Of Tales and Lores

Fleeting

An Aim To Engage Prompt Winning Entry

“Yesterday upon a stair, I met a man who wasn't there”

She couldn't possibly have imagined it. The way the sunlight made his dark hair turn to fiery gold, the intensity of his eyes of mismatched colours, brown and forest green. The way he stumbled back a bit as she bumped into him while bustling up the spiral staircase.

His warm hands went around her waist to steady her, his breath brushing her neck as he muttered his apologies, making her knees go wobbly. She stepped back to stare at his face in a trance, her hand gaining a mind of its own as it traced the long thin scar that ran across his forehead, rubbing it slightly as if to smoothen it. Her fingers then trailed a path to his shadowy chin and his thin chapped lips, trembling at its roughness and the quaking in her chest. It felt angelic yet human— how, she couldn't explain. He stood out like a dove in the presence of pigeons.

"It's not courteous to touch me like we are intimate, my lady," his cool soft voice chided, his hand stilling her reckless exploration. His words served as cold water to her brazenness, causing her to cringe in mortification.

"Forgive me. I do not know what came over me," she said, making no endeavour to pull her hand away. His gaze turned gentle and he rubbed the inside of her palm, bringing her hand down without letting go.

"May I at least know the name of the lady whose fingers traced my face?"

His smile was like a siren, calling forth hers.

"Zaheera," she answered as she brushed back her braided hair that was held by a black bedazzled bow that matched her midnight ball gown.

He held her hand up to his lips, his kiss comfortably warm on her dark knuckles as his gaze held hers.

"Augustus."

Augustus, even his name lit a flame in her. She gazed down from their elevated position on the waltzers in the ballroom. She had tried to escape into her room, not interested in the dull routine of courting and dancing.

"The scene does not appeal to you, Miss Zaheera?" he asked, the brooding lines on his forehead masking his scar. She noticed the cross earring he had on that glinted in the sun before looking down to stare at her chest that had been callously squeezed into a corset two sizes small in hopes to hide the unflattering pounds she gained of late.

"No, I do not feel up to it," she said, giving him a small smile. "And you? Do you dance?"

His smile was wistful as he stared at the scene, his other hand gripping the polished railing tightly.

"No."

"Zaheera," her sister called out to her from the bottom of the stairs. "Why are you alone?"

She frowned in confusion.

"Alone? But I'm with—" she spun to see the sunlight shine on where he previously stood. "—no one..."

Who are you?