Raistlin stood rooted to the spot with Crysania's arms around him. He could not think for himself on anything but her; her eyes pulled him in and her warmth paralyzed him. He wondered what he had gotten himself into by allowing himself to love her; it very inconveniently got in the way of all his plans.
He looked into her eyes, deeper than he had originally allowed himself to, and saw mutual feelings there that he had hoped, beyond all hope, would be there. Taking his hand from her face, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer to his body; her warmth all the time seducing him even more, and her beauty drowning him in desire. The vision he had had moments before, had made him want her even more than he had when he had summoned her to his chambers. He wanted that, to be loved, to know that wherever he went or whatever he did, he could always come home to her. She was closer to his body than ever before, and he could feel every curve of her sweet body against his as if it was meant to be. He could feel how she pressed against him, all the time becoming more apart of him, and how good it felt to have her there.
The sound of the bells that called all the clerics for evening prayers reminded him of where they were, and that someone was always watching; not to mention the fact that he was here for one purpose and one purpose only. Visions of his goddess suddenly filled his head, and he felt his body go stiff of its own accord. He didn't want to leave Crysania's side, but he had a mission, and he had to stay loyal to his goddess.
"But you are asking her to be disloyal to HER god." Said a voice in his head.
'Oh shut up, this is different. You know the purpose I'm after.'
"No it's not. And your purpose doesn't hold a candle to Crysania, you know she has feelings for you and you're asking her to do this without asking it of yourself first."
Remembering the terrors his goddess could inflict, but confused at the same time about the voice, he made himself become cold. It hurt him, to see her shock as he suddenly began to push her away, face impassive and cold as ice. He could hardly bear it, and had to fight to keep his face as impassive as it had started. Using the trick that Tas loved so much, he let Crysania out, making sure she was out of hearing range before letting out his tears. The sobs racked his body just as badly as his coughing fits did, and he had to lie down on the bed before anything else. He let everything come out as much as he could, and when the sobs would not come anymore, he rested.
He wondered the whole time why he had to be so difficult. Was being a god so important? Why couldn't he just learn to live like a normal human being with all their faults and confess his love for Crysania and get it over with? It wasn't that hard. Was it? Another vision of his goddess answered that question. He wished with all his might that he had not gone to her side. The blackness of her evil spanned millennia; and he, a mere mortal, was only a strand in it.
'A strand with a very white streak in it.' He thought somewhat bitterly, 'A streak that, no matter how hard I try to push away, keeps coming back and showing me what life really is.'
He shed his robes, and went to bed, hoping that sleep would slough the worries from his shoulders. Sleep was a long time in coming; and when it did come, his goddess tormented him in her worst form: the Temptress. She had Crysania's face, and tormented him the whole night with bodily pleasures. When he awoke in the morning, he felt drained and could barely walk to the door.
Somehow, he made it to the courtyard of the temple, and stood next to the pond watching the fish swim lazily. Funny, that they didn't know the danger they were in just being there, that the cataclysm would soon tear them apart. The sun's rays shone down, and beat down with excessive warmth. Clerics wandered the courtyard, giving him a wide berth as they still thought he was Fistandantilus. Hearing a sound behind him, he turned to find himself face to face with Crysania.
Her eyes were sorrowful, and she looked as if she wanted to talk to him. He could understand why she was so downtrodden, after his change of demeanour yesterday it wasn't surprising. He wanted to step forward and hold her close, tell her how he felt and that he renounced everything else he was for. Well, except magic, he didn't know if he could do that yet. Seeing as how they were in public now, he couldn't, so he stood there and looked at her impassively. His hood was down, and the sun shone off his wavy brown hair. Looking down at Crysania, he noticed that her robes seemed a little crumpled, as if she had forgotten to take them off the night before; and her hair was slightly tangled. He stepped closer to her, and she quickly looked up and into his eyes. Remembering how his heart had melted the day before when she had done this, it was nothing to rival how it broke now to see the hurt in her eyes. He could not stand it anymore. Stepping still closer to Crysania, without being intimate, he looked deeply into her eyes; trying to convey, without words, how he felt for her. He didn't notice Quarath's face in the bushes by the pond.