Celestial

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 2 (v.1) - Reminiscences

Submitted: September 28, 2016

Reads: 127

Comments: 1

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Submitted: September 28, 2016

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As the day progresses, the sun’s gleams ascends amplified warmness to all it could grasp. Many have to retreat to the outdoors, for the insides of their households were to hallowed with the warmth. Countless refuse to resume their daily errands, for the temperateness fatigues them to the point where they lose their vigor. The daytime develops into a very lethargic one.
This also includes Quentin, a young man of the age of 19, whom decides to take a wander to visit his father at his bureau. He ceases his farm work for the day to take a hiatus which he stalwartly believes he earned. He leaves his aging mother, with a kiss and momentary embrace and tells her he will return before nightfall. The wrinkles around her mouth are subtle and wry as she says affectionately, “Go, my son.” And then she precedes her knitting with a grin. 
Quentin wears a muted farm odor as he instigates his promenading, through his home village of Bihovion. But since most every man wore it as the communal attire, it is not considered upon on him as repellent.  Bihovion is Necromania’s smallest village, yet its most prevalent fabricator of wheat.  It’s a picturesque approachable village that possesses no more than 2,000 individuals. Most of the town folk has to labor in the fields to meet up with the supply and demand of the prized overpopulated paragon. It is a labor most repented at times, for it lusted for non-stop attendance.
Yet, days such as these, as sporadic as they might be, were sometimes permitted to fit in the fitted agenda of toil.
Quentin is desperate to have the rest of his day to his leisure, so taking the 3 mile journey over to see his Father is absolutely a superior way to blow the day off than to stay at home in a broiling muggy house.
He stretches his lips to form a nonchalant smile worthy of his mood and while he begins to insentiently meander out the locality of well built, superior homes. In which one of those homes, he has the pleasure to bask in. His family has the financial means to afford a home in this category, for his father is Mayor of this town. Yet, though being the Mayor sons’ did not mean he had all he preferred. He scarcely saw his father due to his work; so it’s a very quiet life. His mother is rearing into the years of retirement and leisure, so he mostly had none to speak about with her, even though he treasured her to bits. His father on the other hand, is the elder version of himself. He loves his father with a strong passion and they spoke about anything. He is his best friend.
Today will be the first time he’d seen him in six days.
He takes a stretch as the curvy brick road begins to lead him into the market of town. Many kiosks of fresh fruit and vegetables greet his eyes, as a small rumble emerges in his belly. While pulling out his wallet, a lurch frontward from behindhand, forces him to drop it.
“What’s up, Quincy!” A bright cheerful voice fills his attention, as he picks it back up and spins backwards.
Her eyes are the first he notice of her, and his mood floats to an even higher gratitude of happiness. This is Leaha, his first love, and a current friend. She’s a splendor to withhold. Her skin is an attractive nimble russet, and her silvery hair is mid-back length, thin cringles, coiled and bulbous. Her eyes are marginally slanted and they are a striking shamrock jade. Her lips are full, and are a pretty rosy pink. She wears a steely sun dress, and waders, with her hair positioned up in a high tress. She is an idol in town for her beauty, charisma, and book smarts. She is respected in the same sense as Quentin here.
“Hi, Leaha,” Quentin unintentionally reddens, as their eyes meet. She bites her lips and elbows his shoulder.
“Where are you going today?” she questions in a soother tone.
His embarrassment could be seen from miles afar, yet he still tries to hide it with a nervous grin. He quaffs, and turns away, “To my father’s office,”
“Ohh?” She bows frontward, hands on hips, and an eyebrow arches. This position unintentionally divulges to the already flustered Quentin a trivial peak of her cleavage, and he instinctively teeters rearwards. She is rendering his heart to batter as if it is wearisome from a just won race. This young woman really is a challenge for him. He adores her, and it is obvious that she adores him but, unfortunately because of her race, there is clearly no conceivable way for them to be composed as one, as man and wife.  For the reason is that Leaha is a Chaste Elf, an elf devoted to purity and transcendence. The Chaste elves were the closest in relation to the antediluvian Celestial Elves, who were the closest presences to Gods themselves. They could create any element, and each had their own special ability based on personality. The Chaste elves on the other hand, were beings sent from above to allocate their lives to the heavens. They were the elves that implored to the Gods when cataclysm forays. And with rigid devotion, it could renovate a majority of difficulties.
Leaha was to not ever marry, or to create her own progenies. She was to stay wholesome for until her the very last inhalation her lungs take.
Quentin cannot envision the hatred she has to her race, for she always fantasized of marrying. In the days of their fledgling youth, the two shared their sights for the future. She always pictured to be married to a prince, and live in a palace. This was a time before she knew of her heritage and the requirements to be considered as a true chaste elf.  She was to be forever alone, without the touch of a man to soothe her inquires and dilemmas of life. When they spoke in that time, they were both delirious to realism. He would always mention that if she wasn’t to marry a prince, he would marry her. The two would embrace hands and grin, and she would release an innocent titter, while her discomfiture manifested to her high-cheek bones, “Thank you, Quincy, you do not know how much that means to me,” Their eyes would encounter, and an direct union would form, a union for where the two craved to do something more than just embrace hands. It went this way for quite some time, until the day, the two finally shared their first kiss together. They were both 12 years old.
That was something the both of them regretted immensely.
 
Ì
 
Toree’s eyes disseminate her utopia shrubbery that is situated in front of her bastion, and forms a frothy delighted beam. Magnolias, Zinnias, Snapdragons, Mimosas, and Irises, drape into her vision, encircling her ambiances as if they are a majestic halo of motionless beings. She is in a dreamland of herself; as she twirls around slowly, to embrace the sense of them.
“Ah, I will miss you, my friends,” she sighs, as she touches a dangling zinnia softly. Its thin yellowish purple petals were soft of the touch, and she leans forward to smell it. “I will return in a week, until then you will be in the care of my little sister, Eva, she will definitely take care of you all with the same passion as I,
This utopia was Toree’s personal sanctuary. She often had her tea here, with Evangeline. Whenever they did, they often conversed about these beauties with awe, for Toree was always collecting more. This was a pastime she certainly did not decide to end any time soon. Even though Evangeline has little care for her heritage, she treasured the prospect and sensation of florae as much as Toree, so forth, on that subject they can easily relate. This is a safe place and so Toree spent as much time as she could in this wide arena of life. It was here to help her ignore the judgment of her life, and to just be unrestricted. Being a Flora elf, instinctively gave her the passion of wanting to be with flowers as much as she possibly could and away from humanity. Humanity was a race determined to destroy elves, unconsciously, and so forth, Toree tried to pay them no mind.
Until the day, she met her husband, Javier, 2 years ago.
That was a day; she is still reminiscing as the greatest day of her life, yet one she did in some sense sturdily desired to want to completely forget. Her hand weaves through her brown hair with despair, while a hand rubs her belly softly. She did not like the way she appeared after that day, physically, mentally…..and to her family and devoted subjects. She made a fault that day, and it was a fault that instigated much agony.
Yes, it is a mistake to make love to someone one meets the same day, but for her it was an act in the heat of the moment. His breath, their eye contact, and the impassioned space were all it took for her to break to his desires. She lost her virginity, and as one immediate result, she lost snow white hair color. All elves are born with the hair color of white, but when one joins in unity with another, either having their first kiss, losing their virginity or marriage, an elf’s hair changes. Wasn’t long till all found out about that diminutive encounter, and once her family became informed, her parents imposed her to marry Javier instantly. At the time, she was pregnant with his child.
 Not this child, though. She is blessed with this child; for this is the longest she ever carried one.
At that time, she was pregnant with the first child she lost, a year ago.
Toree has tears down her cheeks, as she remembers all the miscarriages she and Javier encountered. Two....two lives she lost inside her, and in this instant her nose begins to run and her eyes begin to redden. This still to this day, these losses haunted her severely, and only the love of the man she married could soothe her to the point where she could pursue each day without noticeable sadness.
But today, was a bit enhanced than the rest. She was going to Morehstaine to be with him, to be present as they practiced his coronation. In one month, she was to become a Queen. She was to be the Queen of Azariel, the 3rd largest territory in Terah.  She had to joyful….joyful for him.
“Yes,” she undertones, as she smears her tears away with a silk sleeve. “I bet he is probably waiting for me in the stagecoach right now, I must leave now, he has to be becoming impatient,” She acquires one final complete guise around her sanctuary before she turns around and heads back into the palace.
 



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