Look Beyond What You See

“You want me to wear this?” I ask incredulously, holding the whimsical costume of wispy silvery-blue fabric sceptically. It is rather thinner than most things I wear, and rather apt to be blown in indecorous ways by the slightest gust of wind.

“Can you think of anything more fitting for a water goddess?” he counters, daring me to say what he knows has crossed both of our minds and is absolutely forbidden. I roll my eyes and take the dress into my bathroom to change. To my surprise, it actually covers as much as my usual dresses and is rather becoming, besides. I don’t know that I like that, truly--won’t it make this more difficult for him? But I shake off the thought; surely he knew what he was getting himself into when he picked this costume for our painting sessions. In the meantime, he has again made his challenge for me to compose for him. I will set to work with my lighter harpsichord tomorrow. I suspect he will be surprised with the results.

“Ready to go, then...?” Dmitri asks as I open the door of the bathroom, his voice trailing off as I come into his view. His dark flaming eyes roam my body appreciatively as I breeze past him.

“If you are. Let’s be off. Passageways, if we can. I’d rather not attract attention for my unusual dress, or be forced to wear shoes.” It is one of the rare times when I feel that I can enjoy being barefoot with impunity, and I am not about to surrender the privilege.

“Let me lead, then.” He takes my hand without waiting for a reply, resulting in the usual sparks and tingles and swirling feelings that occur every time we touch. It seems more intense than usual, though, and when I look at him I pray he doesn’t turn so that our eyes meet, for if they did I’m not sure either of us would have any decent measure of self control. I still don’t understand what this is. It logically cannot be anything more than a simple physical attraction. We have not known each other long enough for more, even if we have spent much time together since our first meeting. I suspect that we will get to know each other much better through the process of satisfying Dmitri’s desire to paint me.

The journey to the stables seems longer than usual, and Dmitri’s fireball light is smaller. Is something the matter with him? Or is it just nerves pertaining to this painting? I wonder if I should ask or not. As usual, my curiosity will not permit me to hold my tongue for long. He seems surprised when I inquire as to his general well-being.

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?” he replies. I gesture to the fireball light.

“Your light seems...tired, and I feel as though we’re taking a different route than usual. Is there any particular reason?” I press gently.

“An adventure, nothing more. I thought you enjoyed them, and besides, I was under the impression that you were not adverse to dark tunnels and passageways.”

“Of course not. But I was under the impression that you were eager to begin this painting.”

“I was, at first, until I realised that I have no idea how to start.”

“How do you usually start?” The question seems to baffle him.

“I...I don’t know. The ideas just come to me most of the time. The process is mostly subconscious.” I can completely understand this idea. It is much the same when I just play without any music or real idea of what I’m playing. I believe that such a song is what he desires for me to play for him.

“Then it shall be absolutely the same this time. Let your subconscious guide you.” A half-hearted smile turns one corner of his mouth up.

“Somehow this means more than usual,” he mutters, no doubt trusting I can’t hear him, before adding in a more normal volume, “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Trust yourself. I trust you’ll do a fine job.” A deep desire to support him and make him feel better has overpowered my usual snark and I am perplexed by the realisation, only to be gobsmacked when he pulls me into his arms and sears my lips with a long, deep kiss of passionate gratitude.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his lips lingering tantalizingly close to mine. We are on our way through the tunnels again before I can respond. I try to shake off the heady cocktail of emotions that overwhelmed me when we kissed. Even once we have claimed Excalibur and begun our journey to the garden of Dmitri’s choice, some of the emotions still swirl within me, much to my irritation. Simply from the continued contact with him, nothing more. Tonight you’ll study sorcery. Maybe you’ll learn something of this.

The direction Dmitri has chosen is entirely new to me, though it should not be so, given that we toured the grounds on horseback together once. I thought he had shown me everything, but to my surprise he takes us into the woods beyond his mother’s rose garden. Not long after we stop in a glade at the base of a mountain where a bright silvery stream flows from the rocky heights to pool in the ground at our feet. Excalibur drinks from it as soon as Dmitri gives him his head. I envy the horse’s freedom from decorum. But no etiquette-enforcing individuals are present, and so I slide off Excalibur’s back, fill my hands with water, and drink it eagerly, glorying in the refreshment. Fresh water like this is a rare thing to be had in civilization.

“I take it you like this place, then?” Dmitri teases.

“Really? Whatever would give you that idea?” I reply dryly. He grins, pleased with his choice of locations.

“I thought it was the best place for a water goddess, at least, the best place to which I have access.”

“And where would a water goddess most likely be posing, d’you think? Or where would you have her pose?”

“In the stream, of course.”

“I care not to defile the stream with my feet.”

“Stand on your hands, then. It makes no difference to me. Or wash yourself before you get in. Surely you have the skills to do so, given your other skills with water.”

“Only those who manipulate water can cleanse themselves, then? Perhaps I ought to reconsider our match. I’ll not marry a man who can’t keep himself clean.”

“Lucky you’re stuck with me, then. You’d not have much luck elsewhere. Men are a notoriously dirty bunch, overall. But you’re wasting time. I didn’t realise you were so reluctant to pose.”

“Only reluctant to mar the stream. In due time--”

“Our reprieve from the usual routine is limited. Due time is not assured.” Before I can argue with him, he picks me up and drops me in the stream, which is deeper than I thought it was, deep enough for me to sink entirely beneath the surface. Panic rises. I don’t know how to swim. But now that I can sense the water’s energy, it’s no trouble at all for me to use the water to propel me back to the surface, once I calm myself a bit and concentrate. The look on Dmitri’s face is priceless as I rise head first from the water, propelled by unseen currents beneath my feet. Water streams off me. My wet hair hangs heavy on my back, much subdued. The dress clings to my skin soddenly but is persuaded by a persistent breeze to move slightly.

“How long can you hold that pose?” Dmitri asks huskily even as he jerks out of his reverie to hastily set up his painting supplies. My legs are still submerged to mid-calf, but I’m sure the effect I create is worth looking at. I reckon I’ll find out when the painting is done, anyway.

“Considering that you threw me into the stream, I ought not to consent to hold any pose for you at all. But I am in a benevolent mood today, so we’ll see how long this can last.” I cannot see his reaction, as he’s already behind his easel. I warrant this will be a long and boring process, only slightly better than posing for a birthday portrait every year (now I know these portraits were sent directly to the Berkeleys). I might just practise other aspects of water manipulation to amuse myself. Surely Dmitri won’t mind. He did suggest it, after all.

***~O~***