4 - Azal

       My lashes brush delicately against each other, creating a delicate lace through which I view my surroundings. I do not blink, nor yet open my eyes, but let them linger upon the intricate overlay of black against the blurry shapes of warm colors beyond. The room is dim, for the lamplight is low, and the walls and furnishings are hidden beneath swathes of gauzy fabric. It is impossible to tell where the boundaries of one thing begin and another end, for all is awash in clouded color and heavy perfumes, wrapped in the eerie harmonies of Indian strings. There is warmth all around me, the press of heated flesh and cushion of silken pillows. Not flames, but embers, warm coals and deep vermilion sensations.
       Two women lift heavy-lidded gazes to my face, and I do not recognize them, though their naked curves lay mounded around me. They turn mahogany cheeks to the side, and kiss, dark lips meeting lazily. Their long lashes brush, and how would the world look then? Seen not only through the interlacing of one's own eyelashes, but through one's own and those of another? So many, many years, and I have never wondered this before. I breathe in, slow and deep, watching the women in hazy concentration, but they soon move away, crawling toward a flame hotter than my now dormant one. Meres... he welcomes them with open lips, but all else is soon hidden behind curtains of cerise and gold. I let my head fall back, again pondering the lace before my eyes. Each breath is filled with spice, the incense of foreign lands I know so well. Exotic, it is always called, but it is far from that for me. I have called so many lands... no, I have called no land home, though I have lived in them all, in the warmest and coldest climes, in the flooded plains that lie below the sea's edge, upon the highest peaks that pierce the clouds.
       But it is all the same... I have been in this place a hundred times. Turning my head, I see the golden head of a serpent within reach. Long fingers – I suppose they are my own – stretch toward it, and I put the warm metal to my lips, filling my lungs, filling my veins anew. I am filled with the smoke of the room, filled with the warm clouds that haze my eyes and soften my thoughts. Time... time means nothing, and location means even less. I should long ago have retired to my own residence, for I suppose it has been days since the party of roses held in Luce's gardens. Yet his rooms are as well-appointed as my own, and these, at least, afford some small degree of novelty, for the fabrics and furnishings and women and incense were chosen by eyes and fingers other than my own. I have not seen Luce for... for some length of time, it does not matter. When the sunset of rose dresses melted away into darkness, I retired here to the unfading burnished warmth of silk and hidden faces, velvet and spice. It is always sunset here, always sunset and never dark, the hazy hours melting one into the next.
       Limbs move, and these are not mine, but those of a boy, a young man with dark curls which fall over his unfocused eyes. His shirt has gone, and his tie is wrapped around not his neck but his wrists. He stares at them a long moment, bewildered, then slowly rolls and unrolls the black silk, the fabric falling shimmering against his olive skin as it falls against his lean arms, his long fingers, his delicate wrists. A low chuckle – mine, I suppose – and I lean forward, my teeth bared to nip lightly at his wrist. In a slowness of motion that would be agonizing in any time and place but this, I pull the silk free of his hands, which he runs through my long, long hair. He tilts his head to one side, studying the fall of the strands through his fingers, gliding like water over warm sand.
       A finger trails languidly over his side, and I do not believe it is mine, for he turns his head again and falls onto his back, rolling slowly to meet the long pale frame of another. Is it... it is Veri, though I have not seen him in such a room for a long time. Though the languid pace of the place suits him, he tires so easily, and grows weary so soon, he finds little enjoyment in such surroundings. Even now, as I gaze curiously at him, he does not seem to feel the pleasure shared by all around him. His fingers trail delicate patterns on the boy's naked back, but his eyes are lost in the curtains which hide the direction in which I saw Meres disappear. His lips are pressed thin, and his body seems so weak, so spent... The boy slowly realizes this, and starts to move away, but Veri's fingers instantly vice around the boy's throat.
       “Stay.”
       The command is low, more felt than heard, but the boy obeys casually, turning his attentions back to Veri, who lies still in a dressing gown of palest green. I move silently over the cushions, a smile teasing the corner of my lips as I press them to Veri's cheek. His skin is yet so cold, even in a place warm as this.
       “My dear Veri... have you been here all this time?”
       He only sighs tiredly in response, letting his lashes fall closed, black lace on ivory skin.
       “I am quite sorry I did not find you sooner... It has been so long since I have seen you anything but weary, yet I am sure you felt some hint of vigor, when you first entered Luce's little den?”
       “I... thought that I did, I suppose. I felt so constrained in my own thoughts, that I felt I simply must move, and be surrounded in movement, and this seemed... it seemed a good choice at the time.” His eyes flicker up toward Meres' unseen form, and quickly move back to the boy, who is a safer destination for his tortured gaze. It is so clear to me that he came here only in search of Meres, and equally clear that he would strike out at anyone who acknowledged this. Poor, weak Veri. The body is such an easy thing to please! I am utterly at a loss as to how he can fail to manage his.
       “Here, boy... remove his dressing gown, please. Veri, you can be so much more at ease here, simply let yourself soak into the surroundings... It takes no effort at all on your part, you need not move nor say a word. All is here, for the... not even for the taking, but merely for the accepting, for all is offered as a pleasant gift.”
       He only sighs, turning his head to the side, seeming to ignore the ministrations of the boy – who it seems I need not direct, as his pomegranate lips and tapered fingers travel the snowy silk of Veri's body. But I see his lashes part, in the slightest motion, and were I another inch distant I would not see that his eyes were open, gazing toward Meres.
       “Why do you torment yourself so?” I murmur softly, as I reach for the lacquered bamboo and golden serpent head, lifting the lamp with which to heat the vapors, cradling it in one hand as I hold the pipe in the other, close to Veri. “You let your body be bound and held captive by emotions which have no purpose. Feel only pleasure, seek only beauty, for it can cover all pain.” I guide the pipe toward his thin lips, parting them with a fingertip. He does not move, but only breathes in, and after a moment I see his muscles relax, sinking deeper into the silken cushions. “There now... is that not an improvement? I teach you nothing new, only remind you of what your body recalls. Simply breathe, I will encourage the boy for you, you need only lie still and breathe the warm air, my dear Veri...”
       I watch the two for some minutes, and Veri soon breathes again from the pipe in my hands. I can see the gentle clouds filling his gaze, and after another warm breath for myself, I set the lamp aside. I rest back upon cushions, and a delicate girl with almond eyes slips into my arms, kissing up one arm to my shoulder, from my shoulder up my neck, up to my jaw. I draw her close to me, watching the golden light slide across her ivory skin, her ivory skin against my tanned (though still somehow pallid) skin, the colors hazed over with golden clouds...
       I hear a cry, and know the voice to be that of Meres. I glance over at Veri – but he is beyond hearing the sound, lost in the boy and the opium dreams, his lips parted in deep gasps of pleasure. Meres makes no sound of pleasure, but one of pain, of heart-wrenching agony, and I smile wryly. It is little wonder that he and Veri should be so close, in these late, darkened days, for they suffer the same afflictions. Emotion ought master none of us, only enrich the senses. Feelings, physical or emotional, are only feelings, and the pang of loss should be no more to us than the acrid tang of dry wine, the yearning of sympathy no more than the spice caught in rose petals. The world and its contents mean nothing, all passes away in the vast expanse of time. Why worry about the details of one's surroundings? It is all meaningless, and will be forgotten by all others, and the others shall die, and only we will remain. There is little sense in concerning ourselves with the pleasures of others, when the only things we can be certain of are ourselves, and the only pleasures we can know are those we ourselves experience. Meres and Veri, they torment themselves to no purpose. I shall have no part of it. I arch my back, the girl's knees clinging to my hips, and groan loudly as pleasure courses through me. This is all that matters... all else shall pass away.