Avaran
Baron
Experimenting with a different writing style (for me) using an old tale from Greek mythos. Yeah, I know, it needs work. Any thoughts/comments? =)
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The working title is:
It is rarely wise to place one?s heart in the hands of a beautiful stranger, especially if that heart has never been offered before. But poor Ariadne does not know this.
Perhaps if she had not noticed Theseus?s handsome form and gallant manner, or paid less attention to his fabulous tales at her father?s dinner table, Ariadne?s well being would have been saved. Yet how could this god-like, golden-haired man not enrapture her, a green girl whose thoughts had been chaste all her life until now? Her fate is already sealed; Cupid need not draw from his quiver. As Theseus describes his adventures to King Minos?s guests, Ariadne gazes at him from across the table, oblivious to everyone else. She hears only his words, sees only his face; is lost in only his movements. Right now, she is swooning; drowning in her adoration of him?but when they are finally alone, her mind and body are ignited with passionate longing. He brushes her cheek, and her face is already hot. When he closes his mouth on hers, she shuts her eyes and loses herself in the moment. She is gone, lost in her daydreams.
We are going to leave the banquet hall and our beautiful Ariadne behind for now, but don?t worry, we?ll come back to them soon enough. For now, let?s take a brief tour of the palace and the surrounding countryside.
Our view shifts now, from the beautiful face of an innocent maiden, and swings upward toward the high window where a full moon greets us with its light. We rise up, past the glittering chandeliers and candelabras, between the high rafters, and out through our window; ascending slowly and steadily, ready to take in the sights that lay before us.
Our first point of interest lies in another part of the castle, and as we fly above the courtyard (that is obscenely full of horses, carriages, and servants), we turn left toward one of the prominent castle towers. The inside glows a dull yellow as we approach, a marked contrast to the bright white light of the moon.
As we enter the room, we take note of the many candles and sweet smelling incense burning. Panning the room, first to our left, we see a large oak door, heavy and strong, that could easily withstand the onslaught of a dozen men. Moving our eyes, a large golden table stands, on which sits adorned, a crescent shaped bowl with what looks to be a large ball of golden thread nestled on it, crochet needles lying neatly along side. Other amenities include a large, full-length mirror, a bed adorned with the kingdom?s finest materials and fabrics; four posts stand guard over the large, soft mattress and pillows. Small tables huddle on either side, reflecting candlelight in their golden sides; tapestries and paintings line the walls. We take a few steps to our right, and find along the wall two doors that open outward onto a balcony. Floating out, we hear far below the sound of the ocean, and we see birds floating serenely in the early morning air.
Time, it would seem, has sped up for us just a bit. Turning around we see Ariadne, our innocent maiden, asleep, face up, and lying naked on her blankets; hands between her legs. Her private details we will keep to ourselves, but for now we can see that her face is flushed (and smiling still), her skin red as though recently hot.
And though we are invisible to our subject, we still jump a little when she suddenly stirs. She pulls a blanket over her, suddenly cooled by the ocean?s breeze. We see gooseflesh on her creamy skin before her arm disappears under the mantle. We can feel the breeze pick up, the curtains billowing, and we can faintly hear noises down below, men shouting, bells ringing; work being done.
Curious to know what is going on, we float out to the balcony once again, and see for the first time a ship a little ways in the distance with men running to and from it, carrying supplies and, no doubt, other things. We float down toward the vessel as quickly as we can, the wind filling our ears, drowning out the noises of the men below us. The ship grows in our view, as we get closer, the billowing white sails ? gently fluttering in the growing winds ? engulf us as though we are a fly being swallowed by a Cyclops. And suddenly we emerge on the other side, the deck far below, men swarming and running in an organized panic. We reach the bow and are greeting by a mermaid carved into the wood, her breasts covered in dull pink seashells, her tail disappearing just below the water. Turning around, eager to head back to Ariadne, we almost miss a golden-haired man walking confidently onto the ship. We recognize him as the man who our precious maiden was admiring last night. But time is short, so we turn again toward the castle tower and our balcony, floating gently upward and away from the ship.
We arrive again on our balcony, and as we float down through the door, we see Ariadne standing in front of the mirror, talking to herself.
?Theseus.? She breathes. ?Come back to me whole.?
She is near tears, her face anxious and full of worry. Outside we hear a bell piercing the warming morning air, and Ariadne hurries to the balcony, her eyes on the ship as it slowly moves into the distance.
Turning and coming back inside once the ship is out of sight, Ariadne absently walks over to the long table that holds the crescent bowl. Empty now, she picks up her needles and plays with them absently, mumbling to herself. She has yet to dress in anything but light under garments, and her bare feel make light slapping noises as she paces, muttering incoherently to herself.
The day passes slowly for our maiden. She has eaten little and has remained in her bedchamber. Her hair is down, her eyes puffy and red from crying. With each passing hour that he does not return, we can see an almost overwhelming sense of dread rising in Ariadne. We catch bits and pieces of her utterances.
?Is he coming back?is he still alive?I need him?he must come back?oh, Despair, leave me be?he?ll come back?he has to come back??
Just when she is about to give up hope, we hear a bell tolling in the distance. Her eyes light up, her whole face changes from sadness and despair to hope and happiness. Ariadne rushes to the window and sees, faintly, over the horizon, a sail; a ship.
?Theseus!?
She runs to her wardrobe, taking her clothing off, excited and happy.
We float out through the same window we entered that first night so many days ago. We flutter down and over the courtyard (once again full of horses, carriages, and servants), and the sky around us darkens. It is night again, and as we enter the banquet hall, the candelabras are a-light, the chandeliers bright and gay.
Below us, more people than we have time to count sit, eat, and drink. We find Ariadne again, this time sitting next to Theseus, and she is once again lost in him. His words wash over her like a warm summer?s shower, his voice pulses through her, matching the rhythm of her heart. She adores him openly, this golden-haired god. We can feel the heat radiating from her as we settle next to her, her lips smiling in silent pleasure.
We notice Theseus stealing glances at her, his eyes wander over her body, peering down her dress as she leans closer to him, chin in-hand, eager to hear the tail of how he slew the minotaur, how he had used her ball of golden thread to find his way out of the deadly labyrinth.
Several hours later they are finally alone, walking silently in the castle garden. Ariadne and Theseus walk side by side in the moonlight. She looks up at him and gazes into his eyes. She is lost in him again, her face hot, her chest heaving as he slowly steps closer to her. He wraps his arms around him, and we see Ariadne swoon. Her body is on fire with passion as his mouth presses against hers. This time it is no daydream.
The next morning, we find Ariadne in her bedchamber, naked and alone. She stirs and absently reaches for her lover, yet her hand finds only rumpled and cold sheets. Her eyes open wide in panic. Where has he gone? Where could her beloved Theseus be?
Quickly she dresses and runs into the hall, nearly running a maid over. Hysterical, she says, ?Where is Theseus? Where is he??
The maid, visibly shaken, manages to tell her that he?s gone to the port?he?s to set sail for Athens.
Oh cruel fate! Why have you taken Theseus from dear Ariadne? Can you not see how much she needs him? Can you not see how deeply her anguish runs?
We leave young Ariadne, slumped on the marble floor, heaving with tears and sadness, her maid unable to comfort her?
--Fin
--A.S.
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The working title is:
The Mythos of Ariadne
It is rarely wise to place one?s heart in the hands of a beautiful stranger, especially if that heart has never been offered before. But poor Ariadne does not know this.
Perhaps if she had not noticed Theseus?s handsome form and gallant manner, or paid less attention to his fabulous tales at her father?s dinner table, Ariadne?s well being would have been saved. Yet how could this god-like, golden-haired man not enrapture her, a green girl whose thoughts had been chaste all her life until now? Her fate is already sealed; Cupid need not draw from his quiver. As Theseus describes his adventures to King Minos?s guests, Ariadne gazes at him from across the table, oblivious to everyone else. She hears only his words, sees only his face; is lost in only his movements. Right now, she is swooning; drowning in her adoration of him?but when they are finally alone, her mind and body are ignited with passionate longing. He brushes her cheek, and her face is already hot. When he closes his mouth on hers, she shuts her eyes and loses herself in the moment. She is gone, lost in her daydreams.
We are going to leave the banquet hall and our beautiful Ariadne behind for now, but don?t worry, we?ll come back to them soon enough. For now, let?s take a brief tour of the palace and the surrounding countryside.
Our view shifts now, from the beautiful face of an innocent maiden, and swings upward toward the high window where a full moon greets us with its light. We rise up, past the glittering chandeliers and candelabras, between the high rafters, and out through our window; ascending slowly and steadily, ready to take in the sights that lay before us.
Our first point of interest lies in another part of the castle, and as we fly above the courtyard (that is obscenely full of horses, carriages, and servants), we turn left toward one of the prominent castle towers. The inside glows a dull yellow as we approach, a marked contrast to the bright white light of the moon.
As we enter the room, we take note of the many candles and sweet smelling incense burning. Panning the room, first to our left, we see a large oak door, heavy and strong, that could easily withstand the onslaught of a dozen men. Moving our eyes, a large golden table stands, on which sits adorned, a crescent shaped bowl with what looks to be a large ball of golden thread nestled on it, crochet needles lying neatly along side. Other amenities include a large, full-length mirror, a bed adorned with the kingdom?s finest materials and fabrics; four posts stand guard over the large, soft mattress and pillows. Small tables huddle on either side, reflecting candlelight in their golden sides; tapestries and paintings line the walls. We take a few steps to our right, and find along the wall two doors that open outward onto a balcony. Floating out, we hear far below the sound of the ocean, and we see birds floating serenely in the early morning air.
Time, it would seem, has sped up for us just a bit. Turning around we see Ariadne, our innocent maiden, asleep, face up, and lying naked on her blankets; hands between her legs. Her private details we will keep to ourselves, but for now we can see that her face is flushed (and smiling still), her skin red as though recently hot.
And though we are invisible to our subject, we still jump a little when she suddenly stirs. She pulls a blanket over her, suddenly cooled by the ocean?s breeze. We see gooseflesh on her creamy skin before her arm disappears under the mantle. We can feel the breeze pick up, the curtains billowing, and we can faintly hear noises down below, men shouting, bells ringing; work being done.
Curious to know what is going on, we float out to the balcony once again, and see for the first time a ship a little ways in the distance with men running to and from it, carrying supplies and, no doubt, other things. We float down toward the vessel as quickly as we can, the wind filling our ears, drowning out the noises of the men below us. The ship grows in our view, as we get closer, the billowing white sails ? gently fluttering in the growing winds ? engulf us as though we are a fly being swallowed by a Cyclops. And suddenly we emerge on the other side, the deck far below, men swarming and running in an organized panic. We reach the bow and are greeting by a mermaid carved into the wood, her breasts covered in dull pink seashells, her tail disappearing just below the water. Turning around, eager to head back to Ariadne, we almost miss a golden-haired man walking confidently onto the ship. We recognize him as the man who our precious maiden was admiring last night. But time is short, so we turn again toward the castle tower and our balcony, floating gently upward and away from the ship.
We arrive again on our balcony, and as we float down through the door, we see Ariadne standing in front of the mirror, talking to herself.
?Theseus.? She breathes. ?Come back to me whole.?
She is near tears, her face anxious and full of worry. Outside we hear a bell piercing the warming morning air, and Ariadne hurries to the balcony, her eyes on the ship as it slowly moves into the distance.
Turning and coming back inside once the ship is out of sight, Ariadne absently walks over to the long table that holds the crescent bowl. Empty now, she picks up her needles and plays with them absently, mumbling to herself. She has yet to dress in anything but light under garments, and her bare feel make light slapping noises as she paces, muttering incoherently to herself.
The day passes slowly for our maiden. She has eaten little and has remained in her bedchamber. Her hair is down, her eyes puffy and red from crying. With each passing hour that he does not return, we can see an almost overwhelming sense of dread rising in Ariadne. We catch bits and pieces of her utterances.
?Is he coming back?is he still alive?I need him?he must come back?oh, Despair, leave me be?he?ll come back?he has to come back??
Just when she is about to give up hope, we hear a bell tolling in the distance. Her eyes light up, her whole face changes from sadness and despair to hope and happiness. Ariadne rushes to the window and sees, faintly, over the horizon, a sail; a ship.
?Theseus!?
She runs to her wardrobe, taking her clothing off, excited and happy.
We float out through the same window we entered that first night so many days ago. We flutter down and over the courtyard (once again full of horses, carriages, and servants), and the sky around us darkens. It is night again, and as we enter the banquet hall, the candelabras are a-light, the chandeliers bright and gay.
Below us, more people than we have time to count sit, eat, and drink. We find Ariadne again, this time sitting next to Theseus, and she is once again lost in him. His words wash over her like a warm summer?s shower, his voice pulses through her, matching the rhythm of her heart. She adores him openly, this golden-haired god. We can feel the heat radiating from her as we settle next to her, her lips smiling in silent pleasure.
We notice Theseus stealing glances at her, his eyes wander over her body, peering down her dress as she leans closer to him, chin in-hand, eager to hear the tail of how he slew the minotaur, how he had used her ball of golden thread to find his way out of the deadly labyrinth.
Several hours later they are finally alone, walking silently in the castle garden. Ariadne and Theseus walk side by side in the moonlight. She looks up at him and gazes into his eyes. She is lost in him again, her face hot, her chest heaving as he slowly steps closer to her. He wraps his arms around him, and we see Ariadne swoon. Her body is on fire with passion as his mouth presses against hers. This time it is no daydream.
The next morning, we find Ariadne in her bedchamber, naked and alone. She stirs and absently reaches for her lover, yet her hand finds only rumpled and cold sheets. Her eyes open wide in panic. Where has he gone? Where could her beloved Theseus be?
Quickly she dresses and runs into the hall, nearly running a maid over. Hysterical, she says, ?Where is Theseus? Where is he??
The maid, visibly shaken, manages to tell her that he?s gone to the port?he?s to set sail for Athens.
Oh cruel fate! Why have you taken Theseus from dear Ariadne? Can you not see how much she needs him? Can you not see how deeply her anguish runs?
We leave young Ariadne, slumped on the marble floor, heaving with tears and sadness, her maid unable to comfort her?
--Fin
--A.S.
