Within The Pages

Round 1.1 Within The Eyes

A story written for "Gloves Up| A Multi-Genre Smackdown Contest", Round 1.1 (June 2022). Genre: Romance. 

Story Word Count = 1496 

"Elijah?" Irelina was back again on the same muddy floor. The loosely packed ground mingled with shale and granite emanated the warmth of her abode. Who'd have guessed that a princess of palaces would crash around the slums?

Elijah, understanding her words, nodded, smilingly. Without any further thought, she headed to her desired destination. Where she'd find him.

Library. Exactly two blocks away from there.

Two weeks. She couldn't believe she spent two weeks roaming and chatting around these chipped walls. As if she had found another home for herself. She loved going there. She loved everyone there. Especially Elijah. And,...

The faint melody of Mr. Humphrey's old gramophone, his wife's last possession, jolted her out of her reverie. Opening the small brown wooden door, she entered the attic-sized library, aka the old man's paradise. The earthy, musty, "old room" smell swiftly engulfed her frame. She walked past the immaculate and well-kept book-laden wooden shelves. One of his many qualities.

"Then I watch the old couple dance
Step on my old size nines and I'll take you 'round"

'Mrs. Humphrey, your hubby still fantasizes about you. ' Chuckling at her thought, she strolled to the last row of books.

Bibliosmia. The hot, dry, desert smell of print, with a hint of vanilla, invaded her senses, intoxicating her. Her feet halted on spotting the figure she had been yearning to see since the early dawn. And yet, there she was, at the farewell of dusk. And her farewell would follow soon after. The mere thought plunged her into the deepest depths of despondency.

Hushing her thoughts, she gazed at the tan-skinned man sprawled on the clean floor; back against the wall, and long legs clad in black slacks, crossed over. His obsidian orbs concealed behind his thin-rimmed black reading glasses lazily meandered across the pages of "One Hundred Years of Solitude."

"It's a democratic country, y'know." His deep, lavishly accented voice lightly tickled her. She sat opposite him, her back to the bookshelf, with a sly smile on her lips.

"Heard you're leaving tomorrow." His gaze never once strayed away from the pages. She hummed back, tracing every movement of his, caging it in her dark chocolate brown orbs, consumed with swollen cocoa rich hues. Despite his disheveled appearance, he was still able to make her feel those weird giddy-giddy feelings. Like the sparks crashed together, and her flesh was on fire. He was a piece of art. An ineffable artwork of beautiful hues tinted with manliness, strength, suaveness, and untamed splendor. A sinful perfection. Almost surreal. She averted her gaze slowly and sluggishly, shakily exhaling.

"How's life there?" He asked nonchalantly.

"Like a mirror." Her words halted his movement. The rawness and maliciousness they exuded irked him. As if he were lured into his own traps.

"Royals do exaggerate." He gazed at her intently. Black vs. Brown. "Shine. Glamor. The picture perfect palace life of a princess. What else does the mirror say? "

Sarcastically, Irelina snorted. She wasn't hurt. No, not at all. She was amused, bewitched by his placid tone and derisive words.

"The mirror doesn't say. The mirror lies. They hide. They conceal the scars. Mirrors are fatal failures. They're masters of illusion. They reflect the eyes with an image... not with a person. "