Dream Eater (m|m)

Chapter 21

When Damien informs Allannan that Oran and the Vanguard were behind the assassination attempts, she banishes them from Carnâk. With their removal, life in the city of Ereb resumes its peaceful pace.

We're given a large villa with room for all of us to live and for Dante to have a studio. Dante is delighted with the colors and quality of paint available and wastes no time setting up shop.

Damien begins work designing a gallery to house their work, and I spend a lot of time holding poses while Dante paints.

It's not home, but it's not bad, either.

Even so, within a week I'm feeling homesick. I miss our apartment and the familiar streets I know. I miss my favorite coffee shop and my favorite bookstore, and all the smells, sights, sounds, and flavors of Earth--even the unpleasant ones.

Dante sympathizes. "When Constantinople fell, I thought I'd never find another place that felt like home. But I did. It always hurts at first, and it takes a while, but eventually home becomes someplace new. You'll see."

About a week after that, Azael makes it known that he's aware of our location by issuing a threat to Allannan and Deberon demanding that they hand us over or face invasion. They refuse, and to our relief, they have the support of enough other realms and powers that they're able to call Azael's bluff with confidence.

Soon enough, it begins to seem like Dante is right. When I think the word 'home' I see our villa, with its whitewashed stone walls, tiled roof, and reflecting pools.

After only a month, Dante's star is on a meteoric rise, and no one is surprised when Deberon proposes a showing of their work at the next State ball. It's the sort of thing attended by all kinds of important people, and it sounds terribly boring. As the primary subject of much of their work, Dante insists I attend. Because I love them, I agree.

Damien, on the other hand, gets out of it. As the artist's patron, the officials view it as a conflict of interest for him to attend an event that could so significantly elevate the worth of Dante's work.

"I'll make it up to you later," he promises, kissing me while he adjusts the uncomfortably loose clothes I'm being forced to wear.

"Can't you come in disguise or something?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "I'd give myself away. You know I can't keep my hands off you."

He demonstrates.

"Fine, fine!" I say, escaping with a laugh. I'm still disappointed he refused; later I'd be only too happy that he did.

~xxx~

Dante looks stunning. They're wearing elegantly tailored pants with a flowing blouse, a jacket, and slim high-heeled shoes. The effect shows off both their height and strength and their soft sensuality. I wonder absently why they get to wear something so normal while I'm stuck looking like an overdressed belly dancer.

At least Dante's debut is a success, I think, as they bask in excesses of praise. Some of it comes my way, but mostly I'm subjected to endless looks of comparison between myself and the likeness in the paintings. I get the feeling most people think the real thing doesn't quite live up. 

I can't blame them. Dante's brush has turned me into something more than I am--an angel or a god. Not that I mind. In fact, with the salacious looks I see on many of the women and not a few of the men, I'm glad the attention is directed at the art and not at me.

Finally, the evening is almost over, and Dante is invited up to a stage-like area at one end of the room to receive an award for 'Contributing to the Artistic Spirit of Ereb,' or some shit. I get dragged along.