go to the next part of Rimi
"Do not pull me so, ma cherie, you will bruise my arm," chided Solange.
I laughed and tried to match my pace to her slow, graceful walk. Behind me, Margot discreetly tugged on the back of my gown and Miette teased, "Tch, tch--save your dancing for the ball, petite ange!"
My color was high-- it was the night of the Masquerade. Incomparably grand. The sweetest of spring nights. Stars and colored paper lamps lit the way up the pebbled drive to the villa. The air was damp and cool making my arms prickle deliciously with gooseflesh. I shivered with pleasure and excitement. To dance on such a fine night as this, giving myself over to the slender arms of young men, all the while hiding my wickedness behind my mask. I would become drunk on the stink of the moist country air and take advantage of some minor nobleman. My trap would be movement so poised and elegant that the slightest roll of my hip, the mere curving of my wrist, the tiniest flicker of my fan, would catch him in the controlled suggestion of passion.
The green fuse is lit, I thought wildly, and the sap is rising. Night birds are screaming a cacophony of lust. Screeching violin bows are pulling across taut muscle and sinew.
As I entered the villa arm-in-arm with my giggling companions I caught a glimpse of the glittering sky through the delicately paned archway. The vault of Heaven, I murmured. Margot and Miette whispered excitedly behind me and Solange silenced them with a wry look. The servants took our fine-spun shawls and quietly disappeared. We proceeded down the long, mirrored hallway to the grand ballroom. On the threshold, we paused. Our entrance was announced and we glided in, cool and fatally beautiful.
Several candelabras brightened the ballroom. The flames flickered with the breeze of our passing.
The scent of spring flowers, crushed green leaves and musk oil eddied in our wake. Gentlemen bowed and looked up at us with sly eyes and shining teeth. Ladies murmured behind their fans or looked sideways, casually sipping their champagne.
We moved to a set of white silk-upholstered chairs near one of the open sets of French doors. I wanted to dance right away, but Solange insisted that we sit first, and watch.
"Do not rush. The dancers will come to us," she assured me, with a knowing smile.
And I knew she was right. We were the unspoken center of attention. How could it be otherwise? Solange was stunning in a fitted gown of white silk, her long black hair impeccably coifed with just a few curled tendrils brushing her bare shoulders. The feathers of the white swan-mask she wore accentuated the dark luster of her hair and the redness of her coy, smiling mouth. Her eyes were black and shining.
Margot wore vibrant pink satin. Miette's billowing gown matched Margot's but was a shimmering green. Their moppish brown-curls had been loosely gathered and spilled down to the middle of their backs. Margot's mask was pink quilted satin, decorated with gold and silver sequins, while Miette's mimicked a pattern of dark green leaves with small tufts of brown and gray feathers around the upper edge. Flora and Fauna, I had joked.
I wore a long slim dress of dark blue silk. We had woven purple and yellow pansies in the lace of the square neckline. The soft petals were surprisingly cool against my flesh. My heart was beating tonight, hot and alive. The mask I wore was fashioned of bright gold feathers that curved around my entire head, delicately covering my downy scalp.
Our arms were bare, but for long white gloves.
Impulsively I reached over and squeezed Miette's hand. Solange laughed throatily. The freshness of the cold night air combined with the odor of the pansies at my throat made me nearly pant with eagerness. How I wanted to taste what this night would offer us! How grateful I was to have such loving companions who accepted me for what I was. And how desperately did I want to prowl and stalk...
Solange made us wait through three dances. Too fast, she complained. I smiled and gently waved my fragile ebony-silk fan. Moonlight from the doors covered us in a light more dim and fine than that of the numerous candles. I heard a small creature scuttle through the hedges just outside. Branches snapped, and the violins held one long tremulous note. I caught one young man with no mask staring fixedly at the gold tassel swaying on the end of my fan.
My smile grew wider.
"Qui est-ce?" murmured Solange in my ear. "He has been watching you since we arrived."
I glanced away from the youngster and over to the floor where the dancers were just finishing. Gentlemen bowed, ladies curtsied. A flurry of motion as new partners for the next dance were sought. A man in black velvet was heading directly for us.
I sighed as I noticed my prey had fled.
"Un vieux." I whispered back.
Rimi bowed. "Bon soir, Mesdames."
My breath caught in my throat: the spring air blowing in had a coldness behind it that hurt when I inhaled too quickly. Rimi was beautiful: his frock coat and trousers were black velvet and his waistcoat a rich brocade. The white of the silk at his throat and wrists was so white as to be almost luminous. His auburn hair was neatly tied in a black velvet ribbon. Bluish-purple eyes glimmered behind his plain black mask.
I stared at his mouth, soft and stretched wide. He was grinning, flashing those sharp, opalescent teeth of his. I could not look away. Reflexively, I ran the tip of my tongue along my incisors.
Outside, a small animal shrieked once, briefly, and stopped.
Rimi extended a gloved hand: "M'amzelle, will you dance with me?"
I nodded my assent and whispered, "Oui."
Solange took my fan. Margot touched my hip as I slid past her.
"Oui," I murmured again, and Rimi escorted me to the fine parquet floor. His movements were sure and deft. The weight of his hand on the small of my back was comforting. The scent of his warm breath filled my nostrils and I found myself looking down at the gold pattern of his waistcoat, suddenly shy. His cheek brushed the feathers on my head.
For one moment I rested my head on his chest.
Then the music started, and we began to waltz.
In the Kingdom, there is dancing like nothing that exists on earth. But a waltz can be as close to Heaven as anything. We moved around the ballroom like petals drifting on the surface of a still pond. Like Linden leaves spiraling in a sudden breeze. Like dandelion seeds propelled by the breath of a child.
We danced like two angels trapped on earth, yearning to climb to Heaven with the steps of a waltz.
Rimi looked at me with love. "You are beautiful, tonight. The most beautiful creature, here. But who can compare to an angel?" He teased.
"Fallen angel, M'sieur," I corrected, mockingly.
Something passed over his eyes for a moment and was gone. I sensed the strained thrashing of his bound wings behind him, other/else/where.
"You are beautiful, too, Rimi," I whispered.
He smiled widely and spun me quickly around the floor. How easy to please Rimi!
I looked up and once again and marveled at the contrast of the bright spring sky beaming through the ornate, gilded ceiling of the ballroom. Wedges of glass alternated crazily with colorful painted panels. Stars shone quietly next to rosy cherubs bearing garlands. Lusty maidens and trembling lords were forever separated by slivers of dark blue sky.
To be dancing, at this moment, with Rimi, filled me with a wild joy. What had happened in the past was unimportant. This one dance, together, in this place on this feverish spring night, consumed me.
Rimi must have felt me tremble and strain in his arms. We danced now only for each other--the other couples were mere blurs of color in our peripheral vision. I could not look away from his gentle blue eyes. I could only feel the slight guiding pressure of his hand on my back, and the way he softly cradled my hand. I felt I could reach to touch a piece of sky with the fingertips of my hand, resting lightly on his shoulder.
Slowly, we came to a stop. The waltz was over, but we stood, poised, as if to dance again. The faint rustle of ladies' skirts as they exited the floor broke the spell. I smiled and inclined my head.
"Merci, M'sieur," I said.
"Mon ange, I must speak with you a moment. Alone."
Now that we were not dancing, I felt strangely ill-at-ease with Rimi. His beauty was too potent. I could not look at him without lingering on his eyes, his lips, his pale throat. I had to leave him. At least for a while.
"Pas maintenant" I murmured, as Margot and Miette came up and took his arms, leading him back to our alcove by the open doors.
I exited the ballroom with speedy grace. Perhaps if I could find the kitchen, or some other place to lose myself amongst busy ordinary people for a time I could regain my composure. I was the predator, tonight. Beauty was my weapon, not my downfall.
Just a few moments to master myself. If only Rimi's dance had come at the end of the Masquerade, not the beginning!
Someone grabbed my arm firmly from behind and propelled me to the grand stairway.
"I would speak with you now, M'amzelle," Rimi said brusquely.
Silently I allowed myself to be led to an upstairs room. I blinked and hardened my mouth. He will get nothing from me but another dance, I thought fiercely. This night is mine.
He ushered me in and closed the heavy oak doors with a soft snick. The room was very, very dim. Only two candelabras provided any light. It appeared to be a library or study. Books lined the walls, and chairs were arranged by the windows for reading. A massive oak desk dominated one side of the room. A plush divan was situated near the empty fireplace. I was startled by the shiny eyes and yellowed tusks of a boar's head mounted over the mantle. I cleared my throat and turned to look at Rimi.
His face was stern and terrible.
"I have come to ask you for something. I will not be denied."
I laughed, once. "Quoi?"
He stepped forward and grabbed my shoulders. "Do not be coy. I will ask, and you will give it to me freely. You must give it to me freely."
"Non."
He breathed lightly on my temple. "Hush. Do not say that." His mouth followed the contour of my face, my neck, his lips inches from my skin. I stood very, very still.
Oh, please, I thought, do not let him touch me.
He stopped at the neckline of my gown. The pansies trembled with the movement of my chest. He pulled out one bloom with his teeth and pressed it, gently, to my lips.
And in this way, we kissed.
The candle flames sputtered and I heard a harpsichord begin to play downstairs. A rough wind rattled the windows in their frames and a gust whistled down the chimney, cold and fresh. Rimi slid his gloved hands along my bare upper arms to soothe the chill.
After a long moment he pulled away, and swallowed the flower.
We sat on the divan, very close, but not touching.
"{jxwxl} give me what I need to return," Rimi asked. "Do not deny me."
And I wanted to. I desperately wanted to give Rimi what he desired.
"But," I fumbled, "It would be wrong."
"Non!" he urged. "What is wrong is my exile. Did you see the number of funeral wreaths on your way to the villa, tonight? I am being kept from my work. How many Innocents suffer because you will not help me return?"
I flinched. Yes, Innocents would suffer, had suffered, because of Rimi's fall. But that was his fault, not mine. I felt the faint stirrings of anger. It was not my responsibility. To use the pain of others to make me feel guilty enough to help him was not wise.
"Rimi, I am no longer one of the Kingdom's own. I have been relieved of my responsibilities. Heaven's rules do not hold me. Nor do Hell's. I act according to my own will. Rimi, listen to me: I will not help you."
"You must!" He hissed.
"YOU WILL!" he bellowed, and ripped off his mask.
The pain around his eyes was like a map of agony. Lines etched on his brow indicated his suffering and guilt: he knew the funeral wreaths were of his own doing. He knew he had done something terribly, terribly wrong. I could see he was desperate to make restitution. He needed to take up the mantle of his responsibilities again. I cursed the Host for excluding him this long.
I cursed the Host for letting Innocents die for Rimi's mistakes.
I clapped my hands over my ears when I heard the vicious pop of his many wings pressing against their bonds.
Rimi's eyes contained hysteria, madness. Surely he would break if not readmitted to the Kingdom. And if his sanity shattered, he would hang on me and follow me to the ends of the earth. He would never adjust to an earthbound existence--Rimi would drain me with his incessant need for comfort. I did not wish to care for a mad angel for the rest of eternity.
I was silent. The quiet soothed Rimi a little. Muffled sounds of laughter drifted up from the ballroom. The faint clink of glasses and the airy music of the harpsichord merged with the tap of branches on the study window. Ashes blew out from the fireplace. The scent of crushed pansies filled the room.
Rimi looked at me with love and madness.
"Yes," I said as calmly as I could.
Before my lips had closed fully around the word he fell upon me, knocking me flat to the divan. Pansies fell out of my gown. Weeping, Rimi pulled off his gloves.
"Wait," I gasped. "Let me--"
Rimi ripped the tight seam along the side of my dress. Silk split. Threads unraveled. The cool air on my exposed skin made me flinch.
And when Rimi's bare fingers touched my side, I shrieked.
It echoed and rang, spiraling up the chimney. Would the vault of Heaven swallow my cry?
Quickly he stuffed his gloves in my mouth. I choked and struggled as he held my wrists over my head and knelt on my thighs, pinning me to the divan. His face was intent, his lips parted. I could see the tip of his tongue.
Where Rimi had touched me, the skin reddened. The part of me that remained angelic tingled with warmth, ached with the pleasure of being touched by one of mine own. It had been an eternity since I had been touched, thus! But what was demonic and corrupted in me blistered and bled. Pain and delight seared my right side, and I began to weep. His fingers imparted divine agony; sadistic joy. Conflicting impulses held me still: draw closer; pull away.
It was as if I were in Hell again, and [nameless's] hands upon me.
Rimi's fingernails slid into my flesh and made an opening. The edges of the wound crisped and curled back as if scorched. My tainted and potent blood began seeping into the divan and staining Rimi's bare hand.
His face twisted with need and guilt. Pain, too, perhaps. My diamond teeth were tearing into his gloves. I tasted cotton tinged with his sweat. My eyes rolled and the tears spilled out of my eyes, dissolving the golden feather-mask.
Rimi tried to coo a lullaby to me, one of his special songs of comfort. He murmured and trilled in wordlessly, a series of high warbling notes and throaty hums, but his breath was coming in hitching gasps. The lullaby was a broken tuneless thing, more poignant for his inability to sing it.
I bucked under his weight, and his knees dug painfully into my thighs, my hip. With a sigh he slid his hand into my side and touched bone.
No more muffled music or laughter floated up to us. The harpsichord had stopped. There was only the sound of Rimi's hiccuping song and my own struggles. Silk and velvet rasping together. The wet sound of flesh being parted, a ribcage creaking.
I looked up and found Rimi and I trapped in the bright glass eye of the boar. Rimi kneeling on me like an incubus while I choked on cotton and swallowed screams.
He leaned forward to kiss me on the jaw. A bruise blossomed where his moist lips had touched me. Mark me, I am damned, I thought. My sin will be your salvation, Rimi.
Then my back arched as he
snapped
a rib and withdrew it from my body. The force of my convulsion threw him off and he sat weeping on the floor. Rimi, darling child of Heaven crying and clutching one of my gore-slicked bones. I curled my knees up and clutched my side. With one trembling hand I removed his gloves from my mouth.
His eyes were wet and filled with an exultation which disgusted me. His wings vibrated with joy and his hair was a bright halo of fire.
The oak doors flew open and the light of many candles illuminated us. We both blinked and flinched with the surprise.
"Que s'est il-passé!" demanded Solange. She could have been an angel herself, standing boldly in the doorway. Her back was proud and straight and her black eyes cut into Rimi like a sword, like Justice that was not blind.
Rimi crouched and staggered to his feet, still grasping my rib with both hands. He looked at me with shock and regret, a mingling of guilt and gratitude.
I pushed myself into a sitting position. My side still burned and oozed blood from his touch. The sticky remnants of the ruined feather-mask fluttered around my eyes. My poisonous tears crusted and dried on my cheeks, in my hair. I gulped cool air, breathing erratically.
In a moment I memorized Rimi: his soft curling auburn hair; his wet, blue eyes. The way his mouth was always soft, never hard. The long lines of his neck and shoulders; the slenderness and strength of his legs. How fine his black velvet coat was, how handsome he looked in it. And his hands, his thin, blood-streaked hands...I recalled how once we had embraced freely, as angels do. I reflected on the pain and pleasure his hands now held for me.
"Son of Heaven," I said with quiet assurance, "You will never touch me again."
Rimi closed his eyes, unable to look at me. With a strangled sound he turned, and stumbled from the room. Solange moved to let him pass but he staggered against her, leaving a wet smear of blood across the folds of her gown.
I looked at Solange, so beautiful and strong. A weak smile trembled on my lips. She entered the room and knelt before me. With one hand she cupped my chin, and the other she placed on my bloody side, over my own shaky fingers.
"Tiny flower, trying so hard to bloom. Come home with us," she whispered.
And then Margot and Miette rushed in, and I allowed myself to be comforted by the long soft arms of women.
--Francesca, from Dante's Inferno, Canto V
copyright 1996 by Julieann M. Brown-Micko
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