Cupid Marks the Spot

As the guests hovered about the seats, lost gems waiting to be laid into a fanciful banquet by the master jeweler, Bette very easily found the torment of her trade.

She approached Tina, and asked her, Arent you coming to sit down?

Tina smiled, indicating the photograph before them, Yeah. Ijust really like this one.

Bette turned her head to see what she was speaking of and in recognition, quarried Truth.

It was the same photograph she had chosen at the beginning of the evening to comfort her and this connection, on a wholly different level from the physical, served to silence her for a moment. Both women stood before it in contemplation, priestesses of a modern ritual, spilling their accounts to the same deity.

Bette allowed the religion its pause and found other ground to worship, by glancing sideways, reflecting in secret, Tinas beauty, the strength beneath a kind composure, the sharpness wrung from her eyes, her face, but not from her mind. And she longed to endure all of it. To touch it.

Her face revealing nothing, Bette had the same, charitable smile pasted lusterless on her face. She had no intention of using any more of her charm. With Tina, it was all too wily and yes, the woman was in love with someone else. The flirtation of an hour ago was a thoughtless reaction to what Tina possessed in full: her beauty and her intelligence. Not once had Tina reciprocated or flirted in response.

Yet suddenly, as Bette grudgingly closed that door, mischievous Fate tackled with Her spindle and fumbled with the wheel. The thread fell, wove into a miniscule window where opportunity hollered in invitation:

A shiny accessory caught Bettes eye and she reached out instinctively across the space. In a moment, Bette found her hand against Tinas neck, against her jaw. Bette was careful that her fingers did not linger, or entangle themselves, despite their yearning, in her hair. Her movement was quick and she withdrew, Tinas earring encased in eager flesh.

Beauty ought never to fall and the earring lay, cradled in Bettes hand.

Bette simply smiled at the fashionable blunder, ignorant that at that moment, a blind-folded demigod was taking aim. Oh, youve lost your earring in your hair, she said, opening her palm, the gesture a signal. The arrow loosed, singing in mid-flight. She added gently, Here.

Tinas eyes widened as though struck, timidly receiving the earring, the brief touch saturated in lustful missives. She smiled in embarrassment as she latched the ornament back in its place. Bette absorbed the scene, followed the movements of Tinas arms as they assisted in putting order to things, even as each of their minds, their hearts, lay throbbing at the impact of some invisible dart.

Alas, Bette thought, using Shakespeares words instead of her own for she had none, Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is wingd Cupid painted blind.

~*~*~*~

TBC