Right. I agree with Tink/Dottie – a great choice, Blodeuedd, an incredible picture, full of mystery and potential, begging for a new, interesting story, but… I promised to continue and now I was scratching my head, wondering how to do it… Well, I tried and here are the results – it is the part three of Kanji’s story from the previous weeks.
When you regain consciousness, it is really difficult to say how long you was out. One minute, one hour? Maybe half a day? Kanji opened his eyes asking himself that very question. He found no answer but still was nicely surprised. He was lying in a comfortable four-poster bed in a big, well-lit room. His head was woolly and tender but no longer aching. He felt better, loads better than previously when he had woken up in a gutter. He tried to pinpoint the exact reason. After a while he found out there were several of them.
Firstly he was clean. He didn’t smell like homeless trash any longer, his hair was still damp after washing and his numerous cuts and bruises were either covered by an ointment or dressed properly. Secondly he had some fresh clothes on and they seemed to be made of purest silk. He’d always felt good in silk. He smiled. Somebody not only had rescued him from the gutter but also had taken good care of him and contributed to his well-being. Everything was right again – he was a prince, he deserved the best and he got it, failure or not failure.
Then he closed his eyes and reminded himself of that particular rescuer. It dampened his spirits a bit and Kanji frowned. True, it was a beautiful young lady but at that time she didn’t seem exactly the epitome of sympathy and kindness. She had spoken to him harshly, without due respect; she even mentioned, imagine the cheek, a price for helping him…or maybe it was just his feverish imagination playing tricks again and again? Perhaps she’d changed her mind? He had such an effect on ladies after all, he thought vainly – after taking a closer look at him most women definitely became nicer, softer and more forthcoming. It was a universal truth: his face was regular, smooth and pleasant, his body – well-muscled, lean and proportionate; in short he was the handsomest among six brothers, really nice to look at. Or touch. Or pamper. Immersed in more pleasant thoughts, smiling in reminiscence, he didn’t realise somebody was standing next to his bed until he felt a straw touching his upper lip.
“Drink, Kanji. You are thirsty.”
It was her voice and her perfume – his rescuer didn’t forget about his needs. Now he felt real thirst and here you go, she was giving him something to drink immediately. Good service – it should be always that way. He took several satisfied sips of a liquid which tasted like diluted, spiced wine and tried to open his eyes again. He couldn’t.
He was sleeping again. In his dream he saw another female face. Her head was covered by some dark cloth, her silhouette almost indiscernible from the swirling darkness. The woman’s facial features were definitely alien, as if she came from a foreign country: large, round eyes, a short, rather wide but graceful nose, lovely lips, red and full. Kanji wouldn’t mean such a slave, even a concubine. He smiled. The woman held a bottle with green, luminous substance in her hands and was offering it to him. Kanji took it – he always liked gifts and he was intrigued by her.
“Will it help me?” he asked.
The woman nodded and started to cry.