Silver / clay

⊱ 14 ⊰

Caleb waved his hand across his forehead. It had become a natural instinct, to push the fringe away from his eyes, to view beyond his own ambit, but now the hair was cut shorter, and he brushed only the air.

Golden leaves, rustling from a cool breeze, surrounded him. The park, watched over by a smattering of shining apartment blocks, was mostly empty, its regular visitors shuffled away in nearby office buildings. Through the tall metallic structures the low sun staged its triumphant rise.

Caleb was about to turn his body away from the bright light when his face shot into silhouette. She stood above him, haloed like an angel.

"Hi," he said, unable to catch a smile from forming.

He realised he'd begun stroking the sleeve of his white crisp white shirt and stopped immediately, wondering if the instinct to dress well when meeting with her, to look his best, was a societal pressure or his own innate desire. Was he following group-think with this choice or animating his true self? And was it disrespectful given her own natural simplicity?

It was a new shirt, brand new, and the realisation caused his eyes to widen in shock. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't meant to-- I thought I was on the right track, I really did, with everything I-- I had it all wrong, I can see that."

"Slow down your breathing, my sweet," said Amala, her voice as angelic as her appearance. "Feel the blood slowly coursing through your veins."

Caleb followed the instructions and gently, very gently, his heart stopped banging the inside of his chest. "There won't be as much money," he said, calmly, but still with remorse contorting his face. "Not right now. But that's because it will be rising steeply soon. Do you believe me?"

"Your feelings, your true feelings -- not a mirage -- are laid bare for me."

"But you need to know it will be for you, the changes I'm making, they're all for you."

"You are submissive by heart," said Amala. "I know you have already fallen."

Her hair still sparkled as she took a seat close to him, close, and he devoured that warmth, a barrier against the cool air.

"Look out to the edge of the tree line," continued Amala, her delicate voice in his ear, her words breaking off like petals in the breeze.

He fixed his eyes on the spot. "There?"

"Yes," said Amala. "Do you see it?"

Caleb, making out only a small bush with a red plume, shook his head.

"The knight, on horseback, trotting over the fields."

Caleb squinted.

"It is you inside that suit of armour," continued Amala, "full of splendour, returning, alone, from an errand for your queen."

He gave her a look and nodded.

"But when you return to the castle, she is nowhere to be found," said Amala. "The throne is cold. You are worried you have failed your queen, and go in search for her."

Caleb wasn't one for stories, but he connected immediately, the worries of the knight transferred to his own frail body, knowing all too well the anguish of adoration.

"Being an honourable knight, you would never presume to enter your queen's personal quarters," said Amala, "so instead you try the chapel. Only the great symbols of divinity greet you. Instead, you investigate the gardens, a courtyard worthy of your queen's beauty, and the sight of her coronation. Your heart flutters as you hear the birdsong, since it reminds you of her. You reach out to provide a branch for the tiny sparrow, and it immediately graces you with its presence, hopping from elbow to shoulder."

Caleb felt a slight pressure against him. Was Amala leaning on his shoulder or had the story captivated him that fully? He didn't dare turn to look, his eyes reaching out to the distance, through into the story world.

"It is a sign I am nearby," said Amala. "You return to the throne room and prostrate yourself against the stones. There you wait eagerly for my command, wanting nothing more than to please me, to put a smile on my face, when, out the corner of your eye, you see you are not alone."

He finally had the courage to turn and was met with a far greater splendour than the knight's vapid attempt. Amala's teeth sparkled, completing her shining smile.

"It is true," she said. "I will be your goddess for the rest of your life. But I don't want you to think that far ahead. Don't worry about the future, my sweet."

He nodded, enraptured.

"Right now," she continued, "you don't have to worry about anything...at all."