Dresden

A Story by Shaibelle

Master Dresden finds himself getting married... (update coming)

Dresden

-Geneva Willis-

There was nothing extraordinary about her, really. She was simply ordinary. Delicate and blond, eyes the shade of chicory, and skin the pale hue of cream- like every other woman of the island. I gazed the gaze of insecurity, wondering just what I was doing, at her painted lips. Now- to say she was 'simply ordinary' does not shove her into the rut as 'simply another girl'. No, this girl, this ordinary little thing, was my fiance; hand picked by the generations before me. Here, at the alter, I could finally regard her simplicity, behind a sheer, sapphire veil, for the first time.

She was trying to smile, so I smile back, lopsided of course, appearing much more sinister than intended- she flinches. I must have looked the perfect fool, staring down at her the way I did...carrying oneself three heads taller than the rest made all these things feel so much less natural. I, the elvaan who had slain basilisks in the desert for the sake of my mortal king, was horrified to marry a farm girl. Was that not what heroes did when they were to become a knight?

A village child, violet eyed like my mother, presents me with the obsidian ring I had crafted only days before- it was choppy, rough-hewn, and barely a acceptable as a gift to my bride-to-be. I had never been much of a ring-crafter...I watch another child present the ring my fiance's made for me to her. Thank God- her ring looked just as awful as mine. Her cream-skinned hand eases out from the folds of her gown, henna tattoos glowing burnt-red as her fingers quiver. I try to put my ring on her, but her wrist- she was letting me see her wrist-

The ring slips on without fault, but it couldn't have been comfortable. Henna markings around my cheekbones mask my entranced state- such pale wrists- as I whisper, “Purity and peace to our mother.” The ivory wrist slips back into concealment as she bows for me, holding the bow the full five seconds representative of deep-respect.

Her hands appear when she rights herself, reaching for my now outstretched palm. The henna tattoos on my on hands were much simpler than hers, but clearly defined the spiraled eye of the elvaan kingdoms. The cerulean and gold sleeves of her robe slid across her hands multiple times as she gently edges the ring onto my hand. It was big, but why make a scene- my royal-crest-ring would hold it on. She hums the words, “Serenity and solace to our mother.” I bow unexpectedly- I had to let her know I appreciated her willingness to do this...whether she really cared of me, or not.

When I return to my upright stance, towering over her, she gazes into my blood-red eyes with what I can only imagine as honest-to-God bewilderment. Was such an ordinary girl so impressionable? The black ribbon containing the majority of my sandy streaks of hair was starting to untie at the back of my neck- I shift my sights to the elder, willing her on with the tugging at my blackened, gold-banded, overcoat. The ancient elvaan woman stares on back at me, numb and blank- I had shamed our kind by aiding the mortal king, why regard me any differently than that. She calls to the gathered town, “Bless these children, guard them, love them as your own- and pray the mortals forgive us.”

My wife and I reply, “Honor to our mother.” The town repeats it behind us, and my eyes lock onto those rose-painted lips of hers. I don't know her name. How do you kiss a woman whose name you don't know? A woman you've only seen just once in robes you know God gave her; watery fabrics around her legs, unearthly beauty dripping from crystal beads about her brow, and velvet softness flowing across her breast...and yet- she was so ordinary. So completely in place on this island, amid the ruins of ancient temples, with the fragrances of honey-wheat encasing her.

Ordinary seemed not so ordinary when her chicory irises meet my crimson ones- I had to kiss her, tradition dictated so. Perplexity shudders through her fingertips, she was toying with the gold-thread tassels about the waist of her ocean-blue corset. I gnaw on my bottom lip a moment, how did you kiss a girl anyway? I lean down to her, tilting my head first left, then right; she tries to cooperate with my motions, blushes appearing behind the crystal beads framing her face. Finally she whispers, as gently as she can, “I'm Halla.” Halla...'halo around the moon'. The corners of her lips twitch- God, she was laughing at me.

“I- I'm Sal,” I was very intuitive today.

“I know,” those chicory eyes were grinning. I finally decide tilting my head to the right was the best way to approach a kiss, and let my lips meet hers- a most intriguing sensation. The townspeople break into a roar of ancient song- none of us remember what it means anymore, we just sing it when something worth rejoicing occurs. This was, apparently, worth joy. Halla- now I knew her name, a beautiful name- grasps my face, “when do you leave for Sund-ies?” The capital cities, Sundorra and Sundossa...we called them Sund-ies- newly appointed knights had to report there to present themselves to the mortal king, Dante, in the royal court. I had forgotten.

“Soon,” is all I reply, grasping that pale wrist of hers. I would have only a matter of days to know her. If I was accepted as a knight of The Echoes- our island- I wouldn't be allowed home for a year. If my services to the king were taken well I would become the representative of the newly appointed 'Echo Kingdom'. I would be a prince. As such, 'home' would become a fleeting dream. Halla in tow, I navigate the crowds to take her home.

She grins at me as we pass by her family's home, “So, when do we call you 'Master Dresden'?”

I close my eyes, sighing, “Once I'm gone, dear wife of mine.”

She spins my rings around my fingers, “...should I call you Sal?”

“Dresden, please. My father was Sal.” She eyes me in response and stops at the door to her new home.

“Dres, then,” Her chicory eyes were grinning again.