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sweet tangerine,
By the time the atmosphere of merriment from the festival--not to mention the drink--fades from his mind, Kittos is kneeling in front of the altar, wrists bound behind his back.
His cheeks are burning with rage and shame (which probably just looks like an attractive blush). He should have known the way the townspeople treated him was too good to be true. Of course they chose the useless bard, the orphan no one will miss, as an expendable sacrifice. He shouldn't have expected any better.
(The truth doesn't occur to him: they simply thought he was the most handsome virgin youth available.)
"If you're going to try to kill me," he says to the altar, "get on with it! I'm ready to fight!"
He says this even though he's obviously not ready to fight: on his knees, hands bound, dressed in nothing but breezy pale silks and some jewelry.
His cheeks are burning with rage and shame (which probably just looks like an attractive blush). He should have known the way the townspeople treated him was too good to be true. Of course they chose the useless bard, the orphan no one will miss, as an expendable sacrifice. He shouldn't have expected any better.
(The truth doesn't occur to him: they simply thought he was the most handsome virgin youth available.)
"If you're going to try to kill me," he says to the altar, "get on with it! I'm ready to fight!"
He says this even though he's obviously not ready to fight: on his knees, hands bound, dressed in nothing but breezy pale silks and some jewelry.
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Once, very long ago, a girl had returned to the town trying to tell the people sacrifices weren't necessary, but she was stoned for slighting the goddess by returning. It was only when that woman returned to the temple to face her fate that the townspeople relented.
Before the young man has a chance to rise from his knees the torches that provide dim light to the altar room flicker as a breeze whips around the room. A strange occurance for a space that has no opened windows or immediate exits to the outside. In front of him, and the altar, a large marble statue depicts the goddess with a longsword boasting a thin blade. Again the room goes quiet. Eerie could be used to describe the air, but something about it holds... warmth.
Finally, cutting into the silence, a voice sounds:] You don't look in any condition to fight.
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[ He bites his lower lip and tries not to blush even harder. ]
I...
I could bite you.
[ That was stupid. Now he's even more embarrassed. ]
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You could try, but do you really think that would be effective?
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More effective than doing nothing. I wasn't meant to die like this!
[ He tries to turn around to get a better look at her. ]
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Are you so certain you're to die here today?
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[ His terrified litany of ways he could be about to die cuts off as his brain finally registers that he's looking at a beautiful naked woman--a beautiful naked goddess. His face immediately goes hot again, and for a second he stares.
Then he quickly looks away, glaring down at the ground in front of him instead of at her, and he's silent once more. ]
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[Aphaea's laughter echoes in the room. They all come here thinking that, and she's not sure who started that rumor.
He won't hear the sound of bare feat padding on the stone floor of the temple as she gets closer. No, she doesn't need to touch the ground to approach him once more. As if inspecting him she twirls a lock of his hair around her finger.]
However... is there a price you would be willing to pay to keep your life?
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[ --he mumbles it, rather sheepishly now, still blushing.
He blushes rather more as she touches his hair. ]
I...can't give you an answer to that, goddess. There's nothing I could pay. I'm penniless and I have no family. All I have are my songs.
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[Her hand slips forward to cup the column of his neck. It rests delicate underneath her fingertips as she looms over him from behind. Aphaea's dark hair falls forward like a black curtain sheilding them from the light of the torches in the altar room.]
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Um--my service? Do you need a court bard?
[ He's breathing a little fast now with her so close. Of course, he's never been so near to a goddess before, and she's beautiful--much more beautiful than anyone he ever thought would touch him.
He swallows hard. ]
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As long as they praise her, of course.
But it's been so long since she has had a companion. Years and years of being stuck in this temple have left her bored and lonely for company — which is why the towns harvest didn't do so well. Her mood has influenced the growth (or lack thereof) of the plants, and this year it wasn't much of a good influence.]
I would not go as far as to say I need you. Wouldn't it be more accurate that you need me?
[Look, she's a goddess. She has an ego that needs to be stroked.]
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Definitely not! I've never needed anybody but myself.
[ He tries to tell himself that it's true--that he'll get out of this fine on his own power, like he always does, like he's gotten out of every scrape and scrap in the past with his wits and his stubborn charm.
(It occurs to him for a moment, as he kneels there with her hair falling all around him so pleasantly, that he's always gotten out of those situations alone. He pushes that thought away.)
Still, he shifts uneasily in place. ]
...although, I guess this whole experience here is something I can sing about once I've escaped from you. I could--I could talk about how beautiful you were.
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[The warmth and comfort of her closeness no longer embrace him as she allows him to feel what it's like without her to provide it. He becomes exposed yet again to the chill of the air.]
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That's a waste of my skills! Keeping me locked up in a temple, sweeping the altars...
[ But his voice falters a little, and he steals a glance back at her in surprise as she moves away. ]
Well, that is what you'd have me do, right? Sweeping altars. Cleaning offering bowls. Um...