The Dark Star - Prologue

The Dark Star | Prologue Part 2

The room basked in the moonlight, a light blue hue, complementing the painted stone, images of fish, waves, and other sea-faring creatures lining the floor. The space contained a simple bed, aloft with many blue and gold threaded pillows, and a golden laced net curtain hung above its place, sure to keep the small, winged insects of the day away from the person who rested there. The room felt more vast, however, as half of the space opened to a terrace overlooking the sea. The sound of gentle waves lapping against the rocks made an orchestra of calm throughout the zone. Upon the terrace, a large stone pool held fresh water, waves pushed by the wind to join the chorus of the sea below.

There she was. Staring to the moon, her hair was fully loosened, caressing downwards on her back in ringlets, oiled to shine within the effulgence of the moon's grace. It reminded me of the stars above and the space connecting them, its sparkles random and speckling through the expansiveness of her sky, looking down upon us and this memory that we would cherish. She wore a simple shift, sheer so that I could see the lines of her curves, but not too much right away. The art of desire was an art, after all.

She sat on the edge of the water, her legs halfway in the waves that wisped around her, droplets shimmering upon her full thighs. A thought occurred to me; how would the water taste off of her skin?

I believe by now, dear reader, I am beyond shame.

She turned to me, a vast sadness in her eyes I could not hope to fathom and would not know where it began tonight. We had this night to exist within each other, and many more moons to find where her roots would accept their soil.

"Come, Aslani" she softly commanded, motioning her hand to reference a jug, combs, and soaps by her side.

I listened dutifully, unclasping the top part of my toga to release my chest to her, and removing my sandals as I walked towards her—towards my baptism.

The pool contained tiered steps, so one was never in too deeply. I stepped into the cool liquid, feeling the shiver up my spine at the contrast of temperature. I kept my bottom skirt on, as was customary in receiving a bath, facing towards the moon with Nacoya at my back, sitting down upon the large carved and smooth stones. Winged insects kissed the surface of the delicate waves. Waterlilies skirted the top of the pool, other flowers and plants giving their face to the celestial body, rejoicing in her love. I listened to the sound of the night, the crash of waves, the gentle caress of light upon our skin, and knew not the fear of the night.

I heard the movement of the jug behind me—Nacoya pouring some of the water on the soap in a bowl, creating a scented lather that would be sudsy and soft before it reached my skin. I first felt her caress the edge of my hair, using the warm water of the jug to wet the edges so they stuck to their place on my back. She then raised above me, standing gracefully, only the disturbance of water to betray her movement. I closed my eyes, feeling a slow stream of warm water start at the top of my head, wetting my locks and running down my shoulders, creating a brief cloak of reprieve from the cool pool, and helping me acclimatize myself. Her fingers next ran through my wet hair, nails only but grazing my scalp and next over the back of my neck, brutally slow and deliberate, antagonizing my senses with shivers. I hung my head in submission to her ministrations. I would have what I so desperately wanted soon.

Her fingers traveled in duality over my shoulders, pressing her hands full over the back of my upper arms, then sliding between my arms to travel to my navel, pressing her body to me as she knelt within the waves with me.

I felt the cool touch of her shift, I could sense her warmth, it made me burn to have her so close, yet so far from the bliss I so senselessly craved. I could feel her nipples slightly firm, grazing against my back. She teased me, sliding her hands upwards, brushing against my own, knowing. Ah, it is never to be said that the Bright Lady does not know her work.