Hello. ૮(˶•ᵕ•˶)੭ It’s been a little while. With two children, free time becomes rather limited. I have a small thing here. an old story idea I dug up and tried to translate. There are many parts I’m not entirely happy with; the flow feels a bit uneven. Still, this is a tone I rarely attempt, even if I do tend toward the theatrical. Since I never know whether I’ll actually finish this properly for myself (let alone translate it fully) I thought it best to share it here. just In case there are still people out there who care about FFXII, and especially about Ondore. Have I ever mentioned how much I love my Marquis? I would believe every one of his lies. Anyway...Enjoy (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) ‹𝟹
All but unbearable, my lips lingered so close to hers that a soft herbal note seemed to stir upon my tongue, a trace of brewed sage she had drunk before.
Alongside her warmth, something faintly familiar found its way to me. Stirring memories of my homeland, and in the hush of a suspended heartbeat, I allowed the thought to take shape: of stealing her away to Bhujerba, to where she belonged by right, and of making her Marquise at my side.
Yet it was that same duty that held me to restraint, and with quiet regret I compelled myself to distance. However strongly this closeness tempted me, I would not suffer it to rest upon a lie.
Almost at once, we eased from one another, as though guided by an unspoken accord. I let my head fall back, and she did not quite withdraw as far, for I still held on. Only then did she come to brace against the line of old books behind her, their words known to her as intimately as they were to me.
“Forgive me,” came softly between us. “…I cannot...”
Understanding met me then, clear in her regard, as she realized that I, too, had held still; and once more she bore me out onto that wide sea. There, a storm threatened to rise, yet the waters held, steadied by the warmth I did not withdraw.
She answered in kind, and like me, lingered in search of words.
Though I denied myself my longing, I did not relinquish her. Calmly, I held her close, drawn fully against me, the shelf at her back lending quiet support.She did not seek release, while I searched for the words of an explanation worthy of her.
I admitted at last: “…our shared hours began with a lie, born of my own deceit…”
Fearing it would end what I so quietly cherished.
Trembling, her hands found their way to my cheeks and held me there, that gentlest touch drawing from me a fractured breath; and at her unspoken request to leave it unsaid, I found no answer to give — only then did her sea begin to stir.
“…gods above …here I am; lost in fondness for the Marquis of Bhujerba, with him at hand, …aware all too clearly of the warmth his presence brings.“
By the gods — I should have pleaded for mercy; for I had already been lost in the very moment she first drew my attention. Speaking almost idly of what she had overheard here within the palace of Rabanastre, now that the Marquis and his retinue were said to be in residence.
By whispered word, it is said that the Marquis of Bhujerba is home to a library of such scale that even the cathedral of Rabanastre cannot rival it.
She could not yet have known she was speaking of me. For that, I was grateful; for only thus was I able to master the closeness and draw her back with me into dream. Coming so near that restraint itself began to tremble.
“…of my library,” I corrected in a whisper, easing the moment of its weight.
The quiet confusion that surfaced, the clearing of her clouds, was too beautiful to resist; a beauty in which I would have let myself be lost.
“It appears your fondness was not for me, but for my library…”
I let my forehead come to rest against hers.
“…though perhaps I perceive something more …quietly stealing itself into your heart and echoing within my own.”
All but unbearable, my lips lingered so close to hers that a soft, honeyed trace rested upon my tongue; I remained near enough to know her warmth, until at last I came to rest with her.
