Mikhail and Ahmed

MIKHAIL I

*I want to take this time to highlight a Queer love story that I adore very much. This photo is the cover art of the novel "Finding Joy" by Adrianna Herrera. I give it a 10/10 stars. It was so lovely and made me feel so warm inside. And the character appearances aren't too far off from my characters! 

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Month One 

MIKHAIL 

I awake on the floor with a color burning into my mind. Stark, solitary crimson. The crimson was the deepest red I had ever seen. It is all I can remember, all I can focus on as my senses return. My vision blurs but I can see the high-vaulted ceiling in the room of endless marble. The chaos around me shimmers, fracturing sound into impalpable shards of vibration. I slowly widen my eyes. I feel a gentle hand moving through my hair, and my stomach turns. I feel my body laid out. My neck rests against something soft and warm. I feel nauseous.

I blink again to halt the fracturing. The noises become less mute and are replaced by distant shouts, huddled breaths, nervous whispers, and the subtle clinks of metal cuffs against each other. I see the ceiling now blurred by a face entering my vision. A woman looks down at me, making a strained but quiet expression. In a blur her aging features appear softer, younger. I see her brown eyes, nervous in concern. "Mikhail," she says quietly. "Ilena," I answer. Then slowly, slowly I rise and gain a new perspective on the scene around me.

Ilena and I are seated on the marble floor in the center of the large chamber in the castle. The throne room. There is a constant yet organized motion around us. Soldiers dressed in black and silver make up a flurry of motion. Servants like myself and Ilena huddle in the center. With each moment, more and more of us are ushered in by the soldiers. Upon closer inspection I can pick out the blood stains on each soldier, on their armour, their swords, their feet. I look around at the trembling horde seated alongside me and am met with frightened and concerned stares.

I look down at myself. My garments are dirty. My fingers are stamped with splotches of colorful paint. Again I feel Ilena's hand on my head. I wince. "Where did they hurt you?" she asks. "What?" I turn to her, now seeing the older woman upright and clearly. She pulls her hand away and whispers an apology. I wince at the deep red color painting her fingertips. Not paint but blood."What happened?" I ask. "That's what I'm asking," she says shakily. "You're bleeding. Half of your face is covered in blood."

I touch my cheek and sure enough I can feel something sticky on my fingertips. I pull my hand away and see it atop the other colors. Crimson. My mind flashes to the moment before I was knocked unconscious. White spots dance along the corners of my vision as I tell her, "It's not mine." She shudders and leans closer. I feel nauseous, sluggish once again. I close my eyes tight.

I see chilly blue eyes as they gaze into my own. Then the frigid light within them extinguishes as a sword comes bearing down. A blast of liquid covers my face in an eerie warmth and I am hoisted up and away until...black.

We sit straight backed, as near as two people could be without actually making physical contact. For as long as I can remember, I've liked it this way.

Ilena's beautiful and work weary hands would be in the very center of her portrait. I've thought of painting her several times and if I could get away with using the necessary resources I would. Perhaps I will one day. Her frame is slight yet sturdy, striking, unwavering. Her eyes and the smiling creases that dance at their corners would regale her with the distinction of age.

The chill of the marble floor begins to seep into my skin, bringing me to wonder how long I've been sitting on it. I look around at the chaotic scene surrounding me. I see seated, trembling bodies, shivering in the brisk morning air. It seems the invasion has finished before the sun has fully risen. We are packed together in the middle of the great hall. Our eyes cut to each other nervously. Once others catch a glimpse of my face they freeze in horror. I must be such a sight to them. We are monitored by several soldiers, the armed invaders. Their bodies are still painted with fresh evidence of conflict.