3 - Veri

       I sigh heavily, passing a hand over my brow - it feels hot, though my body is chilled. "I grow tired, child. I do not wish to talk longer."
       He remains a moment unmoving - hoping I will yet say something further, the tiresome thing. I close my eyes and settle deeper into the chaise lounge, turning my head away from him.
       After a minute or so of prolonged silence, I hear him rise. I feel the feather brush of his lips on my feverish forehead, and he murmurs some nonsense about a hope that I shall "feel better soon". As if this illness should fall so easily from me! It has plagued me beyond a thousand years, no pithy wishes of a mere human child should cast it from me.
       The room is silent, and I sense that I am now quite alone. I gingerly turn over to lie on my stomach - my back is wracked with pain, but it is so undignified to lie face-down in public. It is too awkward to speak or make eye contact in such a position. (And there is something that leaves me feeling nervous, keeping my back to everyone in such a way...) Not that I had really desired to be at all sociable, but it was expected... really, I should have found a private room, instead of reclining in the library.
       But there, neither had I wanted to be alone. Meres, your cruelty is unforgivable! To have left me alone in the dark garden – why did you not return to me! The indignities I have suffered this evening have utterly exhausted me.
       Others had been drawn to the drowsy warmth of the room, and their casual chatter had given my mind comfortable paths to wander. A boy had approached me, some young singer, and while his adulation was appealing, I find that sort of thing rather tiresome. It is all well and good for Mephisto or Luce, but I have no use for endless repetition of the same dull phrases. My back aches so...
       The library is quite warm from the blaze of the fireplace, and the walls are insulated by countless volumes bound in jewel-toned leather. The chaise is low but delightfully over-stuffed, so that it is quite comfortable, even to my sensitive body. The decor is suffused by a culturally refined air, with its worldly array of furnishings and decorations, but classic dark colors, leather and deep velvety plush. It is a room suited as much to drowsy contemplation as intellectual pursuit. Which, really, is an odd find in a residence of Luce's. Not the duality of purpose - there is duality in all he does, every action full of some duplicitous intent. But I suppose even Luce is allowed some brush with the conventional... No, more likely, the room appears typical only to add some false pretense of normalcy to outside visitors. He brings them in for a drink, invites them into the library, and just when they have settled in for a leisurely evening of the sort they are much accustomed to, there! He springs on them some bizarre or outrageous or entirely blasphemous entertainment, with that crafty smile and glinting eyes.
       But it is exhausting work, analyzing Luce's endless trail of ever more subtle meanings. I should not have sent the boy away, my back aches so, I should like someone's hands upon it. There must be some means hidden in the room to call for a servant, a bell-pull or some such; my lungs do not feel equal to speaking loud enough...
       Ah! but the search is not needed, for a servant appears of his own accord – apparently to stoke the fire. "You there. I presume there is a masseuse somewhere on the premises?"
       "Of course, sir. Shall I have one brought to you?"
       "At once. And have her bring also some warm and soothing drink."
       "Certainly, sir."
       He leaves the room, and I nearly call him back. “Her?” I do not know if I want a woman near, they are always so... so soft, which at times is pleasant but... it is the condescension. If they see a man (or one like to a man) in any condition but that of domineering strength, they assume he does not possess strength at all, and take the weakness of a moment to be the whole that he can offer. But I, I! I merely wish to make use of the amenities I am deserving of. Even in my frailest state, I am far more than they!
       After a few long minutes, the girl appears, and I see in a glance that she is calm and professional, not the twittering pitying gossip I had feared. Good. She is beautiful, but in a cool and refined fashion. Her skin is a deep olive tan, her hair and eyes dark. There is a firmness to the graceful line of hew jaw, and the muted intensity of her eyes reveal a woman whose hands are strong beneath the soft veneer. I am certain that her hair is quite long, sleek and gently waved, though it is now bound flawlessly in a dancer's knot at the back of her neck. She closes the door behind her, that we shall not be interrupted She kneels beside the chaise and holds out to me a steaming mug of something made of healing herbs. I roll carefully onto my side and drink it slowly, savoring the feel of intense warmth moving down my throat, and from there, spreading throughout my chilled body, reaching into my veins and almost my bones, pushing aside the coldness which too often stiffens all my body.
       For a moment, with the warmth flowing into me, the quiet secluded room, the attentive and beautiful form kneeling before me... I am almost content. The silence seeps soothingly beneath my skin, and---
       Oh, my back! I cry out at the too-familiar blinding pain, its flames erupting thought every vein. My body spasms against it, I fall back into my stomach clutching at the cushions, writhing deeper into them, as if I could claw myself away from the fire consuming me but I can't oh I can't oh---
       The girl immediately moves into action, placing her cool but firm hands onto my back, pressing and kneading steadily, constantly, unyieldingly, until my breath returns to me. When I am able to again open my eyes, I see that what was left of my drink had been thrown by my convulsions onto her - there are stains on her dress, and a few droplets clinging to her arm and neck. But she had shown no sign of the burning heat of it, all her attention focused on myself.
       Which is precisely how it ought to be. Luce's servants are always perfectly trained, I must ask his secret, for I am forever frustrated with the faults in my own.
       She pauses only a moment, when it seems my fit has been soothed. "Shall I remove your clothing, sir?"
       Her voice perfectly suits her hands - gentle yet with unshakable strength behind it. Perfectly placid and cool, with no hint at all of emotion. I find myself almost fond of this woman.
       "If it will better your results, by all means."
       She makes a quiet sound of affirmation, and deftly removes my jacket and shirt, taking care to fold them perfectly before setting them on a nearby chair. Ah, her hands are so cool upon my burning back! Those hands are now in constant motion, rubbing and kneading and caressing. She is not always gentle - but it would be a mistake if she were, a mistake often made by those without proper experience. Pain as this needs more firm persuasion before it will release its hold. My body slowly loses its tensions, my breathing growing softer, my eyes blinking lazily between the warm colors of the room and still warmer darkness...

       There is a burst of raucous laughter from outside the room, and a rapidfire explosion of knocks on the door. "Hullooo! Is anyone at home?"
       "Daaarlings, do let us iiiin!" This second voice is female, and slurs terribly. In fact both voices are slurred, and constantly breaking into laughter as brittle - and painful - as broken glass.
       "Do c'mon'n open th' door! We want to... to read a book! Yes a book, just what we wanted this evening!"
       "Yesz, one witshh the most teeeerrr'ble examples of lusty debau.. debauzsh... whatever is that word!"
       "Oh I don't know, does it really matter?"
       "Of course it doesh! You're aaalways trying t'tell me thiiingzsh don't matter but they dooo!"
       The masseuse leans close to me, and murmurs gently. "Shall I bid them leave, sir?"
       I groan and nod my head weakly, grabbing a pillow to press against my ears. "At once. They are giving me such an awful headache."
       She gets to her feet, and quickly crosses the room. She opens the door only the slightest crack, angling herself in such a way that she is all they might see into the room, getting no glimpse of my prone form. I do not hear what she says, for her voice is low and... again, gentle, but with an irresistible firmness to it, one that will brook no argument. Their protests are loud, but they do leave.
       I allow myself to smile at her as she returns to my side, after again locking the door. "Thank you, my dear."
       She smiles in return, but, still, there is that marked detachment about her. I wonder vaguely about it; I do not know if I find it attractive or repulsive. But it does not matter, she is not here to entertain me, and I do not want her for such. I want her to soothe my back, a task she is quite adept at.
       "Shall I massage elsewhere, sir? Or shall I continue to focus on the area in pain?"
       "Do remove the rest of my clothing, and continue your ministrations over the remainder of my body. The pain centers most in my back, but it lies all through me."
       She follows my instructions promptly and effectively, and it is only a matter of minutes before I am as completely relaxed as I was before the interruption. I simply must find some thing that Luce does not yet have, to use as a bargaining tool in convincing him to loan me this girl from time to time...

       I awake to the sound of soft music. It is some moments before I remember quite where I am, and what the situation around me was. The masseuse - oh she has certainly gone by now, I can see by the warmth of the light entering the windows that it is early afternoon. I have slept through all the ugliest hours of morning. But what is that music? It is a piano, though I do not recall having seen one in the room before.
       I sit up slowly, looking around me - and realize that I hadn't, in fact, looked all the way around the room the night before. There is a small, snug cove in a back corner that I had not noticed at all. It is there that the piano stands, its polished cover reflecting the gentle light that filters through the diaphanous curtains. The cover is lifted, and blocks my view of the player. I feel quite rested now, and so I slowly rise from the chaise. I find myself demurely clad in a dressing gown of pale green silk, and I am pleased by the girl's attentiveness. As I stand, I stretch my limbs fully - oh what a wondrous job she did, I feel so light! It has been ages since I felt so well, and movement was so pleasant. I take a slow breath and smile, just a little, before crossing the length of the room toward the piano. The floor is covered in thick, warm carpet which silences my steps, yet the music drifts off into silence as I draw near, the player obviously aware of my approach.
       "I do not mean to interrupt, I merely wondered who was playing so soothingly that it did not disturb my slumber."
       There is motion, and the player slides to the end of the bench, leaning around the piano to smile at me, his eyes glinting with amusement and a thousand secrets from behind the dark locks of his hair, which fall in graceful lengths around his face.
       "Ah, Luce! Really, I ought to have guessed."
       "I do not usually disturb the repose of my guests, but I am afraid I felt such a need to play this morning." His voice is low and gentle, caressing the ear as flirtatiously as an evening breeze. His fingers run lightly again over the keys, coaxing out a delicate melody, so soft, as the sound of a fountain in the far distance.
       "It's quite alright. As I said, it seems it did not trouble me. I have slept for some time."
       "That you have! But the girl has such a soothing way about her, despite her coolness of character, wouldn't you say?"
       "Ahh, I would! She is quite wonderful, Luce, I must tell you how envious I am. I have never felt so free from aches as I do right now."
       He raises an eyebrow, grinning crookedly. "Never, you say?"
       I sigh, settling onto a low sofa near the piano, annoyed by his nitpicking. "Oh you know what I mean..."
       "Of course, darling. But you must be hungry. Shall I have something brought for us?"
       I consider for a moment, then nod. "I do feel as though I could eat something, yes. But something light, I think."
       "Certainly. I never eat anything too indulgent this early in the day. These bodies grow quite tiresome at times, do they not? Really, they are quite fickle. What suits them at one time of the day entirely disagrees with them at another."
       "Mmm. Oh, but I should like to ask - is Meres still here? I have not seen him since early last evening, and it is unusual for him to leave me so long without explanation."
       Another secretive smile, and the light notes from the piano shift sinuously into a minor key. "Meres? ...I believe he may have left. He was... rather distraught last night, though I really couldn't see a reason why. But you know, he does fall prey to emotion rather easily at times, does he not?"
       "Yes yes, he does, but what precipitated his departure?" I insist. If I let him, Luce will go on with his vague theories of psychology for hours on end, and I really do not care to hear them.
       "Oh, I don't know," he says lightly, his gaze faraway, speaking slowly and with deliberate vagueness. "I suspect it had something to do with whatever that weak-stomached woman fainted over, out in the gardens... a murder, I think? But oh, darling, did you have any of the brandy last night? It is a simply fantastic vintage, I have put up quite a store of it. And, in your ear: it pairs rather nicely with the skin of a young man, particularly when his skin is slick with sweat, and..." He licks his lips lightly, and the piano drips notes that are rich and thick with lust. "Nila brought me quite a lovely gift last night, did you happen to see the boy with---"
       I stop listening, as there is a knock at the door. I turn to look at it, and would rise to answer, but politeness dictates that I demure to Luce, as we are in his house. Yet he continues speaking as though there had been no interruption, until he has completed his thought. At that point, he turns his gaze back to me. "Shall I have them bring in the food, then?"
       "Of course," I reply automatically. I am puzzled, for I had seen no sign at all of him having called for a servant, let alone specifying what they were wanted for. But I refuse to let Luce see my confusion - it would grant him entirely too much satisfaction, for I am certain he intended to produce it. There is amusement enough in manipulating the tiresome little half-beasts that surround us, but to so toy with our own! Really, I find it in dreadfully poor taste, and I do wish Luce would cease doing so.
       "Come in!" he calls out, and the door is opened. A serving man appears, pushing a cart elegantly wrought of some light-colored metal. A fantastically enticing smell drifts across the library, and I find that I am, in fact, hungry.
       "Where shall I leave this for you, sirs?"
       "Oh, bring it here, I should like to remain at the piano awhile."
       The man does so. He removes the covers from the plates, and a sudden warmth floods forth, nearly bringing a flush to my cold face. "Will there be anything else, sir?" the man asks of Luce, as he neatly stacks the lids to be carried back to the kitchen.
       "That is all for now."
       The man bows and exits, closing the door gently behind him.
       We begin to eat - some delicious pastry, the name of which I do not know, has been brought to me, and I find it exactly to my taste. What I do find unusual, however, is that Luce is taking this time with myself alone. I suppose he enjoys having someone to listen to his prolonged theories, without bringing questions and counter-arguments to them - I lack the energy to debate with him most of the time, for it is so difficult to ever resolve such a discussion. But really, why he has not simply picked up one of the fawning young men or women who constantly vie for his attention, and let them hang delightedly on his every word, I do not know.
       Oh but I suppose it is entirely because of them that he is here with me - what better slap in the face to them, than to have the honeyed lips they so long to be near murmur things to one who does not care a whit for what is said, or the one saying it? Still, it is all rather tiresome for me, not that such consideration has any part in his plots.

       We linger over the meal, and talk more, of the evening before and the various persons whose exploits we find entertaining, and the latest news of society. But when the light has begun slanting in through the window, its color warming to the gold of mid-afternoon, he rises, standing straight and stretching his arms. He stands between myself and the window, and so his form is silhouetted there, against the sumptuous gold: an almost black shadow, a body that is tall and well-proportioned, his limbs long and graceful, his hair falling in elegant tendrils down past his shoulders. He turns his head to the side, and the delicately formed features of his face stand in profile against the light, which is diffused into a pure aureate hue by the gauze which covers the window between the heavy wooden sills. Gravity seems suspended in the glowing air about him, air shot through with a thousand threads of gold. His arms and fingers unfurl slowly upward with a dancer's precise grace. The light dances through his fingers as a young brook over smooth stones, as flowing gold over ebony. A single dark blossom, stretching languidly toward the sun... no, not toward it but against it, a serpent rising to block out the light. This... this is man's conception of an angel, a form too perfect to be real, cast in heavenly light... only the angel does not radiate that light, but prevents its reaching the earth, oh! Oh, they know so little of what we truly are! I swallow hard, and find my body tense, and my back heating ominously.
       "I ought really to stop neglecting my duty as host, I simply must go see how the others are enjoying themselves. You will let me know if you need anything?"
       I do not answer - I grit my teeth against the pain that is quickly rising. My body is shaking from holding itself so tense, steeling itself against the wracking ache that is working its way outward from my shoulder blades... spreading wide, as my wings once did.
       He looks over at me, but I am in too much pain to care if it is concern or amusement on his face. "Shall I call for someone, darling?"
       "Yes please, have the masseuse brought to me I--- ah! Oh Luce, I am in such pain!"
       "Hush, darling, all will be well. Here, do let me help you to one of the guest rooms, where you may remain as long as you wish."
       I do not think I can walk that far, I do not know if I can even stand - but perhaps if I move quickly, I can get there before the pain reaches its height. Luce offers his hand, and helps me to rise from the chair. I cling desperately to his arm, and he remains a sturdy support, while we walk as quickly as I can force my now-stiffening limbs to move. He tells me there is an empty room only just down the hall from here, that I may rest there quite comfortably, the bed is particularly sumptuous... In fact he chatters lightly the entire way there, though I stagger and grab at him, gasping as the pain builds.
       He pulls a key from his pocket, and unlocks the door, smiling sweetly at me (an expression which seems somehow dirty, given the cruel background of his face). "I had it in mind that you might need this room, so I made certain no-one else should use it. Being on a main hallway, you may want to keep it locked, to make sure that, ah, those who are prone to over-indulging will not disturb you."
       I mumble some vaguely grateful response, and let him guide me over to the bed, which I collapse gratefully onto. I will admit, it is wonderfully soft, gentle as a cloud's breath, warm as a lover's embrace – but even this is little comfort to me now. He helps me to lay fully upon it, then moves to adjust the drapes, that the light will not shine into my eyes as the sun falls through the sky. On his way to the door, he leans over the bed and kisses my cheek lightly. "I shall send the masseuse right away, darling. Do rest, and please join us when you feel able."
       He closes the door behind him - but does not lock it, presumably to allow the masseuse to enter without the need for me to rise. Even through the darkening fog of agony which is rapidly obscuring all other sense, the corners of my lips twitch a little in mockery of a grateful smile. He truly is the most gracious of hosts.

       I lie on my stomach, my body growing more tense every moment, with both actual pain and the anticipation of greater pain to come. It seems hours that I lie here alone. The room is far too quiet - the windows are closed, the door and walls too thick to allow through any sound but those of surpassing volume. If any footsteps pass the door, I do not hear them. If any bird sings beside the window, I do not hear it. I am in too much pain to move, and so my range of vision is limited. But the room is like any other, luxurious and opulent, richly decorated in warm tones, and there is nothing new to be seen. What small details have been added as points of interest are not enough to hold my attention against the flames which creep across my back, scalding and scorching the flesh as they pass, I can feel it peeling away, my skin crawling and trying to free itself from the nerves which so bind it to the excruciating torment.
       Where is that girl! Luce promised her immediate attention - why did he not call her with the same method he used for our breakfast? She would have been here the moment we arrived. This is certainly more important than a bite to eat, whatever was Luce thinking! Or does she dawdle? Oh I shall have it out with her if that is so! Of course she would not admit to it but I shall know, I will see it in her timid face and nervous eyes. I will teach her to toy with the likes of me! Oh that little---
       There is a polite knock at the door.
       "Come in!" I demand irritably, seething in anger, which is only amplified by the ever-growing pain.
       The door makes scarcely a sound, but the soft click of the latch as it is closed. "Lock the door," I command without looking up, my voice short and clipped, as a flame of heat shoots down my spine.
       "Yes, sir."
       My eyes fly open and I turn over, for a moment forgetting my inner troubles in light of this new one - it was a male voice that answered me.
       "Who are you!" I scream, this incomprehensible outrage tipping me fully into outright fury.
       "I... I am the masseuse, sir. Master Lux directed me to attend to anything you might need."
       "You are not--- Oh but of course Luce has more than one. Is she--- no! He did this on purpose!" I cry, my temper blazing. "You! Get me the girl, there is a female masseuse, a girl with dark hair pulled into a knot at the back of her head. She is the one I want bring her here NOW!"
       The servant quickly bows and nearly flies out the door - forgetting in his embarrassed fear that it is locked, the fool!
       "Get out GET OUT!" I shriek, the flames engulfing my body, forcing my voice desperately from me. "I want the girl! Luce! You bastard, you know I wanted her!"
       The man's shaking hands finally manage to work the lock, and he rushes from the room, barely closing the door behind him. He had best find her immediately, for if I have to wait still longer--!
       Luce you damned bastard I will--- Luce I curse you for all eternity you selfish beast! You know what pain I am in, you know the severity of my condition, that you should toy with me! As if I were one of your countless human playthings, those whose emotions you tug about as a puppet's strings--- I am not one of them! Luce you worm, how could you treat one of us like this!
       "Luce!" I scream, tearing at the curtains which hang around the bed, ripping the shimmery fabric into pieces, the straining and breaking of the fabric in my hands letting out the smallest portion of my pain, the sting in my hands pulling some scrap of attention away from my back. "You will not play such games with me--- ah!" I fall to the floor, my breath torn from me in the blinding agony which seems to smash my back into pieces. What breath I can grab comes from me in shrieks of pure torment, all thought is burned away and consumed by this raging darkness. I clutch at the floor, my fingers clawing desperately for some fresh pain to escape this ancient one---
       Dimly I feel a shift in the air, and there are hands on my back.
       "Don't touch me!" I scream, writhing on the floor.
       But the hands only tighten their hold on my shoulders, and I wheel away from the grasp to look into the face of the one so impudent as to---
       It is her.
       I am frozen. I do not know whether I should scream in rage or cry in relief. "You!" I choke out, my body shaking.
       She wastes no time in speaking, but pushes my body to the floor, her strong arms brooking no argument. She lays me on my stomach and tears my shirt from me - taking no great care this time, for she knows there are things of far more importance. I am helpless in her grasp, the pain has overtaken me, and the mere act of breathing requires all my effort. She seats herself astride my hips, and leans into me, her hands plunging deep into the fire, fighting to quell it.....

       I have returned to myself when there is a knock at the door. The girl pauses in her ceaseless ministrations, and I nod. "Do answer it, dear." I am in a more respectable position now. Resting on the bed, I am wrapped again in the robe of celadon silk. I move to sit up, leaning against the pillows. Though I am again capable of controlled motion, my muscles are slow in their responses, all energy sapped by the episode which has hardly passed.
       She opens the door, and curtsies politely. It is one of us, then--- Oh if it is Luce I shall wring his neck! I will---
       "May I enter, my dear Veri?" The voice is faint, cracking in utter exhaustion, and my heart is moved by - by pity, I suppose. It is a feeling so foreign to me that I am uncertain of how to name it.
       "Meres! Oh do let him in, girl, and close the door. Meres, darling! Wherever have you been? ---oh darling you look dreadful! Here, do come rest on the bed beside me, it is quite comfortable. Shall I have anything brought for you, something to drink..?"
       "Water. Just a glass of water..."
       I nod toward the girl. "Bring a full pitcher, for I could do with some myself."
       "Certainly, sirs," she replies, and with another quick curtsy, she exits.
       Meres sits heavily on the bed beside me, leaning back on his elbows and closing his eyes. I place a hand gently over his, looking at him with curiosity and concern. There are dark circles beneath his reddened eyes, his lovely auburn hair is tousled and unkempt. His hair is damp, as if he had recently bathed, but he shows none of the freshness of it. His clothes are rumpled, his shoulders sagged, his brow creased. He constantly turns over his hands, rubbing them together, as if they were cold. His breathing is strange and irregular, almost hiccuping, almost as if crying...
       "Meres..." I lean forward, and put my arms tentatively around him. It is not a gesture common to us, but... something in me demands I touch him. Ridiculous human convention, this physical contact, but I suppose now that we are bound in such form, its needs will inevitably sink into us. It does feel... as though it is something I should be doing, the response to some ancient desire, some plan long neglected...
       He swallows hard and raises his hands - they are shaking terribly - to grip tightly at my arms. His hands are cold, even to my always chilled flesh, they are ice! And oh how they tremble... this is not at all like him.
       "Meres, dear one... is there anything I might do for you? What has happened?"
       His body tenses with a sudden ferocity, and he whirls away from me. "Do not ask me that," he commands, and his voice is as cold as his hands. His eyes are narrow and dark, so dark! He has never looked at me with such frigid rage. There are flames there, flames which should freeze and burn, flames far sharper than those which scald my back, flames which freeze the universe until it fractures under the strain and leaks scraps of fragmented starlight into the icy ether...
       I am terrified of this side of him.
       I hold myself motionless, my mind racing to determine what best to do to soothe his rage, while remaining utterly frozen in the realization of his expression.
       We remain locked in stillness for a long moment, and then at last he softens, a shadow of a smile brushing against his face. "Veri, my beloved one, I... I do not mean to speak to you thus. Here, darling, lie down, you were in such pain - I heard your cries, that is what brought me back to myself, and thus back to your side..."
       Cautiously, I lie back against the pillows, my eyes never for a moment leaving him. A rapid succession of emotion crosses his face, his eyes deeply troubled. There is such tumult there, I feel as though I can hear the screaming of the thoughts which run ceaselessly through his mind... but they are just distant enough that I cannot make out the exact words. Oh it does not matter, it is some trouble of his own, it will be resolved in time, or forgotten before long.
       But he has returned to me, and that lends me... some feeling of comfort, which I can so rarely even catch sight of, much less cradle in these quavering hands...
       He stays seated at the edge of the bed a few minutes more, the furrows in his brow creasing deeper and deeper, until I fear they shall remain there always. I sit up again, and brush my fingers tenderly over his forehead, willing it to smooth again. "Meres, darling... you must rest. Come lie beside me. We shall not be disturbed here. I shall instruct the girl when she returns, and she will lock the door against intrusion. We both need rest..."
       Another long pause, and then he sighs, and a smile flits ghost-like over his lips. "Ah, dearest, you are right of course... are you cold? Let me turn down the blankets, that we may keep them over us. The day is waning, the sun's warmth leaving, but the comfort of night will soon be upon us. Let us rest until then, shall we?"
       I nod, and kiss his cheek gently. "Meres... I am glad to see you again."
       "As am I, my dear..."