A sojourn it is.
❝His scent is petrichor. He shall always be the golden page of my recollections, of beautiful memories. The greatest archer of the time❞
Derived from the Sanskrit word स्मरण (smaraṇa, "the act of remembrance, remembrance, reminisc...
Elixir /ɪˈlɪksə,ɪˈlɪksɪə/ late Middle English, Latin from Arabic al-'iksīr, from al'iksīr from Greek xērion. a sweet, magical, healing and preserving liquid.
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IN THEIR MONOCHROMATIC MUSINGS AND SOLILOQUIES, the moon was idyllic. The atelier of her art, the amorist in her confided in the silver orb on the black velvet horizon. Everything she ever cannot tell him, the moonlight would consume in secrecy. Perhaps, the moon was not so loyal for the copper eyed Shwetvahan always felt a tug of selecouth; the moon called upon him every night.
Ivory, silver, white, shining, sparkling, shimmering in its zenith; the full moon was making them lunatic. Or they say madly in love. There was a serenade of crystal clear black ether, where the stars were singing love melodies. Aromatic zephyrs of this night were a reality that dreams do come true. Serenity and ataraxia quilts were warming the entire swathes.
Parthjaya's kohl emphasized brown eyes lingered around the bedzined marital chamber.
The ardor flames flickering in the oil lit copper sculpted lamps around the bejeweled ceiling and window panes, though the orchid oil had lessened to the lowest rim. Full blooms of white lotuses and red roses were scenting the air swarming the royal chamber, though the soft petals were morphing into chartreuse and tawny in the first stage of shrivelling. Gumusservi trails were traversing on the gold salver of water, though it'll disappear soon.
"156, 157. . ." She sighed rolling the supple stem of that bluish purple fuschia flower in her petite fingers. Although advised to sit as that flower she was holding, her mehndi adorned feet should dare to peek from her sequined lehenga hem and the gauzy veil should barricade the face his subconscious had engraved; she was losing it precisely.
The red veil no longer was settled on her head but cumulated over her left shoulder, instead of sitting with the joined knees clutching her bosom she was almost reclining on the velvet cushioned headrest of the gold regal bed. The pure white silk mattress actually made her cognizant of the expectations and vexed her too, such as leaving her breathless at instances though she didn't bothered much for her trust in him.
"He's a prince. He'll wait for consent." Mayhap, she assured her butterfly self that rose to exercise her choker and necklaces tied throat. Almost crushing the shrivelling flower valley of red rose, white lotus petals and noticeably created patterns from fuschia flowers on the mattress, her drooping eager eyes fluttered towards the large oak doors of the chamber but no dashing silhouette was visible. "I'll feel. I can sense his presence, I will know when he will arrive. Ugh, but-but it's too late! Where are you?" she breathed in her red stained lips brushing the ruby encrusted earrings.
After whole half a prahar which felt like years to her, she slipped over to gulp a glass of cold water kept on the spruce bedside table. "Does he not want to come here? Maybe he forgot to. . .?" the demons of her mind were active to weave a plexure of choking over thinking fluids but she shrugged and shook her head wildly. Perhaps, he is stuck in some really important task that Jyesth might have asked him to complete.
