Hey! What are you looking at?
She was a happy girl when she left me
-Stone Temple Pilots, "Sour Girl"
The corridor was long, wide, flanked by pillars of pure white that ran along much like the ranks of soldiers so perfect set. Beneath her feet was more of the same white marble, streaking through however with lines of soft gray. The veins of the rock, if you believed in such things. In grays and soft pinks it would almost seem flawed in comparison to such pristine white as the columns themselves, yet the colors complimented it all. It make the pristine state so much more by the slight and truly not considered, imperfections of the marble beneath her feet.
Her sandals clicked softly, not a harsh driving point but still a rapt of attention all the same, echoing until it reached the outside, until it breached the sentry line of columns. The ruffles of fabric against itself, her gown that flowed about her body like a stream would to a rock muffled it just a bit further. In shades of yellow and gold it complimented her features, her hair that was already a living banner of possible sunlight. The offset was her skin, a healthy color that spoke of time spent out in the sun but not to the point of overbearing and burning. A creamy shade of white with a few far whiter marks that spoke well of what you saw was not what you got.
Topped off all by a red bow it was either her herald that trailed belatedly behind her or the trumpet to announce her presence. It was a contrast all the same to her blue eyes, the color of a cloudless sky or the deepest undisturbed pond. She walked the hallways of the Lunar Palace, her pace neither slow nor hurried. With confidence, grace, and purpose, she walked.
What am I doing here?
She was in her room now, her quarters that so rarely saw her presence given her meetings. Meetings of what…? Of defense, of the state of affairs, of discussion of politics of other planets. Things that kept her from her room and her bed more often than not. Or training, so much training. The sword, tactics, battlefield strategy, history, current events, how to lead. Grace, refinement, how to entertain guests and dignitaries. Her room…
Why am I here?
The gown was still there, she could feel it still about her body. The coldness of the wall, pressing against her back. She couldn't feel that, she barely felt that. It was only something barely acknowledged. What was before her held so much of her attention. What was before her captured her breath, either by her mouth or by her presence. Eyes of the night sky before it turned dark. Eyes of the sky as it moved to dusk. They twinkled with a light of their own, a smug reassurance and a quirked grin on red lips.
Her eyes saw but did not wrap themselves around, did not comprehend what she wore. Just that she was there, her body pressing against hers, against the wall. That was why she didn't feel the natural chill of the wall, of the marble. She was far too heated, feeling hands run up along her ribs, the outer swells of her breasts, then down the bodice of her gown. She was far too heated, her mouth not her own for speaking vocalized words, instead it was vocalized needs as their tongues met with one another between parted lips.
Her mouth was claimed by the other, tongues meeting beneath barely parted eyelids. Seeing wasn't important right not after all; feeling was. She felt flushed, anxious with need, hungry with want. Her hands were not idle, slipping their way into the clothing the Priestess wore without realizing just what it was that she wore. Under her fingertips she felt skin, bare to her desires. Under her palms she knew flesh, pale in comparison to her own, shivering despite the assaults of pleasure she was leading.
Breaths mingled, resounding off of one another to fill their ears. Moans followed in their wake, rasps, gasps of pleasure as their bodies shifted against one another in a dance. They pressed, coming together, parting, pressing anew. Her gown was no more, feeling only the solidness of the wall behind her, the heat of the Priestess' body against her own. Fingers trailed, teasing, plucking and tugging at her nipples, causing the mouth to leave hers and instead levey marks of ownership against her neck.
Hands refused to be still, leaving her breasts to bury in hair that was black as sin instead. Twisting, tugging and pulling, her hands gave guidance to what it was she desired. The hot mouth at her neck left a scorching trail with just a single flick of her tongue, circling her nipple before teeth laid claim. A gasp followed, her body pressing forward as though making an offering of herself if it just meant the pleasure would continue on. Her back arched, pressing off of the wall, into the awaiting arms that trapped her.
The sensation drove her to insanity, the feeling of a hot mouth sucking at her breast. Her eyes refused to cooperate with her, spending one moment open and another moment rolling to the back of her head as though inventory was so direly in need of being taken. She squirmed, dancing gracefully even in that, wanting and needing more. Hands left her body where they had trailed along her ribs, her hips, the nature of her ass. Hands left her body after lightly raking nails up the outside of her thigh. A scratch, inflaming her passions, inflaming her moment.
More. She needed more. Imploringly she watched the other, vainly trying to catch just a moment within those eyes to plead, to beg. She couldn't speak; far too many moans were spilling from her lips. Hands collected her own, suddenly freed of her hair, gathering her wrists in one. Against the wall above her head they were pressed, nails leaving designs, tracing sigils against her pelvis.
"Minako…"
Her name.
She responded, driving her hips forward, directing. The hand ran lightly around her navel, the firmness of her stomach. She was giddy with anticipation, knowing what would happen. Soon, it was so much just a matter of time. The longer she waited, the more she would want, the more her body would weep its arousal. Two nails traced a line, parting to a "v" to either side of the trimmed blonde curls. They gathered, tugging lightly. She felt the grin against her ear, the purr of pleasure for the response her body gave.
"Minako…"
They slide onward, tracing her lips, her legs widening in her stance automatically without being asked to. Her body was malleable; she would do whatever the other wanted as long as it meant she got what she wanted in return. Her release, her climax… she was sure to let go the moment the Priestess touched her. She had been assaulted with pleasure that her defenses were no more. A finger traced, parting her folds. She felt, she heard the sounds of being pleased against her ear. The blast of heated air from her nose, lips parting as though to whisper.
A cry fell from her lips, her body surging forward the moment a finger pressed within her. Trapped by her arms it didn't matter, her lower body had the freedom of movement and so move it did. Teeth claimed her earlobe, biting hard, nearly drawing blood. She didn't care, her world was lost to pleasure. The finger withdrew; she whimpered, it returned and she elated her appreciation for such things. The second joined in, pumping both within her, thumb pressing to the bundle of nerves to work her orgasm quickly.
"Minako…"
She couldn't think, she could barely breathe. She could do nothing but be a willing prisoner to this moment, the assault of fingers against her, within her. Of heated breath, a pressing body. Her voice rose and fell in cries of pleasure, unintelligible things that didn't matter in their need to get out.
"You're mine, Minako…"
The fingers slowed, drawing her back. Her eyes were hazy, having beyond difficulty in focusing on the Priestess' body before her. On the eyes that met her own, locking her to her prison. What, what was she saying? It was gibberish, her body unable to transition from the pleasure that wracked it to the now. The hand suddenly pressed back against her, cupping her sex with her fingers worked. Her breath left her in a rush again, leaving her weak in the knees, dependant. Wide eyes that could not see met the Priestess' own, her moment close, her orgasm set to take her away...
"I am the lucid dream…"
What?
"Trust is your weakness…"
The scene faded. Her room was gone, the Priestess was gone. She was floating in space, in darkness incarnate. There was nothing around her, yet she felt she was suffocating, drowning in the depths.
"Hope is an illusion…"
She struggled, she fought. Clawing she reached for anything, a lifeline, a means to stay afloat. Murkiness pulled at her, dragging her down. A voice, a different voice. It wasn't the three before. It was… it was…
"All that you know will fade…."
A voice cried out. The voice of the Priestess. She screamed for mercy, for help. For someone to save her. The voice shifted, changing. It was her voice, crying out. Begging for someone, anyone. The murkiness left her on the barren rocks, the desecrated ground. The sky was dark, pitch black. Jagged bolts of lightning raked the sky, highlighting her failures. The palace was no more. The Princess lay dead. Blood was everywhere, where there was not darkness. Her friends looked at her with judgement in their eyes.
One by one they turned their backs on her. First Ami, the Princess of Mercury. A coldness in her gaze before her back was all she gave. Then Makoto, the tall woman's gaze narrowed in disgust before she too turned away. The Princess, her white gown stained red with her blood. She looked sorrowful for a split second before disappointment followed in her wake, turning her nose upward as she too turned away.
Then the Priestess. The last to turn. Her gaze like amethysts turned hard, dismissing her with a snort of contempt.
They walked off… leaving her...
"You will be alone in the end…"
With a gasping cry her eyes flew open. They stared at the ceiling above her, wide and unseeing at first. A hand grasped the blankets tightly in a fist at her breast, feeling her heart pound out in protest underneath. It took far too many breaths to calm herself, for her eyes to blink. That there were tears she didn't even notice at first, slowly sitting upright.
The room, in the monastery. That's where she was, recognizing the red rock that it had been carved from. Was it night? Was it day? She didn't know, she couldn't tell. Fuck the room… nothing told her. Her hand dropped the blanket, letting it pool around her waist. She was still dressed, her clothes from before. From when the Priestess… her head ached with an agony all of its own. Her hand rose instead, pressing to the side of her face where a length of cloth had been tightly bound to her temples.
She couldn't stay here. The Priestess… she was in danger. This place was… it was too much. She made motion to move, groaning instead in pain. Her head did not like the idea of her doing much of anything, flaring up at the sheer notion. Gritting her teeth she fought past it, shoving it aside like she did everything else. Rest, contentment, relaxation; these were things not meant for her, these were luxuries she couldn't have. Friendship, camaraderie, a sense of belonging, love…
Foolish wants for a foolish girl.
Her legs swung over the side of the bed, finding her boots nearby. Hands pulled them on with something akin to a yank, buckling them to be secured. Lurching up to her feet she swayed, her balance unsteady, stumbling before catching herself against the door frame. There was the chair, holding to her armor, her sheathed falchion, her pack. With far more difficulty than it should have normally been she strapped the breast- and backplate against her body, her sword belt following. Into the pack when her clothing, her cloak pinned around her before the pack went on.
Her eyes paused, the red cloth lying folded on the small nightstand that held a candle. Without another thought it was collected, pulled through her hair as she woozily moved on her feet to steady herself. Her hands dropped after a moment or five, a crooked bow left but it would do. Her damaged helmet in hand she braced herself, grasping the door to heave open and step out into the hallway, immediately regretting it to slump instead against the doorframe. A pounding headache was her reward for that stunt.
The guide… dimly she saw her rushing forward, speaking probably something she was meant to understand but staying here another moment wouldn't settle with her. She thought she managed to croak that out, leaning against the wall every few steps in her search to get out. Close enough to be an anxiety attack she just knew somehow, someway, that getting out was the only option she had.
Behind her she heard the clamour of Martian, frantic talking but she paid it no mind. She couldn't understand it as it was, finally pushing out of the monastery into the early morning air. Her head cleared, while it wasn't instantaneous she felt relief at long last. Long gulps of air she took, feeling better with every passing moment. Upwards her gaze went, to the heavens, silently thanking the Goddess for her blessings before she turned. The guide looked at her, distraughtly wringing her hands together in the long sleeves of her robe.
"You can't… you can't leave… you're not well…"
"I can't stay here; she's in danger. I swore nothing would happen to her… I can't not do anything…" she whispered softly. While her head cleared for the most part, the pain a lingering friend, she knew full on and well that her chances of success were nil. "Just… just tell me where she went…" she finished with, a hand finding itself used for balance against the cold stone of the mountain the monastery was carved from.
The conflict was there, asking possibly for betrayal of one of their own despite their actions. She was an outsider by and large, certainly not a Martian and certainly not of their order. The guide finally relented, as if a silent gesture a horse was brought to the front. Perhaps the guide was there to test her convictions; she should think on it but right now it was impossible to form most of the thoughts she had that were purely meant for functioning.
"Northeast… she left… three days ago." The guide finally uttered, forlornly looking off in that direction before back at her. "You've been unconscious ever since…"
Fuck, that explained why she felt so weak. Her stomach took the news to growl loudly, threatening to eat her spine unless something was fed to it.
The guide sighed, helping her to the horse to mount up. From a saddle bag a small loaf of bread was pushed into her hands, held open long enough to indicate there was food within before the bag was buckled closed again. "Eat, as you can. She… she's heading to the Palace, to the King. No one has seen him in ages. She's going to danger, to her doom…" The guide looked up at her, sadness joining with the sense of forlorn before she finally gave up, dropping to her knees before her. "Please. You must save her. You're the only one that can. The Fires of Mars… something has gripped them, corrupting them. It's what's happened to her. You're not of here; we all know that. Its why its taking longer and longer to affect you. You must go, you must hurry… or everything is going to fall apart."
The bread was held numbly in her hands, watching as the guide made her plea. The hopeless asking her for help, for a miracle. She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, nodding. "I'll get her back…. I promise," turning the horse about she pulled her cloak hood up over her face, collecting the reins with more bravado than she felt she had. She nearly fell out of the saddle but sheer will power allowed her to hang on. Chewing off a sizable bite of the bread gave her a focus, putting her heels to the horse to ride off through the barren land.
It struck her that she had no idea what the horse's name was.
Hey I haven't done A/Ns that are meaningful in a while so lets change that up!
BooBooKittyFuck - you have an awesome name seriously. Hope you're enjoying!
Thunderfall - That better be the good sort of fucking precious because I had fun writing that. For once, dialogue did not suck.
BooBooKittyFuck - lol what the fuck is going on? It's called "welcome to my story, where I like to throw curve balls." Yeah it took a sudden turn there didn't it? But it'll get explained as I continue on. Oh hey and I see that you wrote something too! I'll have to go check it out!
Super Secret Guest Reviewer ... I think number three? Yes you are number 3! - Sometimes I write a ton and other times it's like a week or more before I put thoughts to paper. It think writing is how I vent out my day if it's been bad or stressful, or if I'm just feeling creative. Glad though that you're enjoying, because this has turned around on me so many times of what I planned when I first started which is good. I like that it's living and breathing and has a mind of its own to want to change.