Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Starsoul: The Artificer Enigma; Eyes of a Dragon
His eyes, I think, were what first caught me. They didn't sparkle with some inner light, the way they do in stories. They weren't dazzlingly beautiful. They weren't ridiculously gorgeous, or even overly pretty, as a man's eyes go. You know how other girls are always mooning over "gorgeous brown eyes" or "pretty blue eyes" but his weren't. Not like that. And, you know, I'm a sucker for a brown eyed boy. But that's not what ensnared me.
They were striking, in that way that cuts to the heart and leaves an open pit just waiting to snare anything that draws too close. They were bottomless pools of pain and heartache and lifetime upon lifetime of loss, and waiting. Deep, fathomless wells of knowing... too much knowing, garnered from too much experience, too much of life that had been unpleasant. And at the bottom of those wells was so strong a soul, so strong a heart. His was a heart that loved like the breath of a mountain - aeons deep, aeons long, and inevitable as death; a heart whose love and hope and determination could split the sky and dare the storm without fear. His was a heart and soul that would call down the Void itself to protect those he loved, or to see them smile just for a moment.
His eyes brimmed over with something unnameable, something that would tell you in no uncertain terms that the man behind them was faithful and loyal and gentle but fierce and wild… untamed, and never would be tame. He was not the kind of man you could keep, or would keep you. He could take your breath away or give it back, could spin you and toss you like a canoe in a stormy sea. He would be the safety net that never let you fall. He was the kind of man who would walk beside you when you could stand on your own two feet, or pause and hold you when you needed to sit down and weep.
Those damned magnificent brown eyes were intense behind the guarded, wary wall. He kept everyone and everything at bay; he was cold, distant and unapproachable, yet charming and warm. His eyes told a story; he’d been through hellfire and worse, and come out on the other side older, wiser, and scarred beyond repair… but still beautiful, still open, and still hoping for something good to come along one day.
And they showed his uncertainty, his insecurity - to me at least. I like to think it was only to me, in those days when we were each separately discovering the other, remembering our history and finding that which we came to love. I watched his eyes as he grew and matured and discovered himself, discovered the man he was growing into, still is growing into. He still makes me quake with a glance, the way he slides his gaze to meet mine, and smiles that small, crooked, mischievous smile that lasts no longer than a heartbeat. His eyes still show his vulnerable, deep and secret heart, still show me that he can't believe at times that this is real and true, that this really is happening, that I'm smiling back at him with the kind of devotion that only comes after millennia of hoping and wandering, millennia of searching for what had always been right beside me, waiting for me to notice...
His eyes were the first thing I noticed, the one thing I was afraid to notice too closely... and now the one thing I can't stop noticing.