the sorceress and belts

something quick I wrote.

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It was common knowledge: The sorceress wore too many belts, and oftentimes, she would flick a little silvery dust off her gown. The shine and sheen of her belts twinkled and sparkled against the dying sun. She wore a protective fur lining along her breasts, and whenever she bent over, fire and lightning flickered from her polished fingertips. Her eyes look slightly dark, lustrous in the twilight when the sun has gone down. Slender stemmed arms covered in material wealth suggested impeccability; long and swished loudly against the tornado twin-winds she produced in single file from her fingertips

When the sorceress was tired, she never complained or balked, but kept going along with everyone at a steady pace. She could lift a granite column with her high level magick and call the storm to her side. Did those belts hinder or help her? She had a side kick, another magick-user, a young man who served as her blind guide, seeing without eyes, bandaged in dark linen draping across his face.

She spent some time paying attention to the maps on the road, the runes, the circles across the sand. This time, she decided she would take some time to talk a little to him today. Maybe. They hardly spoke more than a few words.

As the walked on together, they saw a small group lined along the horizon, with camels and horses, and stretched out tanned canvases that gave them solace from the sun. They would walk on by, nodding their hellos.

She turned to say something, but found the magick-user staring across the horizon, pointing where the water laps like a long blue tongue. The wind picked up, quickly. Slick dew drops brush at their garments, evaporating as soon as it made contact. The sorceress touched his scarred hand, brought him closer to her body. His hands rough from work, but his profile, so gentle against the water’s reflection, that she reached out, after a moment to bring the young man's lips closer to hers.

He could feel the heat, the tingly warmth of his mistress’s hands against his face, her lips closed in on his linen bandaged face. The cold metals of her rings contrasting soft, warm, glowing skin; and there were smiles between them, under that approaching moonlit dusk. As she finished her kiss, took a deep breath, was unexpectedly anxious, but she needn’t fear. he spoke for her, all with low-dulcet-honey tones, faultless soothing words. He was not too tired, after their long walk, instead he comforted,-- that the quiet between them spoke volumes. Their fingers pressed hard, breaths release, like tender sighs.

With him, she was never alone.. Not in this world, not with him there, by her side. Even her belts, those belts that clink and look heavy, were undone, clasp by clasp, until she produced the smallest one—a thin leather of black and complex design, like those of a snake-slithering shiny against her darkened gown.

This was for him and in return, the sorceress could only nod against her friend’s dark head. It was not because she was in love with him she was not. Her love was already taken—to a man with full smiles and a heart of gold who had died too many winters ago. But tonight, she would spend this, with him, taking the belts, placing them in a neat pile.

Tonight, when the fireflies in the night merged with the fire reaching the darkness, she would tell him of all the things she wanted to say, ask about his past, listen and maybe get a little closer. His heart soared. A kind of blue lightning mirage and sensation flickered, and the soft glow tingled her skin. It was only a touch.

A slight merge, a small whispering kiss; enough so that her breath caught, like a bird in a gilded cage. Feathers, yielding like a dove’s back, divined into her spirit, and the summons of light, healing phoenixes take flight between their lips. It was not much. But it was more than he could afford. For her, her lost love was a testament to her strength.

Did unbuckling all the belts help? He had to ask, silence between them yawned. She did not lean into him too much, managed only to drop her damask lashes against the pale-cool cheek. So close.

Yes. It helped.