Under the Oak Tree - A Sip of Momentary Grace

Act VIII - The Memory from Seventeen Years Past

"A rock garden is interesting. How did this come about?"

"I-um... I read that it symbolizes strength. Riftan wants Anatol to be strong..." She played with the remainder of the fish on her plate. "A-and I used to collect rocks as a little girl from the garden outside Castle Croix." Riftan's magnetic eyes were stuck on her as she continued this revelation. "I-I collected flowers and feathers to make crowns. At first, I thought of that b-but..." She trailed off but didn't have a reason to continue.

Riftan's mouth trembled as though he was going to reveal something himself, but pursed his lips instead. "Thank you." He interlaced his fingers with hers and brought the back of her hand to his lips.

The memory of a little Maxi excitedly placing the smooth, white pebble he had left for her to find into her colourful pouch flashed across his mind. It was the first time he ever laid eyes on her. Her giggle still echoed softly in his ears, pulling on his heart strings.

After all this time? How many years has it been...

Every moment they shared was etched into the fabric of his soul, by no choice of his own.

The girl, now a woman, he had longed for... for seventeen years, was now his lawfully wedded wife. He almost wanted to laugh at how his humble beginnings were what united them.

...I was born to meet you.

He had no idea of the troubles tomorrow would bring, but found comfort that by God's will, they were bound in holy matrimony until the end of their days.

"Are you even real? You are a dream. A dream of a woman." He finally spoke, letting the murmurs of his heart pass by.

Max melted as he undid the hairpin that held her hair back, letting her pillowy, red locks cascade her gentle face like a waterfall. He lifted the tip of her chin up towards him, and pressed his lips to hers.

She kissed back with intention as sweetness blossomed in her chest from his words of poetry. It was remarkable to her that this man with a presence as stable as a stallion could paint phrases that brought her soaring to the skies.

What does Riftan dream of?

The warm candle flickered, casting dancing shadows on his handsome face. There was love in Riftan's eyes, love that Max was intimately acquainted with now. This single source of truth was rooted underneath his hard exterior. But Max knew there lived a gentle soul that she hoped to unearth.

Maximilian wanted to know him in every form and stay by his side at all costs.

Riftan's throat tightened. His eyes were black with wanting as she stared attentively back at him through curled crimson eyelashes.

If she was to memorize now the image of elation in the framework of her mind, then at most she would know nothing of the beauty her very existence threw at him.

For Riftan Calypse's devotion to Maximilian Calypse was the kind that no experience, no measure, no words could ever degrade into reality by virtue of degree.

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