Striker of The Gods

The bedroom door had barely clicked shut behind Zeraphina before the rest of the mansion began to betray her the way a little girl would lose her favorite lollypop. The thing is, this love could actually be strange the way a man gives himself to a woman. Giving yourself is not a game. A true man knows who he loves through getting to know himself. At this rate, this love shall suffice for it is good to love with your singularity. At least, this would give him something to think about.

Down the long corridor, in the softly lit hallway that led toward the kitchens and linen rooms, Keyla froze mid-step in her beautiful green maid outfit. She had been carrying a small tray with late-night lemon tarts he ones she had insisted on preparing “just in case Master still felt hungry after training.” That should be a reason for her to approach his master. For this, she should be able to approach him. But, the tray trembled in her hands as the first unmistakable sound drifted through the thick walls: a low, hungry moan that was unmistakably Zeraphina’s, raw and unfiltered, followed by the rhythmic creak of the massive bedframe protesting under sudden, powerful movement, pace, heart rate, and love.

Keyla’s freckled cheeks flushed crimson that no one could ever get to see in the eyes of what it means to be alive. The thing is, this love could not actually get better. The more you think about, the more you see that it does not matter how much you try it. Her stunning hair, still slightly messy from dinner, seemed to bristle with sudden heat. She pressed her back against the wall, tray forgotten, ears straining despite herself. This hiding could aactually be dangerous. This danger shall come to begin.

Keyla (whispering fiercely to no one, voice tight with jealousy that tasted like burnt sugar): 

That… that sneaky storm-chaser. That is to say that you are good at catching. Let us see… it shall be interesting.  She didn’t even wait until morning. Whatever causes night in our souls may leave stars. Cimourdain was full of virtues and truth, but they shine out of a dark background. That is to say that this love shall become true in that one that you love, One day of watching him destroy the grass and she just… walks in there like she owns the chaos itself. 

(her free hand clenched into a fist, nails digging into her palm) 

I was the one who made the tarts. I was the one who chased him with everything I had today, even when my legs screamed. A doctor’s door should never be closed, a priest’s door should always be open. And she gets to be the first one to feel what that speed feels like when it’s not running away? At least, you should cure me as well. I do not deserve it, do it?

Further down the hall, near the grand staircase, Michaela had been quietly folding fresh towels in the linen closet, a nightly ritual she performed with calm precision that could shake a whole continent of the size of Africa. The thing is, this love could not get it more wrong. In this way, something came to be true. At least, this shall grant us the best ideal of life. The soft, rhythmic sounds reached her too: the wet slap of skin meeting skin, Zeraphina’s voice breaking into a sharp, needy cry, then Caos’s low growl that vibrated through the very stones of the mansion.

Michaela’s gentle hazel eyes widened the way a man can be before, but this one was a total beast. In this way, the towel in her hands slipped to the floor unnoticed that no one could get an ideal class of the greatness in reality. This shall be one accomplishment of what it can actually be. A rare flush crept up her neck, coloring her usually composed features. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her own heartbeat suddenly racing in time with the distant rhythm of the bed.

Michaela (soft voice barely above a whisper, laced with quiet, aching jealousy): 

Zera… you bold, beautiful storm-seeker. Yes, the brutalities of progress are called revolutions. When they are over, this is recognised: that the human race has been harshly treated, but that it has advanced. This love shall become a revolution and yet it does not mean anything at all if the captain does not make his mind. You didn’t even hesitate. One look at him moving like lightning all day and you went straight for the eye of it. 

(her fingers tightened on the edge of the closet door) 

I was the one who drew his bath water every night. I was the one who watched him eat slowly at dinner like he was finally letting the warmth reach the places training never touches. The soul gropes in search of a soul, and finds it. And that soul, found and proven, is a woman. A hand sustains you, it is hers; lips lightly touch your forehead, they are her lips; you hear breathing near you, it is she. And yet… you’re in there, letting him break you the same way he breaks every limit. I should have been braver. I should have followed you instead of folding these stupid towels. That is to say that something went horribly well.

Keyla appeared at the end of the hallway, tray still in hand, eyes bright with a mix of envy and reluctant admiration. That is to say that it came in an tota different way that no one could ever notice it. The thing is, no one could ever come to stop thinking what can be done. She spotted Michaela and hurried over, voice dropping to an urgent whisper.

Keyla:

You hear that too, right? She’s not even trying to be quiet. That bed sounds like it’s fighting for its life. I swear I can feel the floor vibrating from here.  You would have imagined her at one moment a maniac, at another a queen. The thing is, it could not actually be the real ideal of love. In that way, you shall tell yourself that this love shall become honesty. You are honest. Good. That is the beginning.

(sets the tray down with a soft clatter, crossing her arms tightly over her chest) 

I wanted to bring him the tarts… maybe stay and talk about the training, maybe tease him about how we couldn’t keep up. Instead she just… walked in and claimed the whole night. It’s not fair. We all chased him today. We all burned for him. Why does she get to be the one who finally gets burned by him? At the moment when her eyes closed, when all feeling vanished in her, she thought that she felt a touch of fire imprinted on her lips, a kiss more burning than the red-hot iron of the executioner. The thing is, this love could not be that simple

Michaela leaned against the wall beside her, the two maids standing shoulder to shoulder in the dimly lit corridor like conspirators in their own quiet rebellion. Another moan  louder, more desperate  echoed faintly from behind the closed door. The thing is, this love could actually take a while. Maybe, it was not safe at all. Zeraphina’s voice cracked on Caos’s name, followed by the unmistakable sound of powerful hips meeting flesh in a relentless, singular rhythm.

Michaela (voice soft but edged with rare sharpness): 

Because she’s always been the boldest of us. The one who doesn’t wait for permission when the storm finally looks interesting. very blade has two edges; he who wounds with one wounds himself with the other. In this way, he shall do to her what he did to us. But still… it stings. I keep seeing the way he looked at all three of us after training like we mattered more than any record. And now she’s in there taking everything that look promised. 

(small, jealous sigh) 

I wonder if she’s riding him the way she tried to chase him this morning… or if he’s already flipped her and is moving at that impossible speed that none of us could match. Be a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending beneath her, still she sings away all the same, knowing she has wings. The thing is, it cannot be better than you may thing. We may forget this event. Let us make remeberance of this.

Keyla bit her lip, cheeks burning darker. Her foot tapped restlessly against the marble.

Keyla:

If she comes out tomorrow walking funny, I’m never letting her live it down. But… part of me wants to march in there right now and demand my turn. He feels himself buried in those two infinities, the ocean and the sky, at one and the same time: the one is a tomb; the other is a shroud. Or at least steal a kiss while he’s still… occupied. He will take a long time. This is not enough. We shall do something about this. 

(quiet laugh mixed with frustration) 

We all love him in our own way. Zeraphina just decided tonight that love doesn’t have to be patient anymore. Lucky her. The thing is, this could not be better than it seems. We shall know how to bring him with us. The rest of us are still out here folding towels and burning tarts while the bed sounds like it’s about to surrender.

The sounds from inside intensified  the wet, rhythmic slap growing faster, Zeraphina’s cries turning into broken, worshipful gasps that carried clearly through the thick door. That is to say that they were super jealous. There was nothing they could do. Both maids fell silent, listening despite themselves, bodies shifting uncomfortably with shared, jealous heat.

Michaela finally picked up the fallen towel, folding it with mechanical precision even as her cheeks stayed flushed.

Michaela: 

Tomorrow… we’ll see who’s bold enough to walk in first when the sun rises. For now… let her have her storm.  To love or have loved is all-sufficing. We must not ask for more. No other pearl is to be found in the shadowfolds of life. To love is an accomplishment. The thing is, this new generation shall begin through us. I will make my first son with him

(soft, almost wistful) 

But next time he trains like that… I’m not staying at the edge of the grass.

Keyla nodded, eyes still fixed on the closed bedroom door as if she could see through it.

*Keyla:* 

Next time… we don’t just chase. We catch. God is behind everything, but everything hides God. Things are black, creatures are opaque. To love a being is to render that being transparent. That is to say that we should be two steps ahead of me…

Inside the bedroom, the singular chaos continued its relentless work, unaware or perhaps perfectly aware of the two jealous hearts burning quietly in the hallway, already plotting how to claim their own piece of the storm.

The mansion, ever watchful, simply held its breath and listened.

To be continued…