Chapter 17: Chapter 17: Relationship

The deafened world soon permeated with supertemporal sound, snow white draped with nectar cloth of aromatic green. Eros had finished bathing, his mind once distant, aloft and filled with an apprehensive phobia for the future lay tranquil, subjugated by myriad herbs, the claret life essence upon the realm of which he steeped. Antagonistic songs, a cacophonous tune of divergent dissonance, wept incomprehensibly from the boy's stirring visage, numberless shards, a broken mirror of aqua, reflecting a perverted reality lined the marble flooring. No towel nor cloth of which to dry himself resided amidst the land nor a passing zephyr upon which to bask.

Eros merely stood, placid in his place, his ears graced by the now melodious choir of a subtle deluge, one that, within but minutes, would find its voice asphyxiated, with lack of sustenance, a shortage of air, vivacious bodies of green fell for the last time, upon a land of desecrated corpses. Silken shirt of alabaster, once virgin and unprofaned, appeared tainted, dyed a reprehensible satyric chroma, pregnant with a cambion visage of ethereal rose, crimson threads wantonly embraced such defiled creation, a desperate attempt to heal that which the gods christened as putrescent. A blizzard of white befell the item, entrapping it and stretching its fine-spun carapace across a canvas of snow, inveterate tears saturating its visage, staining its already besmirched body a nebulous stygian hue.

Impure, ravished and despoiled, a sight of anterior sanguine cloth, once sovereign, aristocratic and grandiose, now matched such desecrated description, sunless drapes, calamitous and ruined lined Eros's deific visage, impregnated by the carrion offspring of the boy upon which it pledged undying bondage, gilded halcyon tainted a rose gold, ebony a darkened maroon, Eros's uniform was wholly different to that of his peers, coarse filaments courtesy of neophyte craft wrathfully provoked his flesh, an abrasion he knew the creator desired not.

'Now, what am I supposed to do?' The boy inwardly queried. He had bathed and changed, as prophesied by his current host, yet now, transparent to the innumerable russet statues, he languidly loomed, perplexed, his mind a telescopic distance away from that of his body. Heterochromatic eyes, a distinct pair, befell the realm, scrutinising every inch of the Virgilian plane. Ceaseless pillars blossoming upon conception with the heavens befell the adolescents gaze, an aura of magnanimous transcendency a staple fixture amidst the infinite Nephilimic creations, forging resplendent sunless shadows upon a portrait of marmoreal.

Eros found his gaze lost amidst the thicket of marble flora, an unending maze upon which he could fathom no egress, a replicated view he struggled to divorce from fantasy, and that was when he heard it, a stridulate, jarring, vexatious tune that grated upon the very concept of his ears, a cataclysmic deplorable whine of lament, a soliloquy that echoed infinitely amidst opulent domain.

*GAGH* A grating sound, displeasing and discordant, its origin a torturous conterminous with that of the boy, for its source sprung not even metres behind him, abrupt antagonistic motions erupted from Eros's visage, contortions the world believed not possible, rupturing from his form, he turned, polychromatic eyes befalling a sight erstwhile unheeded, a monolith of burnished baroque bronze enveloped in a cradle of raised stone. A door, titanic, elephantine in stature, composed of a chestnut bronze, of which oxygen dared not aerate nor taint, its face appeared split, a chasmic seam maiming an ornate opulent portrait, lucid, facile lithographs transparently etched upon a body of ore befell Eros's gaze, their image simple, childlike, mere squares of paramount predominate craft encased upon a coffin of reigning vainglory.

Monochrome tailings of heather drabness lay with the body of bronze, a perverted embrace the youth had yet to experience. Each stone appeared bland, without inscription nor impressions in the slightest, no gems nor ostentatious displays of Mephistophelian hedonism to embed its flesh of macabre frigidness. Still, such preconceived notions of pallid vapidity weren't without fault nor rebellion, for in the empyrean realm above, etched high upon the most remarkable, most sovereign stones appeared a text, an embedded message of undeniable grandeur, a name, a title.

'Adeen'

That of Fiamma's cognomen, a gift embellished from one family member to the next, proof of one's bloodline.

The howling screech of metal continued, the maimed, desecrated body of bronze serving only to fragment with every second Eros spent chained in place under the blood-curdling wail. Fervent steps, dainty, diaphanous yet impassioned, wept listlessly behind the metallic barricade, a sloven press upon the door, one fueled by mixed despair and obsessive desire, a longing even the gods could only envy, a fleeting hope held tight, a flame Fiamma maniacally kindled, for the door only further rent…until a noticeable cleavage lay supreme.

Kaleidoscopic prismatic luminescence befell the land upon which Eros occupied. Fragmentary and weak, it stained, a possessive urge to indoctrinate all inscribed upon its lifeblood, a battle between the epicene blaze of distant flames and reverent, sanctified light, Eros's skin of snow, tarnished by such colours upon a perfect picture appeared distant, his gaze heated, focused solely upon the bearer of such express metamorphosis.

Fiamma.

Head of crimson froze an antecedent precedent unknown to the girl, her voluptuous form, hardly concealed by the magnanimous drabs she wore, quivered, twin gems of ruby convulsing in their sockets, a repressed aqua lining her now reddened eyes, like a frail rabbit before a sanguinary predator, her figure trembled, steps sluggish, doubtful, as though incapable of divorcing the illusory realm of dream from reality, Fiamma strode towards the youth bearing the epithet Eros, her every motion recorded before his heterochromatic gaze with a detestable clarity, for apparent to him, scintillated a translucent parchment, one that instinctually made his body freeze and his stomach lurch, an ill-sense of foreboding blossoming within his petrified mind.

{+20% Affection}

{Name: Fiamma Adeen}

{Age: 17}

{Race: Human}

{Ability: Pyrokinesis}

{Love: 130%}

An incredulous number, a symbol the youth laboured to discern and apprehend, a statistic surpassing all he believed attainable. 'Wh-' Eros inwardly started, only to have his thoughts mutilated and mangled by the beauty before him.

"Eros!" Fiamma screamed, her voice serene despite the apparent tears trailing her eyes, without flaw nor indentation to be heard, a pristine replica of normalcy, for her body lurched, launching into an emboldened sprint, Fiamma's sole target, the stunned youth who she hurriedly embraced, her arms wrapping around his newly clothed figure in a transparent display of repressed longing, and ardent enchantment. Voluptuous items bearing known epithets pressed upon his visage, tactile feedback further enhanced by Fiamma's sporadic motions, for it was in such position that Eros bore witness to it, a sight that would forever remain a fixture upon his mind, heated breaths stained his already dampened figure, the carrion scent of washed blood brewed amidst a cauldron of resplendent herbs a nettlesome aromatic effluvium that prevailed amidst the conception of crimson and mixed pink, slovenly vaporous, Fiamma breathed, a blazing fever sparking amidst Eros's heart that would only proceed to shrink with fear.

Those breaths, humid and erotic, the girl Eros initially believed terrified, stunned into placidity from joy, all of it was a distortion, an illusory truth. One lay bare solely to him. Scintillation of ruby courtesy of twin gems appeared to swirl, darkened, and maddening, like twin jewels of corrupted, bloodied onyx. Fiamma breathed, her every inhalation as though her last. Though she failed to consume the latent oxygen that cloaked the land, she thrived merely off the boy's scent, off his every touch. She was not prey before Eros. There was no fear nor trepidation within her heart, simply a tyrannical, overbearing, incomprehensible obsession that Fiamma endeavoured to repress. A foetid tepid liquid seeped languidly upon Eros's chest, the origin of which spilt ceaselessly from Fiamma's confounded orifice. Saliva, sloven and fibrous, connected the pair, solely severed by Eros's jarring motion of retreat.

He understood the symbols now. The adolescent had attained a nascent comprehension. A twisted beauty, perverted and profane Fiamma loomed before the boy, her mind distant, as though conjoined to her body through little more than a fine-spun string while her eyes of crimson lay hollow, glazed, an obtuse mirror upon which Eros could solely spy a reflection of himself. Like a corpus raised from the hands of Hades, Fiamma attained motion once more, her steps slow, slovenly and seductive, her hair chaotically strewn upon her back, with paltry strands adhered to her rose-tainted cheeks in a defiant display of lust courtesy of the lingering saliva that stained her antecedently ivory flesh.

Eros's mind whirled. Fiamma appeared drunk, inebriated upon thoughts of lascivious aphrodisiacal licentiousness, a notion he had to snap the beauty out of, to fracture the illusory dream of that she walked and anchor her to reality, to understand the myriad possibilities as to why he appeared in her designated place of slumber, and more importantly, what prophesied forthcomings lay in wait. With every second spent in introspection, Fiamma's crimson likeness only proceeded to near, a lewd smirk plastered upon her ivory mask. Hands of snow lay outstretched, a wanton show of affection, not from Fiamma, but Eros, an unknowing sadistic contortion pulling upon the seams of his pristinely sculpted lips, a contrast to the masochistic display of subservience his actions held.

Crimson, a rush of carrion life essence surged to the forefront of the dazed beauty's bereft-of-reason brain, ceaseless palpitations erupting listlessly from her heated organ, primal, carnal instincts grasped hold of reason, a notion that would dissipate the moment Eros breathed his following words.

"Fiamma!"

Her name, such a simple concept yet one that held utmost authority upon a person, a tether to the world, to reality, one the boy beckoned forth with such an incomplex call, his face a forced flush shade of sanguine. Serenity befell the land, a placid quiescent solely shattered by sporadic impassioned gulps. A passing zephyr cleared the effluvium plaguing Fiamma's gaze while her once agape mouth slammed shut, sparse traces of succulent saliva withdrawn to their place of origin. Reason had returned to her ardent visage, though images of her prior form loomed amidst the forefront of Eros's mind, forever to remain.

"Ahh, Eros~ You're ok!" The girl purred, a lingering trace of libidinous poisoning her every utterance. "You're up. You're awake! I-I, how long were you going to make me wait?" Fiamma continued, her splendiferous sultry face cowled in a clandestine pigment of scarlet.

Still, her words fell nought but upon deafened ears, reticent in their sheath of mottled pink and brown, for Eros's rapt attention lay solely upon her nonplussed, forthright and serene look, her gaze of ruby that scoured his carcass with utmost neutrality, not to his affection of which she craved, but his visage, contrast and deviant to that of which she knew. 'Can she not see it? No, that can't be the case. Fiamma can see me, my everything, my hair, my eyes. Her gaze reflects the same world as mine, and yet….' The boy inwardly mumbled, a spontaneous query chaotically echoing in the midst of his addled and anarchic brain, a question that would exclusively be answered by the beauty's following utterance, a statement that paradoxically flooded the boy with thoughts of both ruination and halcyon tranquillity.

"It's been day's Eros. I-I, why? Please, never leave me alone like that again," Fiamma choked, her voice cracking with every syllable expelled from her lustrous lips of cherry hue, her twin gems of ruby locking with Eros's heterochromatic pair, quivering, a tempestuous turbulence of emotion vertiginously whirling amidst her mind, transparent to the sole beholder of such poignant affection. A hand that of crafted ivory reached for the boy, surpassing a snow-fallen plain of deific constitution, solemn rain staining a land of foetid carrion, tendrils numbering five embraced innumerable silken threads, dyed and variegated, an impassioned blaze of serene devotion befalling the top of Eros's head. Ceaseless strokes erupted from Fiamma's form, her B-rank strength magnetising the adolescent's head to her voluptuous chest.

'Ahh…so that's why it's been days. My change probably wasn't sudden. It couldn't have been. Fiamma's reaction proves as such….But I was asleep, so then why? Why is she so indifferent to my eyes?' Eros inwardly stated, ignorant to the depravity performed upon his person, nor what notions prevailed upon his corpse, sovereign property of Fiamma and her blossoming obsession.

Seconds, such period of time passed in quiet reticence, a silent soliloquy the dissonant choir of crashing water dared not interrupt, as though a blessing from the heavens, a domain created out of fanatical prayer and reverence, of origin transparent to all, for Fiamma's eyes bore a contrasting appearance to her scarlet face, a darkened swirl, that of a domineering, erratic and feverish love, however, though her mind wished to lay embracing the boy for eternity, her body believed otherwise, overstimulated and scorched, myriad palpitations vociferous and inharmonic boisterous screaming from her heart, the girl couldn't handle the blaze for much longer, hands, enamoured and mesmerised retreated from the being they coveted most, the lingering warmth a torturous apostle of eroticism upon Fiamma's person.

A dazed confusion momentarily befell the boy, a temporary affliction, fleeting, volatile, the embodiment of ephemeral. The seal had been pulverised, shredded and mangled. Sonorous loudness, the adversary of deafness, now reigned supreme, yet, despite having earned the right to bear motion, to put a voice to lips, Eros did not, whether inadvertent or steadfast he failed to grant Fiamma her wish, an erstwhile negligence uncared for by the current party.

Motions, awkward lumbering, the bumbling, uncoordinated actions of an amateur, Fiamma failed to match Eros's inquisitive gaze, his intrigue, that which befell her every activity. "What am I doing here?" The boy blurted, a desperate attempt at conversation, at anchoring the frivolous superficial sense of normalcy Fiamma portrayed to that of reality. "I was injured, right? Shouldn't I have been brought to the hospital wing and then sent to my room? So then, why am I here?" Eros questioned the notion of having Fiamma trespass upon his land, a foregone idea. After all, to have a girl prostrate herself to such a degree was blasphemy, a sanctified taboo he dared not accommodate.

"Hmm? But you are in your room?" Fiamma explosively exclaimed, her cheeks of scarlet now a resplendent hue of crimson, a deep set shade of sanguine akin to that of the fibrous strands that trickled atop her head, her pulsating body, a perpetual machine of motion, quivered, her legs performing a bashful dance of deep set longing, lined by a faint, clandestine liquid. Dumbfounded intrigue momentarily engraved themselves upon Eros's magnanimous features, questions regarding Fiamma's acumen and rationality the suspect of his forthright supposition. However, such queries would immediately dissipate upon the beauty's following utterance while a harrowing sense of foreboding burgeoned amidst the Abaddon of his stomach.

"Afterall…Y-you're now my attendant," Fiamma whispered, as the clandestine realm of secrecy before Eros shattered, the fictitious beliefs he held reverent discarded in place of tempestuous sentiments, such simple words, a mere sentence, yet one that possessed utmost hegemony over the boy, an order deific and sanctified, where argument appeared blasphemous, a sacrilegious statement no male dared utter.

From this moment forth, without hope of change or desire too, Eros belonged to Fiamma, the world, the school, their blessing transparent and sacrosanct, a one-way agreement upon which males possessed neither consent nor dispute.

Innumerable times in the past, the youth had received such offers, espers of varying ranks vying for his potential, however the academy, without fail, mutilated and maimed their hopes, for as an attendant, one's fate was sealed, their everything belonged to their master, their seed, their time, their life. To be selected as an attendant was a heaven-sent gift for an F-rank, a potential love customarily unfulfilled, a relationship dictated solely by their benefactor. Still, Eros bore little complaint with Fiamma's aristocratic commandment. Despite being an apostle, such a relationship appeared beneficial to Eros, for the youth wished to hide, to mask his life behind the cowl of an F-rank, to harvest the love of the beauties of the world, to attain their gift…to walk the path bestowed upon him by Psyche.

"N-now, as my first order upon your conscious self, I ask of you…p-please, walk with me. I believe class is about to start,"