Chapter 63: 50 - Lovecraft
As a scion of the Lovecraft family, I was acutely, almost painfully, aware of the weight of my status, a lineage revered as the most esteemed in the magical world.
But truthfully, it wasn’t the name itself I sought to escape; it was myself I yearned to prove, to step free from the colossal shadow of my family’s legacy.
It was this inherent worthiness that compelled me to bear the name, to become at once a mirror and a vibrant reflection, an unwavering exemplar for our venerable kin.
From my earliest memories, diplomacy had been my constant companion, an unceasing doctrine. For in our family tradition, politics was not merely an art, but a formidable instrument: a means to command authority, to instill fear, and to cultivate reverence itself. Reflecting on it now, the resemblance to the Machiavelli clan from the Etruria-Rassena Kingdom was striking. Yet, our distinction lay in our unwavering emphasis on embodying the very symbol of politics.
Ah, speaking of them, our ties ran deep, remarkably close. Annually, one of us, a Lovecraft, journeyed to Etruria-Rassena—a cherished representative sent to nurture our intricate connections with their kingdom’s inner circle, particularly during their family’s grand birthday celebration. And for the past several years, that emissary had been me. Thus, whether by choice or by dictate, I was compelled to present myself flawlessly before them.
But perhaps, at that age, I was simply too naive... and utterly guileless.
"Helena of the Lovecraft family, I presume?"
"Yes, that’s correct."
Arturo Dali Machiavelli. A formidable figure within the Etruria-Rassena Kingdom, renowned for his breathtaking political acumen. Much like myself, he was the living emblem of honor for his own venerable house. The very man who could orchestrate syndicates akin to mafias, his cunning hands rendering them seemingly powerless, mere puppets.
"Might you accompany me for a moment? Just a brief conversation."
I merely nodded, transfixed, unable to do anything but be captivated, perhaps even utterly smitten.
At that particular moment, the grand hall was still blessedly uncrowded. Everyone was lost in the rhythm of the dance. No guards, no watchful eyes.
We drifted towards the palace balcony’s edge, a secluded haven where not a soul would disturb us.
I was utterly entranced, lost in him. It felt like love at first sight, though I had known him since childhood. The feeling was undeniable, a profound, undeniable pull.
Yet, I could never have foreseen that what transpired next would become the most intensely regretted and, simultaneously, the most cherished experience of my life.
"How fare the political currents in your land, Ains Ein Doa... O Miss Arcanist Mage?"
I blushed, a warmth spreading through me at his praise. Then, composing myself, a sweet, welcoming smile gracing my lips, I answered without preamble,
"Oh, much as they always do. Few disturbances, it seems, and generally quite secure."
"And you, Arturo? Haven’t you ascended to a higher position?"
"Yes, Helena. That is indeed the case. But... I feel something remains incomplete."
"What could that be?"
"Perhaps... something to stir the senses, ignite anger, and also... pleasure."
I arched an eyebrow, then nudged his shoulder playfully.
"Oh, you. Don’t be so circuitous when you speak."
"Hm, haven’t you always known I’m like this?" he countered, his hand gently tracing my chin.
"You really haven’t changed, have you? Always trying to be so romantic," I remarked, a teasing lilt in my voice, disregarding the intimate gesture of his hand.
"Oh, is that so? Shouldn’t I be the one to say that? You are like a rose without thorns."
"Such stale flattery," I giggled, a breathless sound escaping me. Like characters in an ancient Roman romance unfolding before our eyes, we continued to tease, drunk on affection. Or perhaps, more accurately, in that moment, we existed solely within our own private world.
Undisturbed. Just the two of us.
"Ah, saying that now, are you? Didn’t you once say I was romantic?"
"That was then."
"And now?" he murmured, his gaze locking with mine.
Two pairs of eyes, so utterly mesmerizing, I mused. I had never truly fixated on his handsome face, but it was perhaps his eyes that held the true allure for me. They shimmered before me like two perfectly cut crystal orbs, incandescent and deep.
And honestly, love was a sensation I rarely experienced, a fortress around my heart. But this time, I was powerless, utterly swept away by the undeniable current of it.
"Perhaps it’s different." A moment later, I closed my eyes, tightly. So tightly that I couldn’t see him when our lips finally met. Oh, God... a first kiss like this was the most romantic in the world—a kiss where I yearned only to absorb the tender texture of his lips, the intoxicating fragrance that clung to his form, and the shared warmth of our breaths. Not to mention the firm, reassuring embrace of his hands...
Every sensation resonated deeply within me, coursing through every inch of my skin. Even my wildly thrumming heart responded, roused by the quintessential Etruria-Rassena romance, or, more specifically, the Machiavelli brand of it. And in that moment, I knew: he was "The Prince" made flesh.
"Different how?" he breathed, pulling back just enough, having claimed the pristine innocence of my lips.
"Well, how to put it... perhaps you’ve become hotter now."
"Oh, is that so? Learning to tempt men, are we?"
"I’m merely learning from my experiences with you, that’s all."
Soon after, he kissed me once more. This time, my eyes flew open in genuine shock. The sensation was profoundly different from the first, perhaps even far superior. I could see his expression clearly as we kissed, a raw intensity in his gaze. The passion, the shared breath, the very exchange of our essence intensified. I even accidentally activated my Crystallization, cloaking us from view—because honestly, I couldn’t control myself.
My desire surged, an uncontrollable tide. This burgeoning romance had utterly captivated me. Every single thing about him, I wanted to devour greedily, to consume with unrestrained hunger.
And I was truly ravenous for intimacy. Wild, untamed, utterly chaotic passion. Disheveled, unbridled, and only with him.
Unconsciously, his hand found its way to my chest, my nipples long since taut and aching. His name, a whispered plea, escaped my parted lips.
"Arturo..."
"What is it, my beloved Helena?"
"We’ve never been like this before, have we? Wait a moment! You haven’t even confessed your love!"
"Ah, well..."
"Why? Are you afraid?"
"No. I’m afraid that..."
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid that I will hurt you and act without restraint."
That caution was clearly natural for him, a man of such high standing in Etruria-Rassena.
But at that moment, I simply did not care. My mind was thoroughly infected by the virus of love, a relentless romance that held me utterly in its thrall.
"I won’t be hurt. I promise."
"Promise?" He extended his little finger towards me, a silent invitation to seal a pact.
"Yes, promise," I said, intertwining my pinky with his.
"Very well then... Helena, I love you deeply, profoundly, unequivocally. You are the precious jewel that adorns my heart."
He said, revealing something... a verdant green pendant. The very shade of his beautiful, piercing eyes.
"I love you very much too, Arturo. So..."
"How about we make love?"
"So... how about we make love?"
Our voices spoke the same sentence, a perfect, shared declaration. The situation, ideal beyond measure.
I was sixteen then, he would soon celebrate his nineteenth birthday.
And what happened next? We both blushed, overcome with an exquisite shyness at the raw confessions of our mutual desire.
"Perhaps you should answer first. For I am a man, and you, a woman."
Truly the soul of a gentleman. A man so exquisitely romantic and poetic, responding to the coldness of my demeanor with a wild, passionate heart.
"Very well, I will. So..." My index finger gently traced his chest, and then my face drew close to his ear.
"Let’s make love, Arturo."
