*FEATURED* Ao is a wrathful, ravenous former god trapped in a human body and sentenced to roam the Inner Empire for all eternity.
Eternity is rather dull, until she meets a green-eyed prince and his friends.
The prince offers her a deal; help him a...
可望而不可即 kě wàng ér bùkě jí Can see but can not approach. Within sight but beyond reach-unattainable.
*~*~*~*~*~*
They arrived back at Chuan'fang as evening was coming, the light in the sky shifting toward pink and red. Liang'yi, now human again, departed for the palace, saying she had business to take care of early the next day.
Zakhar and Ermi entered Chaun'fang, Ermi talking happily, Zakhar listening patiently. Zakhar's arms, nose and forehead had been burned red from the sun, and after bathing, he headed to the room of one of the older servants who was known for her skill with poultices.
Zakhar was passing back through the halls to his room, rubbing sweet smelling balm into his pink nose, when he heard a great crash from above.
"Ao?" he said hesitantly.
He made his way up the set of stairs that led to the next floor of Chuanfang. His slippered feet padded softly on the creaking floor. He stopped outside the sliding door that led to Ao's rooms, where the sound had come from.
"Ao?" he repeated.
When no reply came, Zakhar slowly slid the door open.
The room was dark, the lamps not yet lit, and in the dim light Zakhar could see the disarray of Ao's room, clothes thrown everywhere. Ao sat at her makeup table, face in her hands. The collection of bottles that had been standing on the top of the table had been swept to the ground, and shards of broken glass and crystal were scattered like constellations across the floor.
Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
"Ao, what happened?" asked Zakhar.
At his voice Ao looked up from her hands. Even in the faint light of evening coming in through the windows, Zakhar saw the ugly purple bruises on her jaw and chin.
Suddenly, he was transported to a small cottage months ago, looking down at Ao's bruised and broken body on the herbalist's table.
Zakhar's rage propelled him forward, across the broken glass. He caught her hands before she could hide her face in them again. "WHO DID THIS TO YOU?!"
Ao tried to draw her hands away. "No one, I just fell—"
"WHO WAS IT? Was it Zhangyu? I'll kill him!" Zakhar's breath came hard and fast.
"It wasn't Zhangyu!" cried Ao. "It wasn't anyone. I fell from my horse."
Zakhar froze. "It was him, wasn't it? The dragon."
"I told you," said Ao, wrenching both hands from his grasp. "It wasn't anyone." Her voice was angry, frustrated. Helpless. "Now leave."
"No," said Zakhar, kneeling beside her, oblivious of the broken glass.
Ao glared at him, face full of rage. "I said LEAVE."
Zakhar didn't move. Then, slowly, he withdrew the small jar of ointment he had just received for his burned skin. He held it out to Ao. "It helps with pain and swelling," he said.
