The fragmented thoughts of a mage in battle - subtitled: a woman dressed in blue.

Kitty Ryan, 2002

I've always gone for a woman dressed in blue.
A beautiful colour, that.
So many shades,
Hundreds, thousands of shades.
The fabric soft and calm,
Flowing against the being beneath it.

Yes, the woman behind the blue.
The woman to which the fabric clings.
Whispering with her every moment.
Whispering,
So it seems,
Only to me.

Mithros,
Mynoss,
And Shakith!
What am I thinking?
Well…
I know perfectly well what I'm thinking.
But still, it is inexcusable.
Dark,
Dangerous,
Unhealthy thoughts
For this woman,
This woman dressed in blue,
Is not a woman.
But a girl.

A mere slip of a girl.
A slip of a girl who is looking at me,
With those big, grey-blue eyes.
Beautiful eyes,
Bright with the excitement
And the bright, pretentious Charthakian grandeur,
Of all they are compelled to take in.
Bright with concern.
Concern for me.
Though why,
Why these big eyes look at me like this,
Like I am something precious
That she wants to be kept safe,
I do not know.

(But I wish,
I wish
That she would look at me.
Like I am something precious,
All the time.)

Numair…
Stop.
Stop now.
Stop before…
Oh.
She's walking up the dais now.
That woman-child,
Dressed in blue.
Walking to where my former friend,
My current enemy,
(Apart from myself,
And my treacherous thoughts)
Is sitting in his golden,
Nauseating glory.

She curtsies.
Blue fabric fanning out.
Rustling,
Whispering,
Perfect.
She is perfect.
And it seems,
It does appear,
That some of those clerks agree.

Annoyed as this makes me,
I have to compliment them,
On their good taste.
Though I shouldn't be annoyed,
Or anything of that sort.
For I am not her father,
To frown upon her suitors.
Nor am I her lover,
To battle them off.

Though sometimes,
Actually, almost all-times,
I wish that…

Stop tormenting me!
Evil,
Compromising thoughts.
Uncomfortable
Unbearable
Feelings.
This is wrong.
Very, very wrong.
Though rather delicious,
I have to admit.

Here she comes,
Looking tired and strained.
Biting her lip.
I smile.
I stroke her cheek.
I shiver.
I ask her how she went.
An innocent question.
To which she gives an innocent answer.
And innocent she is.
Not in life,
But of my feelings.

My warm, aching,
Incredible and twisted feelings.
Feelings that make me
Make my helpless body and mind,
Crave her.
Long for her.
For her to fly me to the moon.
And dance among the stars.
Then for us to fall
Spent,
Back to the world.

Go away, you feelings.
You fantasies,
And dreams.
Leave me be.

Oh my.
What am I seeing?
Who am I seeing?
This vision I thought was lost.
Who is holding out a hand?
Not dressed in blue.
But in clinging satin.
Rose-petal pink.

I stand up,
She leads me away.
And I give one last, lingering look,
At the woman,
No--
The girl,
Dressed in blue.