omens and portents (Myrna)

[Zenethil]

Uncertainty plagued Zenethil's mind. Uncertainty about Lorina. About Nairore. About himself. About his actions. About their actions. Meditation brought peace to the inner storm. But strangely, he didn't want peace. He wanted answers. Things had started to not add up. Not so much with Lorina. She had been pushed. No... He had pushed her. And her fragile mental state, now strengthened, now stood alone. Unfettered by terror. And it pleased him, even if the end result was not the meek and innocent girl he had initially cared for.

No, it was Nairore. It didn't make sense. Rwaht, for all his rigour as a swordmaster, was very much in touch with family. Perhaps not in the conventional sense, but he was definitely an advocate of staying in touch with them. And yet, he had not heard anything particularly meaningful from her for quite some time. Not the slightest inkling into the actual training. Simply how she felt she was progressing. And it worried him. He still had heard nothing about Rwaht's resurfacing. And that concerned him. Because he was hardly inconspicuous. Something was missing. Something Nairore wasn't telling him. And it caused a tumultuous storm of emotions to rip through him. And yet still, he looked on, sat upon a boulder, cross legged, armour placed to the side of the giant rock, next to his vast greatsword, as though nothing had fazed him at all. He exhaled slightly, about as close to a sigh as he would ever get.

His ears caught wind of someone running, gracefully, inhumanly swiftly, by the sound, probably female, as he turned his head to watch an incredibly pale, scantily clad woman was sprinting towards him. She was fast. Beyond fast. She'd closed the space between them quick enough to surprise even Zenethil, before a wry smile crossed his lips. Sheikah. Definitely Sheikah. He stood up, almost elegantly, before jumping down, landing deftly in front of where she appeared to be running to. His armour was out of sight, and very little to identify who he truly was. Unfortunately, that little that you could identify him by was very easy to identify with.

Greetings miss. You appear to be in something of a hurry. Looking for someone I take it?

He presumed it was him. He had, after all, said that he was entirely free to be disturbed in his quiet contemplation. Duty waited for nobody.

[Myrna]

It was always wise to keep the body in top condition, along with the mind as well. Myrna did not get out of Castle Town as often as she should, but the chance to run unbidden and at her full potential was quite exhilarating. While living within the bustling town was an experience, she could quietly admit to herself that she did miss the quiet and openness of her old home. Certainly not her mother, but the peace and the lack of idiocy that many seemed to have. It amazed her how these various and humans and their ilk could go about each day and not get themselves killed. Truly a wonder that would never cease to amaze her, and she nearly chuckled at the thought. It was of no matter at the moment, because she was more focused on her run than idly thoughts. Myrna had been conditioned to run at speeds most humans could never hope to achieve, and even some of her Sheikah brethren could not quite match. It was quite hard to catch an always moving target after all. Crimson eyes flickered briefly about the evergreen fields, catching a most curious sight for even her to witness.

Her sharp eyes caught the sight of a Hylian male sitting atop of a boulder. He position was one of deep meditation, and she briefly took in the whole scene. Now, that was quite interesting indeed. A rather well-known armor rested by the boulder where he rested, and she would be hard pressed to find a person that did not know of the iconic appearance of the Knight Captain's armor. Myrna was rather curious about her chances of running into such a person here, and almost literally. No doubt her presence would be known to him soon enough, so she altered her course just slightly. Changing her direction to take her past the boulder instead of away, she ran at the full speed she had been before. Crimson eyes watched him warily, studying his more clear features. Oh, yes, he had to be the Hylian Knight Captain, because she had caught brief glimpses of him before. Anytime he passed through the town when leaving for a mission with a small regiment of his Knights.

Myrna quickly stopped herself as the man jumped from the boulder and right before her path. She nearly had a hard time from completely controlling herself from careening straight into the taller male. Well, strange. She had imagined him to be much more imposing, even without the bulk of his armor. She brushed back a few tendrils of silvery blond hair, glancing up at him coolly. That could have been a rather unwelcome accident, and merely calling out to her would have been enough to get her to stop. "Certainly not for you. Mere curiosity had me altering my path to cross yours briefly, and not to be stopped in such an abrupt manner," she snapped. Must her identity as a Sheikah make her automatically aligned with the Royal Family? Honestly, the constant assumption was getting upon her last nerve.

[Zenethil]

Zenethil raised an eyebrow. Such a temper on such a woman. It amused him faintly, as he remained unmoving. The look in her eyes was fiery, full of irritation. She reminded her in that respect of Nairore's own temper. While she was relatively docile while he was around, her temper was something of a legend among the Knights. It wasn't so much a taming of the shrew, as a taming of the monstrously angry lioness. Well, that's what he'd heard on the grapevine. With this silver-haired Sheikah? It was more a simple fact of disdain and general irritability. A bit like he had been. His tone was somewhat scathing.

Did I specifically mention that you were looking for me? And as to stopping in an abrupt manner, surely a sidestep would have carried you around me, were you not interested in speaking to me in the first place?

His eyebrow remained raised, his eyes never leaving hers. Crimson. Like all of her race. Strangely alluring, they called to a darker part of himself, one that he always sought to crush at every opportunity. He could help but notice how beautiful she was. Her features were sharp, defined, like what he had noticed first about her personality. He mused on this thought, before cracking his joints, flexing out the slight tension of being motionless for several hours.

Now, after this rather edgy start, shall we attempt a more civil introduction?

His tone was somewhat flat. Almost bored. He was, however, pleased to a certain extent that she evidently was not carrying word for him to return to duty. While he would answer that call without a word of protest, he had a lot on his mind of late, and would prefer to work through the thoughts in his head a little longer before heading back. At the very least, she wasn't a vapid, brainless woman, who'd happened to stumble across him. Or worse. Come looking for him.

[Myrna]

Her crimson eyes flashed in annoyance at his raised eyebrow, but she would grudgingly admit to herself that she had allowed her brief temper to overrule her. Myrna was usually more in control of herself, but being interrupted during her rare chance at a run was irritating. She would have passed him by, but he had made the choice of placing himself before her. Her lips were pulled into a slight scowl. Men were always so contemptuous and self righteous it seemed, but she supposed he had a reason to be. He was in a position of power, and from what she had heard he used it well enough. That certainly did not mean she would become friendly and apologize to him. Myrna simply did not do so, because she did not believe herself to be in the wrong. She placed her hands upon her hips, raising her own brow at him in return. Perhaps she should have stopped herself from being curious, because it did not tend to end all that well.

"'Tis quite easy to tell that you presumed yourself when you stopped me, and I would have announced myself vocally if I had wished to stop for idle chitchat, which I had no intention to," she retorted coolly. Well, at least Myrna had kept her tone more civil than her initial reaction. She watched him warily, almost quite aware of what he may have been thinking. His gaze did not leave her own, and there was something a little darker there. Well, that was certainly interesting. Was the Knight Captain hiding something from even himself? She resisted the urge to smile in amusement, and so kept her current frown in place. She watched as he stretched out his joints, and wondered if she should depart and continue her run. It was not always a good thing when someone piqued her interest, but curiosity was the downfall of many. How annoying her own vices could be to her.

"I shall give you my name if you give me yours," she answered coolly. It was more of a rhetorical statement, since she was quite sure of his name, but it was better to hear it voiced. Myrna was a cautious woman, and always thought logically before involving herself with anyone. She would certainly not make things easy for him at all, and she stared at him unabashedly. She was almost daring him to make a statement about her barely improved civil tone. The young woman bowed to no one, and not even the Knight Captain could sway her to do so. Let him make of that what he could.

[Zenethil]

She was certainly spirited. To the point of being stubborn. Or, more aptly, so stubborn, than existed in both mediums at the same time, such was the intensity of her refusal to back down from her position. An eyebrow remained raised as she spoke, his gaze almost amused. Almost. His frown, like hers, remained planted firmly upon his lips. One thing held him in check in particular. Her being Sheikah. It confused him slightly, how a race of people so decimated by plague could still appear so haughty, particularly alongside their counterparts in the Hylian people. He thought of Elohim for a moment. Poe he may be, but he embodied everything stubborn about the race.

True enough, I did assume that I was being summoned back to the castle. It is rare for one such as I to ever be spoken to by people in matters other than business.

It wasn't a plea for pity. He knew full well that this woman probably spat at the very idea of pity. In the same way he would brook no such words being uttered from his mouth for that reason. It was a simple statement of fact. He watched as she placed her hands on her hips, accentuating the full curvature of her lithe body, as he once again wrenched himself away from such thoughts, his eyes returning once more to the red hue of her own.

Zenethil, miss.

He said nothing else on the matter. No fancy, flamboyant title. He cared little for the frippery that was associated with his position. He was a man of war, not of the drawing room. His armour. His blade. The scars that lined his face. Those were the only titles he displayed. Badges of office, earned in blood. He looked at her, his gaze not faltering for an instant, locking eyes with her intently. He was intrigued by her, and her confidence.

And yours?

[Myrna]

If there was one thing that could be said about Myrna it was her stubbornness. She hardly ever admitted she was wrong, and now was certainly no different. Her carmine eyes met his without any sign of politeness, and she studied him as he studied her. Honestly, it still amused her at how small he seemed without that bulky armor of his on. This was the great Knight Captain, and so far the young woman was not all that impressed. Power was an addictive thing to behold, and she would admit to herself that the allure of it called to her like most people. She had been raised to seize it and not allow it to control her, though. Painful reminders that drove the lesson home quite sharply enough. She quirked her brow as she awaited for him to retort a response of some sort. Myrna still held hostility within her tense posture, and she almost sighed at her quick temper that seemed to overtake her when she last needed it.

Her head tilted, and Myrna took his in answer. There was no blithe attempt at posturing before her, and his tone conveyed he was simply stating a fact. It did make sense, since she could just imagine how much the Knight had to deal with on a daily basis. Well, at least there appeared to be some depth to the man before her, and so she relaxed from her tense stance. Her gaze was still cool and wary, because she did not trust him for an instant. Myrna caught his eyes flickering downward to her hands that still rested upon her hips, and she could practically see the wheels of his mind turning in the thoughts he was trying to banish. Her lips curled slightly up into a smirk, quite amused that he did seem to notice her in other ways. Yes, it was a nice stroke to her feminine pride, but it was almost endearing to watch him clearly shut off any lustful thoughts. Myrna idly wondered if the Knight was a virgin. She really had to hold herself back from snorting with laughter.

His name did confirm his identity, and it was a simple utterance. She studied him like a predator would her prey, and she took in the entirety of his appearance. The scars that lined his face spoke of a true warrior, and even though his frame was slimmer than most fighters, she could see the coiling of muscles that were kept in shape daily. Myrna figured him to favor magic more than brawn, since she could sense his magical aura. She was not quite talented in the art of the arcane herself, but she could cast a simple spell if needed. Myrna returned her carmine gaze to his, leaning her weight upon her right foot as he asked for her name. Well, Zenethil had given her his name, and so she held no qualms in answering him now. "You may call me Myrna," she answered lightly.

[Zenethil]

Having met Titania, he was all too familiar with 'that look'. The phrases, 'sizing someone up' and 'devouring with eyes' sprang to mind. But with Myrna, it was more akin to predatory instinct, measuring a kill, rather than anything Titania ever did. It brought a whole new meaning to the phrases. It was, perplexingly, alluring. He was grateful that she had eased the tension in her stance, and once again, as her weight shifted, causing new angles of her deliciously toned body to appear, his gaze flickered back and forth across her, face impassive, as once again, he fought against his baser urges. He did a double take. Had he really thought the word 'delicious' in respect to a female body? There really was something wrong with him... Perhaps a trip to the medicae would do him some good.

And yet, despite his restraint, his gazes became longer and longer, drifting across the swell of her hips, the flat, toned pale flesh of her exposed midriff, the lithe, graceful proportions of her thighs, her calves. The eternal war in his mind that exemplified temperance and restraint raged on against the veritable maelstrom of confusion, anxiety, doubt and, now, the slightest hints of desire. His face remained impassive as always, shutting down each thought in turn, listening to her name roll exquisitely from her tongue. It was a beautiful name, and provoked something of a rare, if small, smile upon his lips.

A pleasure, Myrna. Now what, might I ask, was the purpose of your haste, that I have interrupted?

His tone was polite, perhaps even a little formal. But there was comfort in formality. He knew what to say, when to say it, how to say it. Speaking informally led to situations like he had found himself floundering in with Titania. In all honesty, with Titania, her blatant disregard for the formal made the situation far easier to bear, simply because there was no worry in offending her. Myrna however, would most likely be whole different, and quite possibly painful experience.

[Myrna]

Myrna was very, very amused at how his gaze continued to flicker over her body with every little shift she made. Here was someone that obviously practiced calmness and patience through meditation, but his mind still betrayed him. Why pretend to be what one was not? The young woman knew the need to play a part well, but to deny oneself so utterly and completely? She could see the wheels in his mind turning as he tried to restrain himself from any thought hinting at desire or lust. What a shame, since he really was not that bad upon the eyes. Half of her desired to call him out upon his prolonged glances upon her body, but she could not blame him all that much. She dressed in such a manner, so she expected it to bring out some response from males and even females. At least she covered her legs, right? A little skin never hurt, but Myrna did not try to go too far overboard.

Was she really worrying about her appearance at a time like this? She rolled her eyes at her errant thought, running her free hand through her tousled blonde locks idly. The silence stretched on for a moment, and Myrna quirked her brow as his gaze could not stay put upon her face for long. A quick glance to her abdomen, her legs, the curve of her hips. In a way, it was a little unnerving, because he did not react in a way she was quite used to. He denied whatever desirous thought crossed his mind, his expression impassive to whatever was going through his mind. Myrna could see faint flashes in his eyes, because the eyes were hardly ever able to hide true emotions. Good thing the glaring crimson of her own made her a little harder to read. Then again, the Sheikah were secretive by nature in most cases. Not that she would know personally, since she had not been raised among them to serve the Royal Family. Myrna was a little surprised at the small smile appearing on his lips at the sound of her name.

"'Tis quite easy to recall I was running, so I would imagine it had to do with my own training," she replied bluntly. It was in her nature to be blunt, and perhaps a little sarcastic. The rare chance for her to run had been interrupted by Zenethil, but she had set herself up to be stopped. Myrna simply had not thought he would do so, since he had been so entranced in his meditation. Obviously, not entranced enough, since he now stood before her. It also appeared to not work so well, if his wandering gaze was a clue. Honestly, burying his emotions like he did would not end well. All that rage and desire burning up in him would eat him alive when the first opportunity presented itself. Myrna would know, since she had been raised to not allow such follies. Emotions were troublesome, but even more dangerous when allowed to fester and rot.

[Zenethil]

She was clearly noticing the flickering of his eyes. The very slightest hint of red flushed upon his cheeks, barely visible in the sunlight, so faint it could be mistaken simply for a heartbeat. Eyes never lied. And he detected amusement in hers. He had dealt with Sheikah before, crimson eyes or no, all that secrecy they cloaked around them could be undone simply by knowing what to look for. The muted twinkle, the faintest flickering. Lightning fast aversion of gaze. An eyebrow raised as he watched her eyes intently, hearing her explanation of her activites. Training? For a Sheikah, by the looks of things a Huntress no less, he was hardly surprised. Running was a very integral part of their nomadic lifestyle.

I see. I, as a student of more arcane arts, confine myself more to meditation, contemplation, and on occasion, practice. Though, I do like to keep my blade in good form. Running however, is not as much a part of my arsenal as it would be of yours.

He was making a delicate overture at pleasant conversation, or at least, trying to. He wondered how she would take to it, blunt as she was. Realising this, he tried a different tack, addressing the motions of her eyes directly.

Might I ask what entertains you so? Your eyes, they flicker and glint. Sheikah you may be, but eyes do not lie.

His smile became fully formed, a relatively easy motion, born from the easing of the worry in his mind, as it faded away, the presence of this mesmerising and intriguing young woman pushing it from his conscious thought, his thoughts turning to more pleasant ones. Like the way her clothes accentuated her marvelous frame. How the crimson of her eyes stood out against her pallid flesh so brightly. The thoughts came unbidden, before he had a chance to block them. He chastised himself, immediately wrenching himself back again, stiffening visibly in his posture.

[Myrna]

Myrna almost smiled fully when she realized that he had realized she had caught his wandering gaze. Much sharper than she thought, and it was most amusing to watch him attempt to reign his natural emotions in. What was the point in doing so? Desire was a natural instinct that all creatures felt in some form or another, and Myrna was not one to hide it away when she felt it. She certainly was not one to allow her emotions to rule her mind, but certainly allowing them out was more beneficial than denying what she was, right? In her mind, Myrna related Zenethil to the burning man that would soon be witness to everything collapsing in around him. It did amaze her she could gather so much from a first impression. For such an important and imposing male, it felt very much like she was the hunter, and he was the prey to amuse her before she ensnared him within her own web. Certainly not something that was unfamiliar to her.

"I have dabbled in magic, but it is not a practice I am adept in. I much prefer the feel of varnished wood within my hand than that of magical energy," she replied, humoring his attempt at conversation. It was also amusing to know that he words had a double meaning if the Knight could pick up upon it, and her lips curled into a predatory smile after she spoke. Myrna could be pleasant and charming when she chose to be, and she was not always so abrasive and strong in her manner. It was always wise to keep an ever shifting mask for each situation, but she did not think she would have to do so in this case.

Her brow quirked again at his question, and Myrna really wondered if he would want the answer to that question at all. She took her time in thinking it over, studying him as all worry eased from his form. It took years off of him as he did so, and her head tilted to the side as she watched him with an almost innocent air. As if. No, the eyes did not lie, and his were not doing so either. Myrna watched as his relaxed posture instantly went rigid once more, and so she made her own move. In a blur of movement, she stood before him, staring up at him with hooded carmine eyes. "'Tis most amusing that you deny yourself what comes naturally unbidden to any creature that desires and wants. For all of your pretenses of patience and virtue, I can see you drowning within all you attempt to deny," Myrna answered bluntly. She simply stood before him with barely any space between them, her expression schooled into one of cool disinterest. It would certainly be enlightening to witness how Zenethil would react to this.

[Zenethil]

A myriad of emotions, thoughts and musings blustered through his head throughout the course of the next few moments. First, pleasure, that she was at least responding, if somewhat curtly, and from the expression in her eyes, with other thoughts running through her head, that he could not quite pick up on. She was clearly referring to her bow. A noble practice, one he had proven to be miserably incapable at. He simply wasn't strong enough to use a bow that was large enough for him to get a draw on. A shame, for he thought of archery highly. Far and away a nobler practice than the barbaric nature of the crossbow. Any peasant could be taught to use a crossbow. It took skill and dedication to become a true archer.

He was about to respond to her, when, without warning, she practically appeared immediately in front of him, catching him almost completely off guard. Only her words stopped him from reacting defensively. Because her words shook him far greater than her actions. Words caught in his throat as he addressed the question. A few seconds passed as he stood, conflicted, confused, the past months, combined with her blunt and almost dispassionate manner of speech, hit him like a freight train. A few more seconds passed, before he managed to come up with a respectable answer.

Patience and virtue are principles one can live a life by. To give in to our baser desires freely makes us susceptible to bouts of anger. Rage. Sadness. It makes the wise turn reckless, the patient turn intolerant and turns virtue into vice.

His tone was level. Not once did his eyes stray anywhere from her eyes. And yet her very presence, this close to him, so brash, so seemingly uncaring of his thought. Her gaze before so innocent. This woman lied so proficiently. But, as always, the eyes did not lie. Her expression was a facade, covering up interest, whether in him or his actions, or his sudden plight at hers, there was considerably more than dispassionate musings.

It is a similar vein why in your mind you accept your thoughts and desires without hesitation, but your expression, gestures, body language and mouth force themselves into postures of annoyance, cold indifference and haughty disinterest. It would appear that we both lie in some way, but in different ways.

He noted this thought. It was an interesting thought, and one that he had, in fact, given little time to. He had simply responded according to what he saw. He was perceptive when under criticism. He wondered why he wasn't as perceptive with his daughters. Nairore was keeping things from him. Lorina had buried herself in her imaginings until he had plucked her from them. She now acted as a different person entirely, one who flickered between the girl he once knew, and a hateful, spite-fuelled creature that could lash the skin from men's backs with her caustic tongue.

[Myrna]

Myrna could see the shock and confusion in his eyes, and she knew her words had flown as true as any arrow. Words could be as accurate as any arrow released from a bow, and she watched the array of emotions flicker through his eyes. She knew he was scrambling for an answer to her words, and she knew that many were conflicted when pressed with a truth they did not want to face. The truth was a dangerous and powerful thing, and one to be treated with caution and respect. Honesty could set one free, or could ruin a person as thoroughly as any harmful lie. Zenethil was floundering, whether the Knight would dare to acknowledge the fact or not. He could preach and practice his virtue and patience as much as he wanted, but he was still the burning man in the end. It was so easy to see through him, and Myrna had only met him in this moment. Patience and meditation did not erase what was being built up in him, and there was simply no release for a temporary calm.

"So you intend to bury each and every feeling of anger beneath the placating mask of peace and patience? 'Tis wise to practice these virtues, I agree, but to ignore each and every emotion that may shatter this illusion of feigned peace? Vice and virtue should be balanced, and not held in check in favor for another," Myrna answered easily. He had been taught this for so long, and perhaps he knew of no other way to release his pent up emotions. Here was a man of great temper that was buried and held in check by insipid teachings of virtue and placid smiles. Calm was a good quality to keep, but passion without direction always had a way of creeping back in the most inopportune of times. Patience was much easier to attain when such desires had an outlet, and were not simply ignored to fester and build. Why did it always seem the patient were always ignorant of themselves? Myrna held back a sigh at the thought.

Her head tilted at his own observations, and a delighted laugh escaped her lips. Crimson eyes lit up, and Myrna smiled in genuine amusement and pride. "Oh, but is it truly the same? I lie in my gestures for people to believe what they wish, and I do not fault myself when they see only what they want upon the surface. I lie to others, but am I lying to myself? There is the difference you speak of. You preach and practice your virtues and your patience, but you are burning into ash and debris, and yet you do now acknowledge it. Passion suppressed can only be done so for so long, and so it becomes the fuel that will burn you down," Myrna explained lightly. She clapped her hands together, pleased that Zenethil at least acknowledged he was lying in some form. Emotions were foolhardy, but even more so when completely forgotten. Logic was a preferred virtue of her own, but indulging in her own 'base' desires allowed her to think more clearly in the long run. Suppressed anger had a way of creeping in when not wanted. Myrna took a step closer to Zenethil, staring at him with challenge in her eyes.

"I see what you wish to deny at every turn. Your eyes speak what your words will not, so do not insult me by pretending it is not so."

[Zenethil]

Never before had Zenethil been set on edge in such a dramatic, thought provoking, disturbing, and strangely, pleasurable way. Any other man would have given in long ago. And perhaps that was why she tormented him so. Because he wasn't like other men. Each word she spoke rang in his ears like a bell. Clamouring for attention. For acknowledgement. And acknowledgement they received. Her continued close proximity distracted him, his resolve tested to it's limits. His breathing became shallow as, despite her insistence that it was not the way to live, he continued to bring his emotions to heel.

His silence spoke volumes, every word not spoken resounding as loud in his ears as hers had earlier. He should be able to speak out against this with ease. To brush off what she was saying as easily as he would a speck of dirt. But he couldn't. Everything that had built up over the past weeks preyed upon his mind, a predator, that gnawed away at everything that he previously held as an empirical truth, immutable, impossible to distill. He had frayed the edges of what people thought possible. Lorina was testament to that. So much happening, all at once, all lumped on top of his everyday duties, it built up. Perhaps she was right.

Again, her words scythed into him. She spoke of fire, of passion, of the internal consumption that he could almost feel, licking at his control, burning it, slowly weakening it. His breathing became shallower still, thoughts running rampant in his head, so rapid that he couldn't pin one down long enough to give thought to it. Until she stepped closer. Her very presence was intoxicated. Like the cloying sweet scent of death. Only in this instance, it was not something you reviled, that you wished you would never have to witness again. It was something that you wished you didn't want so much. She knew it. And he knew it too. So long repressed. So long unspoken. His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke three words. Three commonplace words. And yet never before had they meant so much.

It is so...

The challenge in her eyes was met with the turmoil in his own. He was attracted inexorably to her. The confidence, her graceful curvature, the mystery that surrounded her. It was like a forbidden pleasure. The thoughts raged unabated through his consciousness. His subconscious mind seemed to scream out in frustration at the emotional stimulus that pushed him so. Never before had he felt so conflicted, so unsure of himself. Not when he rescued Nairore from the Gerudo camp. Not when he had been made up to Knight Captain. Not when Titania had put him through a considerably easier tournament. Not when he had subjected Lorina to mental inquisition. Never before. And, he thought, never again.

[Myrna]

His silence was all the answer the young Sheikah needed to her insistent questions. Words failed him where his conflicted thoughts prevailed. Myrna wondered if he regretted jumping in front of her now, before she had turned his entire world upside down with her piercing words. It was amazing how one meeting could change so much in the span of such a short amount of time, and yet she wondered if this meeting had been meant to be. Myrna did not give much thought to fate and the Goddesses, but life had a funny way of working sometimes that made her question whether it was all predetermined in some way. Yet Zenethil still attempted to cling to his ignorant teachings and virtues, trying to reign himself in even when his breath became shallow and quick. It was unnerving how much sway she held over him in this moment without even trying. The truth was indeed a powerful thing to behold when unleashed.

His breathing became even more shallow and quick when she stepped near, and she could see each flickering thought passing through his mind. Doubts and suppression all brought to the surface by her mere presence, and it amazed her how she could sweep aside his convictions with utter ease. It was almost saddening to see how he now drowned and floundered in things he had never thought of until now, or at least acknowledged fully. Perhaps no one had challenged him as directly as she had, countering his words and shattering illusions of patience and peace. Myrna pondered the wisdom of pushing him, but brushed it aside instantly. Better to point out faults before they could no longer be changed for the better. Zenethil was trying to find the words she knew were coming, and Myrna waited with a patience that was almost mocking in a way. So softly uttered that even she almost missed them passing through his lips.

Myrna could see the turmoil he gazed at her with, and her expression softened in regards to his plight. Another step closer, and she reached out to place her palm lightly against his cheek. He was burning, and she had merely added more kindling to this roaring blaze. She did not regret it, but she was not without sympathy for his whirlwind of emotions. This was what happened when they were allowed to build within. "It is not a sin to desire, to want something for yourself. To give so much and receive nothing in return is not a life to live. Patience is not always the answer, and sometimes you must take what you want to get ahead," she spoke softly. How much more could she push before she broke him altogether?

[Zenethil]

Goddesses above, why now, of all times, did they try him so? With everything he was going through, why now subject him to the torment of a woman he found so attractive, but who pressured him to falter in his resolve? A test? No, the Goddesses would not test his resolve. Not in this way. Had he not already faced a trying test of that very same stoic nature in Lorina? He contemplated this, as thoughts barreled through his head, unchecked, unabated, eyes revealing a conflict so intense that one would think full-scale war was being raged within his very being and soul.

She stepped closer still, and his resolve began to fray, as her hand cupped his cheek so delicately, almost lovingly, if it weren't for the mental torment he was being subjected to, and the fact she was a complete stranger. Unwittingly, his head tilted slightly into her hand, eyes closing slightly at her touch, her words no longer ringing, but simply washing through him. His resolve wavered, desires, anxieties and stresses mounting. His eyes opened again, meeting hers. The moment the last words left her lusciously full lips, he did something that nobody would have expected.

He leaned in, and kissed her, tenderly, delicately, upon the lips. His resolve had buckled for an instant, and immediately, his confusion, annoyance and, almost, embarrassment at the situation flooded his mind. What had he done? Why? His mind seethed and writhed, as he immediately began vocalising apologies.

Forgive me... I don't know what came over me... I know only your name, and yet I felt... Compelled to...

He dared not finish the sentence.