Sweet Zephyr
By Ryu Niiyama
Essentially this is a character study, body worship/love's devotion piece shaded with pain and while not explicit it does go into the bliss that is the female form and anatomy.
Her feet alighted upon the soft grass and she let herself wander around the small clearing nestled upon the plateau that only she and once Queen Angella could reach. This was her place to come to tame the storm within her heart, the trees long since bowed by her might and her pain. She had not needed to come to this place in years, but in the wake of the War, with the scars that crisscrossed her heart in sickly verdant pulses, she needed time to learn to trust herself again. She felt a spike of guilt at the flimsy excuse that she used to leave Brightmoon, but she could not bear the immolating pain of her guilt and her longing another moment.
Sighing softly, she crossed her legs and let herself float, her mind drifting to the eye of her storm, to her sweet touchstone her beloved wife, Netossa. She felt the tempest of her love howl, mournful and yearning, aching for the most glorious treasure in all of Etheria. Yet the whispers of a nightmare not quite remembered made her hesitant, and she shrank away from the brilliance that had once been a source of serenity and fierce passion. She could spend the rest of her life composing sonnets and hymns to the glory of love's perfection and still never even scratch the surface. Yet her broken, forlorn heart could not be stopped from trying as her mind reached with aching yearning for her beloved.
A heart that burned with justice's might, competitive and righteous, merciless towards evil but so very gentle towards the helpless. Annoyance formed a poor mask for radiant kindness and bluster a poor shield for a heart gentle and easily bruised by loss. Competitiveness found root in a desire to see their homeland safe and to hone skills forged in the flames of war to usefulness. Dutiful adherence shrouded bravery and courageousness as they faced down overwhelming odds without bending, without breaking under despair. How that lovely heart burned with complexity and earnestness, a mystery to many but as transparent as the winds to her. She had once been appointed that sublime heart's champion and she took to her joyous duty earnestly. Soft smiles and strong hugs and a warm hand always in hers to ease the trepidation that loss had tried to stain her dear one's soul with. Yet even this imperfection was beautiful; unease that gave way to yearning and comfort in her presence, sorrow that made resolve and responsibility burn unending. That glorious heart beat with love, sweeter than honey, softer than the clouds, stronger than the mountains and once that love had been hers and hers alone.
A mind sharper than the most honed blade or whipping winds, observant and practical yet insatiably curious, was a true delight to engage. Surely had the flames of war not plunged the world into darkness, that mind would have ascended to become that of one of the greatest scholars of Etheria. History, tactics, medicine, there were few things not within the purview of that intellectual brilliance. Entrapta might have been the mistress of the machines that the ancient ones left behind, but it was in shrewd planning and flawless execution that many of those soulless contraptions fell to become so much scrap. Ideas flowed as surely as the storm winds with power and persistence and she smiled as she thought of the number of tomes her sweet beloved had filled with sketches of the world, observations and plans. How proud she was to have won the affection of such a clever and amazing woman. How she loved nothing more than to pass the time listening to dreams and plans and desires, conjured by that beautiful mind and given shape by that heavenly voice.
Pure, unblemished skin, the shade of sweet mahogany, silken cyan curls, tightly coiled and soft that she could spend hours stroking and caressing. How often she buried her face in that cyan crown, soothed by the sweet scent that belonged to her dear one alone. Deep, dark sienna eyes that burned with intelligence and wit, such treasured eyes that blazed with passion and sensuality; Gentle eyes that remained such even after all the horrors they had witnessed. A face so beatific that it made her want to weep in supplication, and to burn in desire's immolating grip. A soft, lightly rounded nose, that scrunched up so adorably when her love was lost in thought or annoyed or amused. Full, lush lips, paradise to taste and the gateway to the most devastating smile she'd ever had the great fortune to witness.
The things she did to coax that smile, the lengths she went to feel its warmth…there was no price that she would not pay, no depths she would not lower herself to even if it meant looking like a fool, so long as she was graced with that smile that she now knew rivaled the stars. Kissing those lips and that masterful mouth was an exercise in pleasure in itself; that mouth that could take her apart with yearning suckling kisses or that could drive her to the brink of insanity as those glorious lips branded delicious torment along her body. A warm tongue that could grow languid with kindness or whip sharp with biting wit or become a writhing enigma of passion when wielded in desire, that lay gated behind pristine, strong teeth. Delicate ears, so sensitive and cute, easy lures for the stroke of her finger or tongue of the warm whisper of her breath or the teasing nip of her teeth. That graceful neck, elegant yet strong, calling to her to suckle and nuzzle along its glorious slope, housing a voice of pure divinity. That voice... by all the winds of Etheria that voice... Authoritative like a goddess, sensual and sonorous like a temptress, soft and needy when she found her champion in their embrace.
Powerful lithe shoulders and arms, often hidden by armor and a war jacket, comfort to feel hold her, and temptation to run her hands over their sculpted length. Delicate yet precise hands, with slender, long fingers capped with blunted nails, that could dance and weave energy into existence or could take down a hated foe with ease. Hands that could comfort her with a squeeze or caress, hands that could drive her to distraction with featherlight strokes or could take her apart with commanding, arresting touches of fire along her skin. Pert, gorgeous breasts so perfect in her hands or mouth, capped with plump sweet nipples, dark and sublime. The weight of those breasts, the sway of them, even when hinted behind the protection of clothing mesmerized her and set her mind and her body to painful yearning.
That leonine, supine body that moved with fluidic, muscular grace set her serenity to breaking and left it to scatter in the winds of devotion and passion. A flat belly, a hard range softened with the silk of her beautiful dark skin, hid a playful secret; sensitivity that could be stroked to rich laughter, bright and wonderful or stoked to desire, fierce and consuming. A waist, while slender was stout with power rather than delicate and easily bowed; such possession and belonging and ecstasy she felt at winding her arms around the trim expanse or bracketing it with her hands. Wide hips sheathed in power, hid a succulent, curly cyan blanketed valley that had known no other worship save that of the summoner of wind's devout touch. She bit her lips at the thought of sweet musk, indolent with desire, the soft sweet swollen folds of womanly delight hers to taste and touch and coax to love's brilliant splendor. The thought of the hooded pearl, the glory of femininity nestled within the flower, decadent treasures that she coveted endlessly. The molten well of her, so tight and welcoming, griping her with sweet-firm suction that encased her fingers or tongue as if they had been made solely to know love's joining. The dovetail of that sweet treasure against her own was a test in sanity as she shattered under the rich, tangle-pull between lavender and cyan curls and the molten kiss of divinity, wet and arresting.
Powerful legs that could traverse a distance with ease and speed or could snap out a devastating kick or spring forward in floaty flips and twirls. Those columns of grace and strength called to her like a siren's song as she watched them dance and leap and spin and she felt purpose burn brilliant and inflaming when thighs trembled with passion's release. Delicate feet that belied a dancer's strength, beautiful and sensitive how she loved to touch them to trigger lassitude or to evoke embarrassed passion with just the right amount of pressure or the lave of her tongue. How she took delight in traveling the backs of those distracting legs, to reach the firm, ripe glory that was her backside. Shaped in rounded, muscular perfection, she sometimes wondered how she survived battle with such a tantalizing lure often paraded in front of her. A back, svelte and lithe, rippled with indolent power and grace though often hidden by armor. Seeing that back sheathed in silk and satin and feeling its warmth as she held her beloved in her arms, was grace made manifest. The sweet way that they fit so perfectly dovetailed in curvaceous symmetry made her believe in life again after her the Evil Horde had only given her death.
The Evil Horde burnt down the world, shattered her until she thought she'd never dream again.
Yet all her dreams, those realized and those yet to take shape coalesced into the most perfect of beings, her dearest Netossa. Friend, battle partner, lover, companion, rival and wife, in loving her she found peace in a world embroiled in war. Yet her love had been tainted sickly, sallow viridian; poisoned by Horde Prime's ambition and cruelty. Love, beloved and dear had become shame and the place that was once only her right, her joyous duty, her beloved and most cherished obligation had been stolen from her. The flames of war had forged a bond unbreakable, bestowed upon only a worthy heart… a worthy lover.
Now…Now she was unworthy. She could not trust herself, and thus she could not trust her heart to love, she could not trust that her love was safe, that the need to comfort and protect would not lacerate and destroy. She had given her all to the safety and love of her most beloved one, the darling, dearest one that made her whole; her body to love and protect her, her power to defend her, her heart to worship her, her mind to challenge her, her hands to guide and please her. Now her hands could only hurt and her love could only cause pain. She grazed her fingers over the symbol of her devotion and she let out a sob of purest loss. The winds howled, echoing her soul as they ripped though the trees, plucking leaves and flowers and conjuring a sweet effigy of her heart. Her eyes opened as she looked upon the dryad made in the image of purest love and while it could not truly do perfection justice, as the mimic stepped closer to her, she let her love conjure the difference. She stood, entranced as she reached out towards the monument to her heart's most ardent desire and right before she could lay hands upon maple shaped in the visage of sublime beauty, the snap of a twig broke her concentration.
The spell broken, the winds let the effigy disperse and she dropped to her knees with a sob, reaching out trembling hands towards the now lifeless leaves. This is all she would ever have, the ghost of a love now lost to her because she had sullied it with her own hands. She let her hands claw at her arms and she bowed over her knees, letting out a ragged keening roar at the cruelty of the flames of war. Her voice reverberated in the clearing and she didn't stop until a warm touch, not that of wind nor leaf took her hand. She knew that touch, knew the softness of the skin and the placement of the callouses forged in battle and musical training and she tried to shrink away. Yet a band of energy, pure and sublime, and stronger than the fiercest tempest looped around her and tugged her back. Off balance, she toppled into waiting arms and she struggled futilely in the unyielding embrace.
"Spinny, Spinny stop! It's me! It's Netossa!"
She could not stay, she could not sully her beloved any more than she already had, so she struggled more viciously and yet the hold upon her would not give.
"Spinny, please!"
She balked as she heard tears in the distraught words and she looked up into sweet sienna that blurred with sadness and failure. Drawn always to protect and soothe, she paused going pliant, shushing her dearest one even as she felt guilt spike her heart. She shouldn't stay but she couldn't abandon her dearest one; she had sworn that she would remain by her side, until she realized the folly of loving one so tainted and left her to languish in her heartbreak.
"I'm not going anywhere Spinny, and neither are you. Come back to me, don't let him win!"
She remembered whispers of those words; tiny buzzing sounds that pelted against the booming screech of Horde Prime's will like rain. Rain to wash away her betrayal and weakness, rain to cleanse her soul anew. She remembered all the reasons why she loved her dearest one but this, unwavering loyalty, had to be the most endearing trait. The embrace broke, and she was certain she would be set free, only to feel the sweetest of caresses against her cheek.
"I love you so much, Spinnerella."
Paradise graced her lips as her beloved one captured her in a kiss, loving her mouth with earnest gentleness. She could feel the spell come over her, keeping her from doing little else than embracing her heart's desire and returning her loving caresses. Guilt and shame tried to take hold, but her beloved's touch would not let them claim any part of her. When they parted, she whimpered softly, already missing that purifying touch. Weak, she exhaled, ragged and pained as she molded her body to her lover and rested her head against her shoulder. She shivered in guilty delight as she felt warm hands wander over her back aimlessly and she wondered if she was enough…if her love was enough. Not realizing she'd spoken the words aloud; she felt a balm to her wounded soul at last.
"Oh, Spinny. It's everything."
Since the entire piece narrates the perspective of Spinnerella's thoughts, I thought it fitting that the spoken parts be Netossa's. The callbacks in dialogue are deliberate.
Please Read and Review
R. Niiyama
9/2020