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When I mentioned my feelings of greasiness to Mama, she was singularly unsympathetic. I had to forgo my leading questions and just head to my own shower. Lit a couple candles and started the hot water (yes, I can take candles in the shower with me, I'm that special). I slathered myself with cheap-smelling body wash, though not cheap enough to be really sordid (it was a shower, after all. Shadow joined me later. No, I'm not kidding. It took some persuasion, and he was never really relaxed, but he was comfortable enough to sit on my lap and accept my caresses. He left with some relief, but when I got out, he looked back in.
I took the candle out with me and left the rest of the lights off, and was gratified when the sacred light cast on me my markings, a spill of paleness on my underside, chin and about my eyes. Annointing myself (though not as luxuriously as I would had I taken a real bath in the Room of Marble with all its scenting amenities), the white showed on the underside of my arms and ears, too. Now my hand is warmed by the friendly light, even as my mind is cooled by the mist of worry for a friend.
Oh, Aliah. It's only you that keeps yourself from spilling, whether or not it's a good thing. My flexible moods have finally reached the pendulum of resignation, and if you must retain your secrets, then so be it. I'm always more than willing to bear them with you, and the constant teasing, unintentional though it may be, makes me even more inclined to pin you down and let you sob them out. I realize I'm one of the less important figures in your circles, now, but you're still one of only three I can call my own. Please. I, though monarch of my own childish pretensions, at least attempt to fathom your unconscious hurts, perceived and true. But you have so many willing aids. I've faded to the background, as dictated by physical presence, or rather, absence. Get well, dragon. I'll come to see you if you'll let me. If the world will.
I took the candle out with me and left the rest of the lights off, and was gratified when the sacred light cast on me my markings, a spill of paleness on my underside, chin and about my eyes. Annointing myself (though not as luxuriously as I would had I taken a real bath in the Room of Marble with all its scenting amenities), the white showed on the underside of my arms and ears, too. Now my hand is warmed by the friendly light, even as my mind is cooled by the mist of worry for a friend.
Oh, Aliah. It's only you that keeps yourself from spilling, whether or not it's a good thing. My flexible moods have finally reached the pendulum of resignation, and if you must retain your secrets, then so be it. I'm always more than willing to bear them with you, and the constant teasing, unintentional though it may be, makes me even more inclined to pin you down and let you sob them out. I realize I'm one of the less important figures in your circles, now, but you're still one of only three I can call my own. Please. I, though monarch of my own childish pretensions, at least attempt to fathom your unconscious hurts, perceived and true. But you have so many willing aids. I've faded to the background, as dictated by physical presence, or rather, absence. Get well, dragon. I'll come to see you if you'll let me. If the world will.
From: (Anonymous)
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From: (Anonymous)
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