Has his hands ever been so attentively placed upon her own two hips?
They were like out of a painting from decades ago, where ballrooms were littered with servants, as well as newly rich; where corsets strung tight upon youthful, feminine cages and the promise of marriage laid within the air like a prominent, suffocating smog. As a little girl, Cynthia had dreamt of having her hand taken in marriage – and the matter that it never had come to be, was something that she lamented in silence to this very day.
-Married, she had gotten… But that certainly wasn't the issue.
Had he ever looked at her with those gentle, downturned eyes?
Between her fingers dangled the throat of liquid gold – wine of which tasted sour upon her tongue, yet provided her with the calm that kept her from leaving her seat upon the ottoman. Cascading silk fell over her frame – larger, fuller, and more developed than the woman caught by her gaze – and her feet laid bare beneath her frame; for in your own home, in your own company, proper wear wasn't a requirement. Not when it wasn't you who were the center of attention anymore.
… Hikari was a doll carved out of foreign, alien roots, and Cynthia had thought her husband infatuated with her for that very reason. Where they laid similar, was unimportant; for it was all psychological and social, rather than physical.
And eventually, she came to realize that… Perhaps that was exactly why.
Has his hands ever been so attentively placed upon her own two hips?
There was something romantic in the way that his arms wrapped around a woman so much smaller than himself; slightly bent at his waist, their cheeks pressed together so that his lips – his words – would be for but his doll, and his doll only. Where his hands didn't stray from their place upon her unflared, dainty hips; but danced all the same among the curvature of her shape as though she was art and not a girl. As though she was beautiful in a way he never had experienced before.
Her bottom lip got sucked between her teeth.
Had he ever looked at her with those gentle, downturned eyes?
Cyrus was anything but a gentle looking man; and Cynthia had always adored him for that very reason. Even as a boy, a teenager, he had carried an air about him that spoke of years beyond his own; he was a man in a boy's body – grown up in all the ways only a teenage girl could find attractive. And, certainly… She had.
-She still did.
With features carved out of marble, a stoic posture and air that spoke of authority like no other; so forgive her, if she felt her throat grow thick with something… Something foul, when she got to see those features soften. When he showed a side of himself that she never knew him to have.
Cyrus treated Hikari as though she was made of glass – delicate in all the ways that Cynthia wasn't. For with Hikari, it was he whom sought to touch her. It was he, who pulled her close against himself – and if the rose that dusted upon her cheek was anything to go by; then what she met, where their hips came to press against one another, was anything other than what she herself ever had gotten to experience.
Was she truly so undesirable to him?
Swiftly, Sinnoh's beloved champion drowned herself in grapes nectar; her tongue stained by its distinct color and taste yet should you look, should you touch, upon her throat – then you would see nothing but a snake emerge from the depths of her chest.
-Her ample chest. Her womanly chest – what was so attractive about the dolls gooseberry breasts? Why did his hands wander upon her frame as though she was Venus herself – the very depiction of feminine beauty and romance – and why did she feel her stomach knot at the sight of which she could not tear her eyes away from?
Helplessly (though never would she admit herself to be such), Cynthia unraveled herself where she sat. Unfolded her legs, high crossed them all the same, and stretched to settle her glass out of harm's way; for she feared her beating heart would break it with its vibrations should she hold on to it for much longer.
Has his hands ever been so attentively placed upon her own two hips?
Had he ever looked at her with those gentle, downturned eyes?
Thickly she swallowed, just as Hikari's own lips parted; and oh, Arceus… Is this the punishment for her sins? For having soiled his holy grounds at the tender age of fifteen in a spur of hormonal choices? For having taken her crushes innocence in the hallway of his safe haven; only to steal him for herself for the years to come?
Was this her punishment for having loved him first?
Long, slender – rough – fingers pulled at heavenly silk of a different color, and as the doll hid against his throat in a shy attempt at modesty (that vixen, she knew she was there with them, did she not?), his own came to lay against her shoulder. Where his lips pressed against her bare flesh, as her wear riled up higher and higher from her calves, to her thighs – to her rump and over her hips. And as his fingers sought the dripping, wet treasure she so selfishly shared with but him; his eyes met hers – hi wife's… oh, it was the harshest punishment of them all, wasn't it?
Venom seeped past the corners of her mouth, bleeding with jealousy and hurt – and a cursed, wretched thought filled her mind.
… If he would enjoy this doll so selfishly, then so would she.