Chapter 12: 12
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If there is one thing to understand, it is that the folk that wander the Great Forest are far different from the angels. Although they live under our rules, they are much less bound by order, and incredibly unpredictable. Past our borders it's a wild land: of spirits and pixies and horned men who wander with entrancing songs on their lips; of women who prowl with the legs of a lion and elvish creatures who play cruel tricks on those who let themselves be fooled by their shallow beauty. Where vampires drink and kiss and kill, where blood is spilt almost as often as wine, and where great revels are held by the Faey folk around heaving bonfires of succulent meat and bone under the light of the moon. It is a place of careless magic, where anything and anyone was fair game, and where dancing late into the night with a random stranger was the least peculiar thing.
I quiver a little. It's like a totally new world, a foreign land I am stuck right in the midst of. No amount of study could have told me how to act, or what to do. But I find, stepping a little closer, that something surges within me, the reckless wildness of the forest overtaking my senses; the intoxicating feeling of being free. It is almost as if the spirit of the Great Forest has embedded itself deep into my bones. It's just one dance. I think stupidly, knowing the council would tell me otherwise. Yet I can already feel my guard faltering. My sword hand wavers. I hope in the gloom of the light that he cannot see the eager curiosity on my face, or the way my breath catches in my throat at the thought of what I might hope to do. If he makes a move I kill him, I decide to myself, as if in reassurance, but the thought is fleeting. Then, against my better judgement, I take his hand, recoiling a little as our skin makes contact, cold from the night. He lightly presses his fingers onto my wrist, his black nails like raven claws against my skin.
Tenderly, he pulls me towards him, swaying at first, then stepping into a steady dance as we circle round the firelight. The flames crackle. He hums absently to himself, a low waltz which drains away slowly into the night. I laugh to myself, part out of wonder, another out of confusion.
"I can't say I've ever been stopped for a dance in the middle of the night before." I chuckle nervously, wondering to myself why I wasn't concerned about being so precipitous. The man smiles as he twirls me round the glowing flames, as if he already knew. He slides a hand down to my waist, pulling me a little closer, so that the sweet smell of his skin permeates the air between us, floral, intense. It makes my head spin.
"Well, it would have been a crime not to," he murmurs thoughtfully, shrugging, and I realise he's flirting with me. How classically Faey. But despite it, my face heats up. I suddenly become aware of his eyes on me, tracing the outline of my face, of how strange I must look, prancing around in a regal dress. Perhaps it's no wonder he asked me to dance. He hums a little more, the silent night swallowing up each note after the other. He seems lost in thought, consumed by some unaired thoughts that I am not privy to. He doesn't even stir as a wind gusts through the trees, his hand firmly fixated on my waist, his step confident, as if the dance itself was merely a reflex for him.
Keep calm, he hasn't done anything yet, I think slowly to myself. But my hand lingers at the hilt of my sword, the shiny silver blade glistening menacingly in the semi- darkness. His little tune catches in my ears as it swirls around us, rustling the leaves, as though the sad melancholy of its sound was enough to make the trees themselves weep. I focus on its notes.
"And where would you be headed at this time of night?" he asks, pulling out of his daze, tipping his head slightly so that the light catches on the side of his face, drawing shadows under his sharp cheekbones. His eyes glimmer. I stifle a soft sound in the back of my throat. Even with the hood, there is some ethereal sway, some undeniable beauty about this creature. I find myself desperately suppressing the urge to push my fingers under his hood, prize away the fabric and reveal whatever lurks beneath. When I go to speak my tongue is heavy in my mouth.
"The palace of Sezeria," I reply, swallowing back a stutter. His gaze bores into mine, his eyes focused, clear. My body tingles at the thought of where his eyes might wonder. Silently, I hope to myself that the darkness will make up for the undignified amount of clothing on my body. The man gives a wan smile.
"I am headed there myself," he exclaims, the upper portion of his lip curving into a smile from under his hood. He stops for a moment, catching my eyes with his. I shiver, my heart racing a little more than I'd like. It feels so odd, to be here, dancing with this stranger. Almost like some long lost dream that floats in the back of my mind, not yet forgotten entirely, but too distant to be remembered clearly. When I was younger, I had always prattled on to Lilyana about how fun it would be to dance through the forest at night. It would be a romantic scene, lit by glowing will-o'-the-wisps, and punctuated by the tiny hums of fireflies and croaking frogs, where I would dance barefoot on the grass with a prince, or a sprite, or a pretty angel boy until my feet were rubbed raw. Now is a far cry from what I had imagined back then, the night is cold, dark, and the only light is from the thick golden streams cast by the gradually dimming fire. And yet even so, there is something undeniably… romantic about it all. At the sight of the blithe smile on my face, the man freezes. Immediately, something flashes across his iris'. An animal look. A sliver of red or black, that melts back into glowing yellow orbs, too quick for me to decipher. The fire sparks.
"You've been there before?" I ask quickly, too quickly, looking away. I avoid his eyes, trying desperately to forget whatever it was I had seen. Pulling back, he straightens his collar, shifting it to one side. A faint smile plays on his lips, tugging at the corners of his mouth, but an unnerving aura strays about him, as if something in the very air itself had shifted. After a moment's hesitation, he utters softly.
"Something like that,"
"Perhaps I will see you there," I add, drawing my gaze back to him, dismayed at finding myself unable to look away. There is a peculiar fondness in his eyes, a look set in his face that would seem although my words had satisfied him greatly. My heart quickens. Stupid, stupid, I think. Why did I have to say that? I shouldn't want to see him again at all. I don't even know him. All at once a terrible feeling of self consciousness washes over me- of my actions, of how I look, and though I am ashamed to admit it, of what this creature thinks of me as his eyes roam the expanse of my body. I pat down the ruffles of my dress, upturned by the heated movement of our bodies and the stiff chill of the night, careful not to look at him. As I do so, he catches my hand in his, his black talons digging lightly into my skin. With the care of an artist to his work, he draws my hand to his mouth. I freeze.
I need to grab my sword, I think heavily to myself. But it's like trying to wake from a deep slumber, the best I manage is to twitch my fingers abysmally towards its hilt.
"Perhaps you will," he muses at last, laughing a little, as if I were telling him a joke, and presses his lips tenderly against the back of my hand. A small sigh of relief escapes me. He isn't going to kill me. He is just flirting. His breath lingers on my skin and his eyes meet once more with mine, an expression playing on his features that I can't quite place. A shudder runs down my spine as his dazzling eyes meet mine, and all at once I forget how to breathe.
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If there is one thing to understand, it is that the folk that wander the Great Forest are far different from the angels. Although they live under our rules, they are much less bound by order, and incredibly unpredictable. Past our borders it's a wild land: of spirits and pixies and horned men who wander with entrancing songs on their lips; of women who prowl with the legs of a lion and elvish creatures who play cruel tricks on those who let themselves be fooled by their shallow beauty. Where vampires drink and kiss and kill, where blood is spilt almost as often as wine, and where great revels are held by the Faey folk around heaving bonfires of succulent meat and bone under the light of the moon. It is a place of careless magic, where anything and anyone was fair game, and where dancing late into the night with a random stranger was the least peculiar thing.
I quiver a little. It's like a totally new world, a foreign land I am stuck right in the midst of. No amount of study could have told me how to act, or what to do. But I find, stepping a little closer, that something surges within me, the reckless wildness of the forest overtaking my senses; the intoxicating feeling of being free. It is almost as if the spirit of the Great Forest has embedded itself deep into my bones. It's just one dance. I think stupidly, knowing the council would tell me otherwise. Yet I can already feel my guard faltering. My sword hand wavers. I hope in the gloom of the light that he cannot see the eager curiosity on my face, or the way my breath catches in my throat at the thought of what I might hope to do. If he makes a move I kill him, I decide to myself, as if in reassurance, but the thought is fleeting. Then, against my better judgement, I take his hand, recoiling a little as our skin makes contact, cold from the night. He lightly presses his fingers onto my wrist, his black nails like raven claws against my skin.
Tenderly, he pulls me towards him, swaying at first, then stepping into a steady dance as we circle round the firelight. The flames crackle. He hums absently to himself, a low waltz which drains away slowly into the night. I laugh to myself, part out of wonder, another out of confusion.
"I can't say I've ever been stopped for a dance in the middle of the night before." I chuckle nervously, wondering to myself why I wasn't concerned about being so precipitous. The man smiles as he twirls me round the glowing flames, as if he already knew. He slides a hand down to my waist, pulling me a little closer, so that the sweet smell of his skin permeates the air between us, floral, intense. It makes my head spin.
"Well, it would have been a crime not to," he murmurs thoughtfully, shrugging, and I realise he's flirting with me. How classically Faey. But despite it, my face heats up. I suddenly become aware of his eyes on me, tracing the outline of my face, of how strange I must look, prancing around in a regal dress. Perhaps it's no wonder he asked me to dance. He hums a little more, the silent night swallowing up each note after the other. He seems lost in thought, consumed by some unaired thoughts that I am not privy to. He doesn't even stir as a wind gusts through the trees, his hand firmly fixated on my waist, his step confident, as if the dance itself was merely a reflex for him.
Keep calm, he hasn't done anything yet, I think slowly to myself. But my hand lingers at the hilt of my sword, the shiny silver blade glistening menacingly in the semi- darkness. His little tune catches in my ears as it swirls around us, rustling the leaves, as though the sad melancholy of its sound was enough to make the trees themselves weep. I focus on its notes.
"And where would you be headed at this time of night?" he asks, pulling out of his daze, tipping his head slightly so that the light catches on the side of his face, drawing shadows under his sharp cheekbones. His eyes glimmer. I stifle a soft sound in the back of my throat. Even with the hood, there is some ethereal sway, some undeniable beauty about this creature. I find myself desperately suppressing the urge to push my fingers under his hood, prize away the fabric and reveal whatever lurks beneath. When I go to speak my tongue is heavy in my mouth.
"The palace of Sezeria," I reply, swallowing back a stutter. His gaze bores into mine, his eyes focused, clear. My body tingles at the thought of where his eyes might wonder. Silently, I hope to myself that the darkness will make up for the undignified amount of clothing on my body. The man gives a wan smile.
"I am headed there myself," he exclaims, the upper portion of his lip curving into a smile from under his hood. He stops for a moment, catching my eyes with his. I shiver, my heart racing a little more than I'd like. It feels so odd, to be here, dancing with this stranger. Almost like some long lost dream that floats in the back of my mind, not yet forgotten entirely, but too distant to be remembered clearly. When I was younger, I had always prattled on to Lilyana about how fun it would be to dance through the forest at night. It would be a romantic scene, lit by glowing will-o'-the-wisps, and punctuated by the tiny hums of fireflies and croaking frogs, where I would dance barefoot on the grass with a prince, or a sprite, or a pretty angel boy until my feet were rubbed raw. Now is a far cry from what I had imagined back then, the night is cold, dark, and the only light is from the thick golden streams cast by the gradually dimming fire. And yet even so, there is something undeniably… romantic about it all. At the sight of the blithe smile on my face, the man freezes. Immediately, something flashes across his iris'. An animal look. A sliver of red or black, that melts back into glowing yellow orbs, too quick for me to decipher. The fire sparks.
"You've been there before?" I ask quickly, too quickly, looking away. I avoid his eyes, trying desperately to forget whatever it was I had seen. Pulling back, he straightens his collar, shifting it to one side. A faint smile plays on his lips, tugging at the corners of his mouth, but an unnerving aura strays about him, as if something in the very air itself had shifted. After a moment's hesitation, he utters softly.
"Something like that,"
"Perhaps I will see you there," I add, drawing my gaze back to him, dismayed at finding myself unable to look away. There is a peculiar fondness in his eyes, a look set in his face that would seem although my words had satisfied him greatly. My heart quickens. Stupid, stupid, I think. Why did I have to say that? I shouldn't want to see him again at all. I don't even know him. All at once a terrible feeling of self consciousness washes over me- of my actions, of how I look, and though I am ashamed to admit it, of what this creature thinks of me as his eyes roam the expanse of my body. I pat down the ruffles of my dress, upturned by the heated movement of our bodies and the stiff chill of the night, careful not to look at him. As I do so, he catches my hand in his, his black talons digging lightly into my skin. With the care of an artist to his work, he draws my hand to his mouth. I freeze.
I need to grab my sword, I think heavily to myself. But it's like trying to wake from a deep slumber, the best I manage is to twitch my fingers abysmally towards its hilt.
"Perhaps you will," he muses at last, laughing a little, as if I were telling him a joke, and presses his lips tenderly against the back of my hand. A small sigh of relief escapes me. He isn't going to kill me. He is just flirting. His breath lingers on my skin and his eyes meet once more with mine, an expression playing on his features that I can't quite place. A shudder runs down my spine as his dazzling eyes meet mine, and all at once I forget how to breathe.
If there is one thing to understand, it is that the folk that wander the Great Forest are far different from the angels. Although they live under our rules, they are much less bound by order, and incredibly unpredictable. Past our borders it's a wild land: of spirits and pixies and horned men who wander with entrancing songs on their lips; of women who prowl with the legs of a lion and elvish creatures who play cruel tricks on those who let themselves be fooled by their shallow beauty. Where vampires drink and kiss and kill, where blood is spilt almost as often as wine, and where great revels are held by the Faey folk around heaving bonfires of succulent meat and bone under the light of the moon. It is a place of careless magic, where anything and anyone was fair game, and where dancing late into the night with a random stranger was the least peculiar thing.I quiver a little. It's like a totally new world, a foreign land I am stuck right in the midst of. No amount of study could have told me how to act, or what to do. But I find, stepping a little closer, that something surges within me, the reckless wildness of the forest overtaking my senses; the intoxicating feeling of being free. It is almost as if the spirit of the Great Forest has embedded itself deep into my bones. It's just one dance. I think stupidly, knowing the council would tell me otherwise. Yet I can already feel my guard faltering. My sword hand wavers. I hope in the gloom of the light that he cannot see the eager curiosity on my face, or the way my breath catches in my throat at the thought of what I might hope to do. If he makes a move I kill him, I decide to myself, as if in reassurance, but the thought is fleeting. Then, against my better judgement, I take his hand, recoiling a little as our skin makes contact, cold from the night. He lightly presses his fingers onto my wrist, his black nails like raven claws against my skin.Tenderly, he pulls me towards him, swaying at first, then stepping into a steady dance as we circle round the firelight. The flames crackle. He hums absently to himself, a low waltz which drains away slowly into the night. I laugh to myself, part out of wonder, another out of confusion."I can't say I've ever been stopped for a dance in the middle of the night before." I chuckle nervously, wondering to myself why I wasn't concerned about being so precipitous. The man smiles as he twirls me round the glowing flames, as if he already knew. He slides a hand down to my waist, pulling me a little closer, so that the sweet smell of his skin permeates the air between us, floral, intense. It makes my head spin."Well, it would have been a crime not to," he murmurs thoughtfully, shrugging, and I realise he's flirting with me. How classically Faey. But despite it, my face heats up. I suddenly become aware of his eyes on me, tracing the outline of my face, of how strange I must look, prancing around in a regal dress. Perhaps it's no wonder he asked me to dance. He hums a little more, the silent night swallowing up each note after the other. He seems lost in thought, consumed by some unaired thoughts that I am not privy to. He doesn't even stir as a wind gusts through the trees, his hand firmly fixated on my waist, his step confident, as if the dance itself was merely a reflex for him.Keep calm, he hasn't done anything yet, I think slowly to myself. But my hand lingers at the hilt of my sword, the shiny silver blade glistening menacingly in the semi- darkness. His little tune catches in my ears as it swirls around us, rustling the leaves, as though the sad melancholy of its sound was enough to make the trees themselves weep. I focus on its notes."And where would you be headed at this time of night?" he asks, pulling out of his daze, tipping his head slightly so that the light catches on the side of his face, drawing shadows under his sharp cheekbones. His eyes glimmer. I stifle a soft sound in the back of my throat. Even with the hood, there is some ethereal sway, some undeniable beauty about this creature. I find myself desperately suppressing the urge to push my fingers under his hood, prize away the fabric and reveal whatever lurks beneath. When I go to speak my tongue is heavy in my mouth."The palace of Sezeria," I reply, swallowing back a stutter. His gaze bores into mine, his eyes focused, clear. My body tingles at the thought of where his eyes might wonder. Silently, I hope to myself that the darkness will make up for the undignified amount of clothing on my body. The man gives a wan smile."I am headed there myself," he exclaims, the upper portion of his lip curving into a smile from under his hood. He stops for a moment, catching my eyes with his. I shiver, my heart racing a little more than I'd like. It feels so odd, to be here, dancing with this stranger. Almost like some long lost dream that floats in the back of my mind, not yet forgotten entirely, but too distant to be remembered clearly. When I was younger, I had always prattled on to Lilyana about how fun it would be to dance through the forest at night. It would be a romantic scene, lit by glowing will-o'-the-wisps, and punctuated by the tiny hums of fireflies and croaking frogs, where I would dance barefoot on the grass with a prince, or a sprite, or a pretty angel boy until my feet were rubbed raw. Now is a far cry from what I had imagined back then, the night is cold, dark, and the only light is from the thick golden streams cast by the gradually dimming fire. And yet even so, there is something undeniably romantic about it all. At the sight of the blithe smile on my face, the man freezes. Immediately, something flashes across his iris'. An animal look. A sliver of red or black, that melts back into glowing yellow orbs, too quick for me to decipher. The fire sparks."You've been there before?" I ask quickly, too quickly, looking away. I avoid his eyes, trying desperately to forget whatever it was I had seen. Pulling back, he straightens his collar, shifting it to one side. A faint smile plays on his lips, tugging at the corners of his mouth, but an unnerving aura strays about him, as if something in the very air itself had shifted. After a moment's hesitation, he utters softly."Something like that,""Perhaps I will see you there," I add, drawing my gaze back to him, dismayed at finding myself unable to look away. There is a peculiar fondness in his eyes, a look set in his face that would seem although my words had satisfied him greatly. My heart quickens. Stupid, stupid, I think. Why did I have to say that? I shouldn't want to see him again at all. I don't even know him. All at once a terrible feeling of self consciousness washes over me- of my actions, of how I look, and though I am ashamed to admit it, of what this creature thinks of me as his eyes roam the expanse of my body. I pat down the ruffles of my dress, upturned by the heated movement of our bodies and the stiff chill of the night, careful not to look at him. As I do so, he catches my hand in his, his black talons digging lightly into my skin. With the care of an artist to his work, he draws my hand to his mouth. I freeze.I need to grab my sword, I think heavily to myself. But it's like trying to wake from a deep slumber, the best I manage is to twitch my fingers abysmally towards its hilt."Perhaps you will," he muses at last, laughing a little, as if I were telling him a joke, and presses his lips tenderly against the back of my hand. A small sigh of relief escapes me. He isn't going to kill me. He is just flirting. His breath lingers on my skin and his eyes meet once more with mine, an expression playing on his features that I can't quite place. A shudder runs down my spine as his dazzling eyes meet mine, and all at once I forget how to breathe.
