Hey guys! I've had this waiting on my dash for a while so...ENJOY SOME DAVIDXOC MMKAY? I may make this a legit story but it depends on how much a I care about continuing...Like, I have one version of this which is long and another that's short, so take your pick!
Catharsis
By Gold Sparrow
Chapter 1: Sunset
She meets him along the rocks of the sea, bathed in orange and swaddled in black, his hair long and wild.
His eyes pierce hers, and she's struck by the pure intensity of them, the pale blue of the sky on an unbearably hot day. He smiles at her, perhaps for the thrill of it, and something within her, inside her very core, buzzes with familiarity. Then she turns away from him and leaves. She's not sure why, her feet just turn away, as if he's a whirlpool in the waters and if she swims any closer she'll be sucked in.
It's scary.
Ah, but she's not quick enough.
He appears by her side, matching her stride. In surprise her gaze flickers to his, only to find his eyes have yet to leave her face. He smiles again, amused, and she looks straight ahead. No matter if she quickens or lessens her pace, he always smoothly transitions to walk beside her, grace in each step. He moves in the same manner as a panther: precise, calculating, lithe and predatory.
"It's quite rude to bother someone you don't know," She finally cracks, sliding her eyes to his jaw.
"Oh, is it? But I know you, so I suppose it's fine." A twinge of annoyance pricks her forehead, trailing across her scalp like a bony, sharp hand.
"I don't believe we've met."
"We have," He tells her. "You just weren't paying attention."
She stops and stares at him. He walks forward a little, turns, and waits patiently. She balches. Past the orange of the light and the blue of his eyes, over the wild mane of his hair and the smooth forehead free of the third eye, a memory waves its ghostly fingers.
"Elder David," Her voice trembles like the notes of a finicky flute. Then, softer, and with more hesitation because that smile hasn't moved an inch, "I suppose I wasn't paying attention."
The smile disappears for a single instant in which he studies her, and then he grins like she told a joke only he could possibly understand.
"You're a funny one, Bathsheba. That's why everyone adores you so."
Bathsheba does not reply, but somehow, she weakly understands that she is trapped.
She tried to run.
I saw it with my own eyes. I've been watching her for so long, I've memorized her face into my mind. Not out of affection, nor some sort of personal connection, but because she's important. I've waited for her for what feels like a thousand years- a time so long that the only thing comparable to it to me is the length of my own life. I've waited for her to turn to me, meet my gaze, and follow the path laid before us by the hands of our God.
And yet she refused.
I must admit, it was quite shocking.
The only person I ever expected to do that was [a large blob of blotched ink, coming from a pen frozen over paper] me.
She tried to run.
Of all things, to run. But we do not outrun destiny, and I believe Bathsheba realizes that now. Or maybe I hope she realizes that now, or else everything I've done until now will be pointless. Fruitless.
And my sins will stay sinful, because they hold no more higher purpose than I.
Though, I cannot help but muse, what an interesting woman Ill Illah has given to me.
Bathsheba remembers now, the first time she caught a glimpse of the elusive Elder David. Only his back, strewn with black hair, and his robes as they slid across the floor.
She felt-
...It was strange, what she felt. The immaculate church rang with the footsteps of the Elders as they proceeded toward the meeting room. The magicians on the sides stood with their heads bowed low, their fists cupping one another. They dared not peek up, lest they lift their unworthy eyes to meet an Elders', and be punished for vying for divinity so unashamedly.
But something spoke to her.
She tried to ignore it. Oh God did she try, just like she's been trying her entire life to ignore it. But the voice was as clear as water and as soothing as a mother's hand, blowing its voice into her ear.
"Look up," It whispered. It was not male or female. It was not a single person, nor was it plural. It sounded like one thing and then the next, and whenever she tried to remember what it sounded like, her head would get fuzzy, like it was wrapped in cotton. "Look up and see him, Bathsheba. Look, now, before it's too late."
She obeyed.
And she felt...Unimpressed.
He was the glorious man that everyone admired, respected and loved, and yet she was unimpressed. Maybe it was how he held himself. Maybe it was because footsteps sounded too grounded.
Or, she wonders, maybe it was because the air around him made it seem like he didn't care about any of this nonsense.
Bathsheba has always been a good girl.
When she was young, she had the best scores out of all the magicians in her classes. She excelled at everything she did, from magic to history to mathematics. She was a genius only matched by the magicians I've bred myself and that man who locks himself in the library and will someday become important. In her teens she began to dabble in different arts. I wondered what occupation she would pick, though it was obvious. She'd become a healer. Someone with her talents really should've chosen a different path, but that was what she wanted, so I decided I would let her.
Instead, she chose to become a professor who specialized in strength magic and studied the effectiveness of the Gunuds upon the lesser species.
[Written over many times, darker than the rest of the page] You can see why I took an even more severe interest in her, other than the fact that she's essential to my plans.
"Ma'am," It's a whispered call for her to look up and pay attention to him, but she refuses. Her eyes are too focused on the image in front of her. "Professor, please."
"Yes?" Bathsheba mutters half-dreamily, transfixed. Her student stares at her with horror.
"You're insane. We need to get back- i-if we don't then the sun will set and they'll eat us," He becomes more and more frantic by the second. She pretends not to hear him, creeping closer to look down at the species below. They look so worn, she notes. Their fur is bright orange, the color of poppies, and they have four eyes. One pair is placed where her's are, and then another pair rests on top of them. When the bottom pair blinks, the top stays open. When the upper pair blinks, the bottom stays open.
"Fascinating," She breathes, staring down at them. A smaller one cuddles into it's mother, just a pup. She smiles more.
"Ma'am!"
Spell broken.
"Yes, yes, Nathan," She tuts, dropping her head in defeat. "We shall go now. Gather my papers."
"Ma'am, what's even so interesting about them?" The young man- though she prefers to think of him as a boy- quickly stuffs their work into the satchel and scrambles up, instantly starting down the path impatiently. Bathsheba takes more time collecting herself, brushing off her robes. She follows him much more slowly, watching the way he clutches his staff.
"What do you mean?" She asks in return. Nathan almost rolls his eyes, but his grade depends on her, and he stops himself just in the nick of time.
"I mean," He starts, peeking behind them. "They're just a bunch of mindless animals. Why bother?"
She stares at him.
"Those mindless animals nearly drove us to extinction," She tells him, and his cheeks flush. "They're not stupid, Nathan. We make them stupid. And why? Why do we fear them so?"
He blinks with those big green eyes of his.
"Because they nearly drove us to extinction," He repeats, and she rolls her eyes at him. His cheek twitches.
"No, because we're the animals. We put them down because we want to feel powerful, to exercise the gift our Father gave to us so long ago. Every damn thing on this planet is an oppressor, we've merely been made the strongest of them all." Nathan stares at her with an alien expression, his jaw slack.
"However," She then mends, "If you want an 'A' in my class, you better write a decent paper on the species we just watched. Write about their habits and population. Oh, make a good schedule for when we should make them work and how long they need to rest. Add ribbons to it, you know, fancy statements like 'ravenous beasts' and 'Our uplifting moral structure'. But I'm sure you'll do fine, Nathy. Your wife'll be so proud."
He sort-of half chokes.
Then, weakly,
"You...You wanna come over for dinner sometime, Ma'am?"
She tells him that sounds wonderful.
She wasn't doing anything right.
I watched her for so long, that I began to see how wrong she was doing things. It wasn't suppose to be like this.
The little things didn't bother me- who cared that she befriended so-and-so or failed a student out? It won't effect the ending to her life. But I began to realize that she wasn't letting me help her. She was avoiding anything that had my touch.
I began to crave more of the game we played.
I'd send a magician in to have her go study a certain species, she'd already have plans. That had been planned ahead of time by three weeks.
Point little Bathsheba.
She'd wish to give a student the right to transfer classes, suddenly that spot was filled by a boy who'd been on the waiting list. For five weeks.
Point me.
And it would continue like that.
She had no idea what was happening of course, but I did. And that's what makes her so valuable. She has been valuable before, but only because of the things I need from her. Now she's valuable because of something else.
She's fun.
Little Bathsheba!
Whelp, that's all for now. I'm posting this because A. Finals suck and B. procrastinating is super fun.
Tell me if you like it! I'm pioneering a few different styles of writing. Some of the parts in the story are in present tense, others in past, and David is just David. Not sure if I wrote him write (PUN OH MY GOD).
Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!
BYE~~~~~~~