Lanoria had been watching a man named Darcy Weatherfare for years. Darcy Weatherfare, she had often sighed his name to nobody at all. She practiced different emphases. A hard ‘D’ made her giggle endlessly. A round ‘ar’ felt full in her mouth. Dragging out the ‘e’ sound of the ‘y’ of his name like a lovers sigh.
Watching is sort of a loose way to describe Lanoria’s relationship to Darcy. Really she had been meddling. Big time. She saw her behaviors as minor adjustments, like a waiter straightening a fork to align it with a spoon. No harm, no foul. Whether Darcy would find her so called minor adjustments to his love life for years on end as harmless, well, that was yet to be known.
But Lanoria had grown impatient of late. Something about her fascination with Darcy had become too urgent. Too many adjustments needed lately. Perhaps he grew tired of the loneliness she thrust on him out of possessiveness for a mortal she shouldn’t have wanted for herself.
Oh well.
Perhaps it was the fact that keeping him in loneliness was more the vocation of a certain goddess of discord than the goddess of love. The cognitive dissonance that arose from her behaviors grated at her incessantly. She’d pondered over the remedy to the problem she’d created for a time that seemed endless. In mortal time, no more than a few seconds had passed during her brainstorm, and even that would be generous. So really, her solution was no more than a snap decision.
A snap decision to don physical form and pop into being in the home of the man she had essentially been stalking for years. Decades even.
And pop she did.
The last time she’d bothered taking physical form had been … a long, long time ago. She had no sense of the fashion of modern humans or of technology in general. So Lanoria appeared in the middle of Darcy’s living room at the crack of dawn one morning wearing nothing but a long flowing robe. A column shaped thing that hung off her shoulders and cinched fetchingly at the waist with pleats of sheer material rippling down over her legs. Fetching indeed. For a goddess. Or a Renaissance painting. She hadn’t even thought of shoes and landed barefoot on tiled floor.
Lanoria startled and an ‘oop’ kind of sound escaped her throat at the sensation of her skin on cold hard tile. It wasn’t particularly uncomfortable as it was just surprising to feel anything at all. She pushed her skirts aside and wiggled bare toes on the floor. She hugged herself and ran her fingers over her own skin.
It felt good. Just to feel anything at all. Being a goddess could be so boring sometimes. She wanted things to happen to her for once. Not make things happen to others forever. Jealousy of mortals led gods and goddesses to do crazy things.
Lanoria didn't see her decision as 'crazy.' Quite the opposite.
In a sudden celebration of her good decision-making skills, Lanoria held her arms out and twirled around like a little girl trying to make her skirts billow. The careless act knocked a lamp from a nearby table and sent it crashing to the floor. Broken glass skittered across the tile. To the door ways and under the couch. It went everywhere. Lanoria, a sucker for dramatic gestures, clapped her hands over her ears at the sound as if it had been really offensive to her. It had certainly disrupted the peaceful quiet of the house.
“Oops.”
Lanoria bent to pick up the pieces of glass. She would just put it back together. Easy. With little care for the sharp edges she sliced the palm of her hand spilling bright red blood on the floor. The glass that had cut her was dropped and shattered into even smaller pieces. Her mouth gaped in horror at the pain. The pain.
“That really hurts.” She sounded genuinely surprised but stared at the blood leaking from her hand with some curiosity.
Watching is sort of a loose way to describe Lanoria’s relationship to Darcy. Really she had been meddling. Big time. She saw her behaviors as minor adjustments, like a waiter straightening a fork to align it with a spoon. No harm, no foul. Whether Darcy would find her so called minor adjustments to his love life for years on end as harmless, well, that was yet to be known.
But Lanoria had grown impatient of late. Something about her fascination with Darcy had become too urgent. Too many adjustments needed lately. Perhaps he grew tired of the loneliness she thrust on him out of possessiveness for a mortal she shouldn’t have wanted for herself.
Oh well.
Perhaps it was the fact that keeping him in loneliness was more the vocation of a certain goddess of discord than the goddess of love. The cognitive dissonance that arose from her behaviors grated at her incessantly. She’d pondered over the remedy to the problem she’d created for a time that seemed endless. In mortal time, no more than a few seconds had passed during her brainstorm, and even that would be generous. So really, her solution was no more than a snap decision.
A snap decision to don physical form and pop into being in the home of the man she had essentially been stalking for years. Decades even.
And pop she did.
The last time she’d bothered taking physical form had been … a long, long time ago. She had no sense of the fashion of modern humans or of technology in general. So Lanoria appeared in the middle of Darcy’s living room at the crack of dawn one morning wearing nothing but a long flowing robe. A column shaped thing that hung off her shoulders and cinched fetchingly at the waist with pleats of sheer material rippling down over her legs. Fetching indeed. For a goddess. Or a Renaissance painting. She hadn’t even thought of shoes and landed barefoot on tiled floor.
Lanoria startled and an ‘oop’ kind of sound escaped her throat at the sensation of her skin on cold hard tile. It wasn’t particularly uncomfortable as it was just surprising to feel anything at all. She pushed her skirts aside and wiggled bare toes on the floor. She hugged herself and ran her fingers over her own skin.
It felt good. Just to feel anything at all. Being a goddess could be so boring sometimes. She wanted things to happen to her for once. Not make things happen to others forever. Jealousy of mortals led gods and goddesses to do crazy things.
Lanoria didn't see her decision as 'crazy.' Quite the opposite.
In a sudden celebration of her good decision-making skills, Lanoria held her arms out and twirled around like a little girl trying to make her skirts billow. The careless act knocked a lamp from a nearby table and sent it crashing to the floor. Broken glass skittered across the tile. To the door ways and under the couch. It went everywhere. Lanoria, a sucker for dramatic gestures, clapped her hands over her ears at the sound as if it had been really offensive to her. It had certainly disrupted the peaceful quiet of the house.
“Oops.”
Lanoria bent to pick up the pieces of glass. She would just put it back together. Easy. With little care for the sharp edges she sliced the palm of her hand spilling bright red blood on the floor. The glass that had cut her was dropped and shattered into even smaller pieces. Her mouth gaped in horror at the pain. The pain.
“That really hurts.” She sounded genuinely surprised but stared at the blood leaking from her hand with some curiosity.
Bitch, I'm limited edition.
The following 1 user Likes saronym's post: megs
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Love Games [Closed] - by megs - 11-17-2016, 02:14 PM
RE: Love Games [Closed] - by saronym - 11-17-2016, 03:37 PM
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RE: Love Games [Closed] - by saronym - 11-19-2016, 12:04 PM
RE: Love Games [Closed] - by megs - 11-19-2016, 02:02 PM
RE: Love Games [Closed] - by saronym - 11-19-2016, 08:01 PM
RE: Love Games [Closed] - by megs - 12-14-2016, 11:51 AM
RE: Love Games [Closed] - by saronym - 12-17-2016, 12:34 PM
RE: Love Games [Closed] - by megs - 01-07-2017, 03:38 PM
RE: Love Games [Closed] - by saronym - 03-02-2017, 10:17 PM
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RE: Love Games [Closed] - by megs - 08-18-2017, 09:52 PM