Forward from the author -
Warning for all new readers dropping in from the front-page: this is a highly serialized story, with twists and turns and huge character and plot development. This is not a good starting point. Turn back, and go to Chapter 01.
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Of all the absurd and unbelievable stories to come out of this place, those brief words were somehow the hardest to swallow.
"Are we even talking about the same woman?"
"One and only is she who can claim herself the Keeper."
Benson buried his face in his hand, massaging his brain in search of a less stupid response to Iara's revelation. It wasn't sinking in. Her matter-of-fact delivery didn't match the impossibility of her statement. "How? Why...?" He trailed off again, tumultuous thought process failing to articulate.
She just nodded at him in a patient way, like she had all the time in the world.
He took a deep breath. "I mean, there's no way the Caeli I know could do something like that. She wouldn't hurt a fly. I was just there, Iara. I saw her in a duel to death with an opponent all too willing to kill her, and for all the power she had at her disposal, not a single drop of blood was drawn by her. At the end, she had a knife pointed at her, and she just
smiled
."
"The young one is inclined more than most to respect the value of a life. She has walked and witnessed many lifetimes, and treasured each and every experience. It is for that reason she cannot position herself as the arbiter of final judgment. She is a true child of Mother Origin, and to that kindred spirit is pledged One's undying loyalty."
"See? Then there's no way that what you said could be true."
"Or perhaps a truth so antithetical to one's being that the mere act of giving its words a voice threatens to erode one's sense of self?"
"That's... fucking hell..." The words came bluntly. At least, as blunt as they ever would from the mercurial undine. Still as obtuse and flowery-poetic as ever, but he found no room for misinterpretation.
It was in the way that Iara continued to hold her body against him, hands feeling out the steady rise and fall of his chest. Deep crimson gaze affixed uncomfortably to his own, as if daring him to look away.
He wanted to object. He wanted to find some way of defending that innocent, unassailable image of the woman he loved, but the bitterness of that revelation cut through all the illusions.
And then he understood that he'd done the same thing he always wound up doing, in subconsciously placing her on a lofty pedestal far above mortal ideals. Why was that such a difficult trap to avoid? It was the supreme warmth of her humanity that attracted him in the first place. She wasn't flawless. They'd argued at times. But none of that really seemed to stick. Every time he'd been forced to re-appraise her, that mind's image glowed even brighter, obscuring the minor black spots with pure, angelic white.
Until now, utterly smitten by her, he was only given to viewing her through a lens of either adoration or yearning. It wasn't that he was immune to her supernatural charms. Just that she'd opened up to him enough that he was capable of connecting with her aside that.
Awakened to that reality, an onerous sense of loneliness and isolation overtook him. Profound as it was, a mere fraction of the heavy burden she'd laid upon herself. He'd accepted the stories she told about herself without question or doubt, but maybe he'd never
fully
understood them, and what they'd meant about her as a whole.
That aspect of her, never fully able to know unconditional love because people just naturally gravitated towards her; fully considering the weight of that burden, it stung at his heart deeply.
The insightful praises she heaped upon him, genuine as they were, were ultimately still just lies and smokescreens. Not to him, but for herself. That was a burden wrought of her own choices.
The ancestral wisdom of her bloodline was nothing to be taken lightly. Lives of hedonistic indolence and aloof independence that characterized most of the modern reckoning of succubae weren't just hollow fantasies, but time-honed survival strategies.
There were comments made by Iara and Merah, lost in the perpetual tumult of emotions that surrounded Caeli that, under the current circumstances, harshly returned to focus. Both of them had expressed some degree of incredulity that she was "ready" to pursue a meaningful relationship. Iara had been more encouraging and supportive, while Merah initially less so.
The paradoxes and dichotomies that made Caeli's personality so intriguing and irresistible took on a much darker color, and the implications wore worrisome.
As much as those troubled, whirling thoughts occupied his mind, threatening his carefully-balanced worldview, Iara's gentle, patient gaze was a stabilizing presence, preventing his darkest thoughts from running too wild. She wasn't telling him these things in order to chase him away. These were all indelible truths that all comprised the life of the woman he still had feelings for.
It wasn't his own fear that was churning knots in his stomach. It was that whatever it was that Caeli was going through right now, she had foolishly, stubbornly chosen to face that all on her own.
That stung a bit. If he wasn't worthy of being with her in such a time of need, then what really was their relationship worth?
Reaching out, he pulled Iara's amorphous body tightly against himself, relying on her soothing embrace for comfort. The waves she held mastery over gently lapped against his naked skin, granting an undeserved calm.
"Iara, please. Tell me everything. Dredging up such terrible memories, she must be in so much pain. There has to be something I can do for her."
"Does one not worry for his own safety in this matter?"
He pondered that question for a moment. Even as hard as the shock had come, none of that had translated to worry for himself. "No. And honestly, if it came down to her or me, I'd give up everything in a heartbeat. No regrets. She's got so much riding on her. Her responsibilities to all of you, to this place. None of that can be replaced. Not by me. Whatever caused her to do the things she did, it must have been for good reason."
Managing thus far to take in the horrible facts in relative stride, confronting his feelings aloud caused his stoicism to waver. He meant what he said, but the weight of that admission was haunting. For all that Caeli had made him feel loved and welcomed, the stark differences between the worlds they lived in felt an even greater, insurmountable gap.
"Help me. I have no idea what I can do for her." His lover kept talking him up, as if he magically had all the solutions to her troubles, but his wits and ingenuity had run their course. Whatever meager talent he had, it failed him when he needed it most.
