb to its own vice.
Being so engrossed in her emotional turmoil, Caster had failed the noticed that the man's hawk-like gaze was upon her. Wordlessly, he observed her distress, scrutinizing it in his usual silent way.
The eventual realization had heat gathered in her cheeks as her gaze was turned toward the surrounding. It wasn't any particular interest in his modest dwelling, but the intensity behind his observing glance that forced the necessity of averting her eyes.
"Is something matter?"
"…N-Nothing that is worthy of your concern, Souichirou-sama." As always, his words had caused her to fluster like a foolish maiden when dashing heroes walk passed. Her words stuttered and faltered, although he had no interest in taking the effort to point out this fact.
"Very well." Sparing only a moment of brief respite, her ever stoic Master parted his eyes from the mound of papers to observe her response. "Tell me should there be anything that you need. You are still an injured, so act like one."
"…I don't know what to say…Thank you, Souichirou-sama."
"Don't mention it." Growing silent, his attention returned to the stack of paper in front. The expression on his face remained unchanged as if he had not even register her presence.
Though his words seemed to indicate concern, they were carried out with his usual disinterested tone and demeanors. She had grown a certain sense of familiarity with this quirk of his by then, for she knew her Master was not a man without a heart, only that his heart was merely kept deep within. She knew that the helping hand he extended toward her was not a lie, even if it was not extended by gallantry or good will.
Through his blunt gesture, she saw a lost man, one trapped in the same predicament as her, an empty man estranged from and shunned by the world, a shell that lost his very will toward life and merely drifted on with flow, equally willing to part from the gentle stream and join her in the raging rapid. Here was a man who had no interest either death or life, neither one was superior, neither one was worse.
Her observation fanned the flame of intrigue and, subsequently, longing for the inscrutable man across the room. She wished to know more, to know the man beyond his closed shell, to sneak through his defense like a cunning thief just for a glimpse of the man behind this indifference.
Caster did not notice how long her gaze remained on him, but the questioning stare he gave in return was enough to tell the story.
Embarrassment and shame pierced her like needles. She turned to the opposite direction like a child caught in the midst of her mischief. The self-realization that overtook her temporarily made it apparent how foolish she must have seen to him, and how foolish she had been to seek solace from it.
Caster bit her lips to prevent imagination from running amok
To fall in love was a gamble with nothing to hold on but a flimsy rope of trust. Just few days earlier, she would have scoffed at this possibility. It seemed to be no more than an act of foolishness to gamble one's very hope and dream on a notion so temperamental and fragile. No more than a leap of faith down the cliff of heartbreak and disappointment.
But the heart was like another creature that her mind could not control. It turned deaf ears to her warnings and thrown itself to amorous freedom like a nymph, reeling in much pain and heartbreaks along the way.
And how foolish could it continue to be?
She was there and tumbled down the cliff once. She knew how the game would go, how each play would turn out, and yet she could not still her feet from inching toward the edge.
Her teeth firmly gritted in fury from the vicious tricks that only Aphrodite herself could play on her. Only the goddess of pleasure and senseless passion could have trick her into the same predicament that had once ruined the young princess.
Caster knew she had to resist this emotion that send her entire body into turmoil. She had to stop. She had to back out of this downward path before delving in too deeply to climb up. She just had to before the inevitable fall. She had to before she would once again tumble down the height like she did before.
She lamented her action. She should have ran away when she had the chance and not taken his outstretched hand.
Alas, her resolve may have seemed to be much weaker than Caster herself had first predicted.
Her train of thought was broken to realize that another blanket was draped across her shivering frame. His fingers remained on her shoulders for a moment to adjust the covering quilt. Electric jolts ran through her body from his touch. The tips of her unnaturally pointed ears perked up in response, and it took all of her composure not to quiver and collapse in his arms.
"Keep yourself warmed. The night will become colder still."
Her questioning glance was neglected as he returned to his usual position without missing a beat, but she did not failed to take note of his gesture.
It was subtle and, undoubtedly, would be lost upon careless eyes, but she was certain it was there. She couldn't have mistaken it, a rare instance where a surge of emotion manage to break through his shell from the inside, a tiny shift in his ever stoic expression. It warmed her heart to see that he had shown it to no one but her alone.
Kindness, gentleness, compassions, she kept of all those slight fragment of emotion inside her heart, deep in a place where they would never be forgotten…
The smell of incense grew stronger, a smell that she had as of late began to associate with his presence…drifting and soothing. Unlike those of the Mediterranean kinds, it was never too intense to the point of turning pungent. Rather than agitate and excite, the smell calm and reassure.
Yet, even with all its soothing effects, the beating of her heart grew ever more wildly. What started with the tempo of the meditation gong in the temple was now a war drum beating her into submission.
Her face flushed, her heart roared like thunder, and her mind a slave to this feeling of ecstasy,
What more proof would she need?
From where did she have to arrogance to deny the most basic call of instinct and expect to leash it under control?
Even the most dauntless of heroes had failed to resist the unyielding calls of the heart.
Like a prisoner caught, Caster knew that she needed no more to be convinced. Once on the top of the cliff, she would throw herself to the wind, boundless and free as an eagle. With a sigh of love-struck maiden, she knew that she would willingly flung herself down the harrowing height.
Some might call it leap of faith, some might call it a suicide, but Caster was confident. Even if she should tumble down the height, she would do so in full belief that his arms would be there to break her descent.
There was no doubt. Princess Medea was, once again, in love.
As of current, I'm contemplating of adding a few more chapters to the story, possibly from Souichirou's point of view as well, so any review would be greatly appreciated!