13 - Azal, continued

       Ah, my bella incantevole, how gracefully you dance! There is such fluidity and perfection to her every motion, each gesture refined and unhesitant. I had not thought to dally here in the hall, but I find I cannot help but do so, having once glimpsed her nymphean form. I lean now against the wall, half-hidden by the rich damask drapes, my eyes hopelessly ensnared by her visual eloquence. I am certain you do not see me - not only is there a good deal of distance between my third-story vantage and the garden you pirouette within, but my form can be only one more shadow among the shadows of this house. The morning sunlight is drawn all to you, the brightest blossom among so many others. The mist left by dawn's recent passage shimmers about you, as the silken scarves I first saw you in - but there is a chill yet in such latitude as this, and your lithe form is clad in more conventional dress. Yet I can see the flashes of your dark eyes from even this distance... though I will not have them meet mine.
       I have tormented myself with the consequences of my - what, rescue of you? I hardly think it that, for I keep you here as a silent ornament, an animate statue. Yet if I did not, and did not keep you secluded, you should have been his instead of mine and he--- Oh but I may in the end do the same, as so often before! But there is something in your gaze, in the steady earthiness and the celestial purity, the richness of soul within those thousand shades of sable... I cannot let such eyes become tainted. I know that were you brought fully into our world, those eyes should become dim and jaded, your motions tired from a thousand late nights and too much wine, your body should grow thin and lusterless from too many demands upon it... No! I will not have it! I have done so to so many others, it is a tiresome form of decay... I will not bring it upon such a delicate flower as you.
       I will not allow myself even to come close to you, never to speak to you, for I am certain the decay which consumes me should carry its blight to your flawless skin. And the sheen of your brightness should fall on my hands, and I would carry it into the shadows where the others would see it, and guess at what a virginal secret I keep from them, and then they should look and I do not doubt that they should find you! Ah darling, though your dance threads its golden paths through the thick bushes of honeysuckle, and you linger in the shade of the trellised roses, I know they should find you.
       Your impossibly long hair flows in graceful swirls behind you, showing the invisible ripples you leave in the air as you pass, the dark strands a weightless shadow, echoing your every gesture. I know of no names for your sequences of motion, these are no studied poses, no mere repetition of lessons learned by rote. Each movement of pure beauty is an expression of untainted emotion, there are no missteps or ill-suited sweeps of your lithe limbs - there is no break between aesthetic intent and your body's response, so great is your talent. And ah, this morning your dance is of all the beauty surrounding you, it is the sparkling of the dew upon each untouched petal. You need no music performed to ease your artistry, for you find it in all around you, not only in the delicate bird songs but in the drops of white sunlight caught in the veins of leaves, refracted in every petal to shower you with a thousand colors and tones...
       You raise one leg in a graceful arabesque behind you, leaning to pluck a scarlet lily from the flower bed, and as you rise you weave the blossom securely into your raven hair, just behind one ear. You pause a moment more, considering, as your slender fingers seek out the most flattering position for the flower. Your gaze drifts to the trellis nearby, and the moment the lily is adjusted to your satisfaction you make a sudden leap to the left, using the momentum to guide your body in a spin and another light leap, and as you turn about a circular space in sheer rapture of motion, your dark hand plucks a stem of fuchsias from a trellis, which you catch within your dazzling teeth and hold between your full lips as you fly through paths overhung with trumpet flowers.
       I feel a sudden heat on my cheeks as my hand clutches my aching breast. Oh if only I could have you and not bring you to ruin! I cannot watch you more yet I cannot bear to take my eyes from you, I take solace in your momentary absence from view but I cannot bring myself to leave the window...
       That this yearning could torment me so! To look upon such beauty, and possess it and yet not possess it, you are kept within these walls and yet I cannot touch you. Ah! it is so early in the day! If only the terrors of memory had not kept me from sleep. I have felt tired for endless days, and the whiteness of the morning light makes my head ache. I see a motion far below and look (far more eagerly than I should like to admit) for you---
       But no, it is only the gardener, now making his rounds. I have not watched him at his work before. His hands are gnarled and dry, as twisted dead branches left on a desert floor - yet his rheumatic fingers caress each flower with the delicacy of silk upon freshly-bathed skin. He moves slowly from plant to plant, leaving me to wonder how he ever manages to traverse the grounds in their entirety. Yet it is clear that he does, and lends such tender devotion in every corner of the landscape. Truly, my gardens have never looked so lovely, so I will allow such apparent ugliness as the old man to remain. I must be sure to confirm Luce in his proclamations of the best ways to relegate a garden's care, for his suggestions were quite useful.
       ...but no, I ought to do no such thing, not carelessly, anyway. She must be well-hidden before any opt to visit my gardens again, to see the results for themselves. I ought to maintain her bounds more closely in any event, to know where she will be and at what time - but no again! To cage this exotic bird, to clip her glistening wings, to curb the freedom of her motions in such a way... Her poise would be spoiled, the moment she felt anything but unfettered---
       Oh what nonsense is this! Never again will I rise so absurdly early as this, it puts my mind in such a preposterous state. To be so considerate of a lowly creature's comforts like this is obscenely beneath me. I shall return to my rooms and ring for some warm, soothing drink to be brought me, as I should have done the moment I---
       But there is a sudden burst of scarlet and ebony, limned with teak and the sun's golden lace. Ah, she sings! I can hear you but faintly, my pet, though I would scarcely find sense in your strange and ancient tongue, molded by the primal ululations and untamed swoops through half-tones never named. Oh my desert nightingale, my elusive flash of shadow and radiance...
       Your hands are now filled with a kaleidoscope of hues, a strange beauty in the haphazard arrangement of them. I was told at once of course, the first time you plucked flowers from my gardens - such trespass being forbidden to most. But I told the servants to let you take any cuttings that you seemed to desire. I could do nothing to curb your comeliness, my dear, and I am certain you miss the warm perfumes of your once-home. ..

       So out-of-sorts am I, with the hour and these enchantments, that I do not notice the serving maid until she is nearly behind me. It would not do to have any see me in such a state as this. I hold myself motionless until she has reached me, and turn at the exact moment when doing so will bring her directly before me.
       Instantly she halts and drops into a low courtesy, her delicately-featured face turned down."Is there anything you wish of me, Master?"
       I have a momentary vision of my desert danseuse in the place of this girl, those words murmured in her low, sultry voice---
       "Yes, in fact. Have a glass of something warm – a mulled wine, perhaps – brought to the atrium. Have... let me see. Have Serena sent to me there, and let it be known that I am not to be disturbed in any way after that."
       "Certainly, Master." She pauses just a moment more - as all good servants do, in the event the master may have another task to give, as well as to maintain a sense of decorum. I wish my servants to be prompt, but never be seen running or rushing about in hasty disarray. It spoils the refinement of a place far sooner to have servants moving frantically to clean spilt wine, than to have a slight stain left in the carpet.
       Once the girl is out of sight I turn again to the window - how could I do otherwise? But you have again left the range of my vision. You must have returned to your chambers (in a wing of the house distant from my own), to fill them with the thousand blossoms so blessed by your touch...
       Oh I will have myself thus tormented no longer! I have no real need for any particular one such as you, little bird, you are no more than these other trinkets, scattered along the walls. You certainly can hold no control over my thoughts, and can always be replaced. I turn sharply from the window, and pace rapidly toward the atrium. It will be sunny there, with its domed glass roof, and the many flowers in bloom there will serve as a safer mirror of those wilder gardens. Serena is a lovely new acquisition, and her dark hair and dark eyes will rest my dazzled sight. I shall distract myself with whatever pleasures I might find in her, or have another sent to me, if I find she does not suit me. That will tire my anxious heart, and then I can sleep for a time. My body is merely restless from lying still so long, and needs exerted before it will relax. How ridiculous of me to have spent so long by the window! If it is beauty of form I desire, I have any number at my call to satisfy me, I need not remain in an open hall, chilled by the lonely expanse of air, and pained by the garish pallor of the morning light. There is a party being held by some associate of Luce's tonight, and there will be excellent entertainment I am certain. I should like to be well-rested, for such an outing is just what my troubled thoughts need. Companionship among my own sort, where I might talk and feel not weary, where I might rest in the comfort of so many shared centuries. Amidst our own company, we shall find some sort of peace to our troubled souls.