The fair maiden sat staring at the ocean for every day of the voyage. The sea had matched her spirits, at times placid and at others a fury, spiralling deep, indigo chaos out in the middle of nothing. Listlessly she would pass from bow to stern, a ghost of a woman in her silhouette, tired and gray seeming, to touch her was to wilt her. She had locked herself in her room, away from conversations and introductions, from parlour hour and dinners where she was expected to judge, to ascertain, to be all that she would rather not. She would admonish herself in private, or curled with her knees to her chest a top one of the piles of ropes where the roustabouts slept at night, and hope for it all to come quickly. Her Father had always told her that the dramatic side was her least becoming, but it was in moments of turmoil and personal devotion to one of her rebellious causes that she felt most alive. All her senses were ripened, it was there that her soul sang, freely, unabated, there was a feeling of majesty and potential, no doubt.
However, on board this ship, for every floating day, she felt herself slip away. Frail, encumbered, she thought on instances and memories, people and occasions that never had she before. The ghastly, pale sky, here, where the ice fell away and the green of new land beckonered was what instilled in her, since years before, a frightening awareness. She would pull back the curtains and stare helplessly at the white world, shuddering, the icicles like sad glass, melting into puddles outside her cabin window. It was so eerie, here, where attack from rogue vessels was a real threat, and upon every quickened heartbeat a palpable atmosphere of terror was soon recognisable aboard the Concertina. The crew became restless in these waters, and prone to collecting others emotions like a fly caught in the thistles, Sapphyre became tagged and thorned with misgivings and apprehension. With a hand to the wooden door at her back she closed her eyes and shook. Only a few more days, she could do it, only a few more days.
And though uneasiness crept along the boat, made it seem all the larger, the sky all the more gloomy, it was not leviathan steel or cloud that worried her. It was the rocking of the waves, sending her notes and dried flowers from their tables and cups. Her room had become a mess, and when looking upon her face in the mirror, and her boney figure in a thin cream nightrail, she acknowledged that she had become careless. Despite that which went bump in the night her steely resolve had been filtered down, so she was a sepulcher, and in her rested the crescent of the passenger's combined consciousness; the fey darling not sufficient enough in this desperate, funereal, colour-starved land. Powers could be only honed with a strong mind, and the landscape and the pressure made her resentful and bitter.
A few more days, she whispered, and sat at the foot of the door, watching as the gentle, frosty breeze rustled the sheer, gauzy petals of her pourri about the floor; weary dancers on their final turn.
————————————————————————— ———————————
Three Nights Later
Betrayed by her dreams, which only continued what she was offered day to day, idle VS. idyllic, she contemplated abandoning ship, if only for the attention, for something to awaken her. The water was peaceful these days out of Norwenshwere, and she glimpsed in their tranquil depths the flicker of fish, silvery ignitions of things imagined and not. There was a sun to see now, grand and amber, the golden, faint rays barely a warm caress, but enough to make her smile true for the first time in a month.
As the boat neared the land she was aquainted with, with its peach coloured palaces and spanish violinists in the crowds, she too melted. Her scarf and skirts whipping around her so she felt alight, the air came softly through the ship, lending new fragrances and an almost mystical, if perverse, enchantment, for this was an old land, a land that each knew like one's face up close in the mirror, there was nothing left to discover here. Sheer familiarity was what startled her, and like clapped by a wave, she started forward, heading for the front of the ship, her hand guided alongside her across the smooth wooden railing. The movement of the boat no longer bothered her or the expressions of those she had barely seen all the four weeks long but all of which knew her presence, who and what she was. The plank extended and she rushed for land, to anchor herself.
Seaswept, aching, forbidden, the maiden removed one shoe at a time, to the surprised eyes of onlookers, those waiting to board and those who manned the docks, and with two feet on the ground she felt exilerated, rare, peculiar. The sensation of her bare, cold feet on the warm tar went straight from her toes to her shoulders.
Her Father called from behind, there were gasps, and then...there was nothing.
The Concertina groaned and creaked its maritime code out of the swish of water against piling, and was all that was heard for many moments after. Shock had stuck as an arrow, a delerious target as she had pinned. For their lady, famous or not, had just disappeared. An otherworldly woman, as many had guessed, but she was flesh and blood. Lovers of hers in the crowd, who knew best the wiles of her patient skin and tactical heart, her reality of full mouth and raven tresses, remembered that day. They would be making love to their soon to be wives and think on Sapphyre, languid and sinful once in their sheets, and now a whisper in their ear, but never really there, or..."
The Woman the Wind Stole, and they erected a statue, for in this land where everything had been discovered, something had happened that had never happened before, and the villagers were certain their soil was sacred. That living in their midst were nymphs, Lady's of Fortune, Of Luck, Phoenician pearls in the eyes of Sailor and Siren.
And her Father always did wonder where on Earth his own child, his unhappy, wistful daughter, had gone"
However, on board this ship, for every floating day, she felt herself slip away. Frail, encumbered, she thought on instances and memories, people and occasions that never had she before. The ghastly, pale sky, here, where the ice fell away and the green of new land beckonered was what instilled in her, since years before, a frightening awareness. She would pull back the curtains and stare helplessly at the white world, shuddering, the icicles like sad glass, melting into puddles outside her cabin window. It was so eerie, here, where attack from rogue vessels was a real threat, and upon every quickened heartbeat a palpable atmosphere of terror was soon recognisable aboard the Concertina. The crew became restless in these waters, and prone to collecting others emotions like a fly caught in the thistles, Sapphyre became tagged and thorned with misgivings and apprehension. With a hand to the wooden door at her back she closed her eyes and shook. Only a few more days, she could do it, only a few more days.
And though uneasiness crept along the boat, made it seem all the larger, the sky all the more gloomy, it was not leviathan steel or cloud that worried her. It was the rocking of the waves, sending her notes and dried flowers from their tables and cups. Her room had become a mess, and when looking upon her face in the mirror, and her boney figure in a thin cream nightrail, she acknowledged that she had become careless. Despite that which went bump in the night her steely resolve had been filtered down, so she was a sepulcher, and in her rested the crescent of the passenger's combined consciousness; the fey darling not sufficient enough in this desperate, funereal, colour-starved land. Powers could be only honed with a strong mind, and the landscape and the pressure made her resentful and bitter.
A few more days, she whispered, and sat at the foot of the door, watching as the gentle, frosty breeze rustled the sheer, gauzy petals of her pourri about the floor; weary dancers on their final turn.
————————————————————————— ———————————
Three Nights Later
Betrayed by her dreams, which only continued what she was offered day to day, idle VS. idyllic, she contemplated abandoning ship, if only for the attention, for something to awaken her. The water was peaceful these days out of Norwenshwere, and she glimpsed in their tranquil depths the flicker of fish, silvery ignitions of things imagined and not. There was a sun to see now, grand and amber, the golden, faint rays barely a warm caress, but enough to make her smile true for the first time in a month.
As the boat neared the land she was aquainted with, with its peach coloured palaces and spanish violinists in the crowds, she too melted. Her scarf and skirts whipping around her so she felt alight, the air came softly through the ship, lending new fragrances and an almost mystical, if perverse, enchantment, for this was an old land, a land that each knew like one's face up close in the mirror, there was nothing left to discover here. Sheer familiarity was what startled her, and like clapped by a wave, she started forward, heading for the front of the ship, her hand guided alongside her across the smooth wooden railing. The movement of the boat no longer bothered her or the expressions of those she had barely seen all the four weeks long but all of which knew her presence, who and what she was. The plank extended and she rushed for land, to anchor herself.
Seaswept, aching, forbidden, the maiden removed one shoe at a time, to the surprised eyes of onlookers, those waiting to board and those who manned the docks, and with two feet on the ground she felt exilerated, rare, peculiar. The sensation of her bare, cold feet on the warm tar went straight from her toes to her shoulders.
Her Father called from behind, there were gasps, and then...there was nothing.
The Concertina groaned and creaked its maritime code out of the swish of water against piling, and was all that was heard for many moments after. Shock had stuck as an arrow, a delerious target as she had pinned. For their lady, famous or not, had just disappeared. An otherworldly woman, as many had guessed, but she was flesh and blood. Lovers of hers in the crowd, who knew best the wiles of her patient skin and tactical heart, her reality of full mouth and raven tresses, remembered that day. They would be making love to their soon to be wives and think on Sapphyre, languid and sinful once in their sheets, and now a whisper in their ear, but never really there, or..."
The Woman the Wind Stole, and they erected a statue, for in this land where everything had been discovered, something had happened that had never happened before, and the villagers were certain their soil was sacred. That living in their midst were nymphs, Lady's of Fortune, Of Luck, Phoenician pearls in the eyes of Sailor and Siren.
And her Father always did wonder where on Earth his own child, his unhappy, wistful daughter, had gone"