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"The Gardens of Supernatural Acuteness"
"It's the loveliest love of all loves, really Naydian stop
being such an efficient depressive; it's only the slightest touch of bronchitis
you have. In comparison to your incapacity of understanding the decadent
decencies you betrayed just to protect young Jerarde."
"Really Inari, stop being so viciously good humored. He's the effigy
on my tomb, the bright and shiny marble obelisk that will carry my last
good intention onwards. I spoon feed my own cloistered propagandas. Holding
fast to my own convictions on defense," Naydian explained-burying his
pale face underneath a spray of scented dried flowers that covered his
rather petite embroidered chaise longue.
Quite uncustomary to do in the company of men Inari reapplied her mauve
lipstick, while adjusting the off center tilt of her towering curls. Most
irritably Inari retorted," Defense, how you can even entertain the humble
notion of defense when you have always played the victim in abundant excess?
It was not the incomprehensible protection of young Jerarde; it was your
succumbing to emotional haughtiness in public that had me a gasp."
Sitting up quite hastily, so that his facial muscles still had not time
to adjust he sighed forcefully, bits of browned gardenia and lavender
fell from his fringe entangling themselves in the subtle tuft of hair
that peered up from his open shirt front. "Please, this curse was brought
upon myself, by the constant adding and subtracting of antiquated evidence
found in the old virtuous diaries by child martyrs that Auntie Ophelia
brought from her last failed romantic fling with 12 century northern Italian
catholism."
"Now, I have heared it! The extravagant rumours of you actually harboring
sentimentality are all but true. Half sneering Inari laughs. "Naydian,
you don't suffer, you claim ambivalence to love yet you adore. Yes, you
adore young Jerarde but not with the blind faith that a pious worshipper
holds for a Saint. Though argue with me if you will, your adoration is
not clandestine."
Naydian slowly rose to his feet and extinguished his inflamed
pink cheeks, exchanging them for a far less photogenic moment of crying.
Curious, that his normally detached appearance grew unerringly darker,
Inari stood with her back to the embossed aubergine wall paper of the
derelict chateau. Unaware that she watching him intently, Naydian was
caught simultaneously in a gothic hallucination and enfolded his lithe
frame into a gauche fetal position on the scarred marble floor. "There
Inari, you have discovered the gregarious truth, the malicious flaw in
my delinquent little world."
Stepping towards him, in a rustle of crinolines echoing dried palm fronds
blowing in a South American breeze, deaf to the sound Inari knells down.
Crouching low, so her golden green mosaic eyes were to his-she displayed
an unusual amount of dexterity and grace while she snatched up Naydian's
face with her perfectly manicured hands. "The problem is not yours; the
flaw is in my indiscretion. As I do find the aroma of affection most nauseating
the silence in keeping this secret may be far too much to bear. I regret
to say your humble admission troubles me without you sweet, who will I
orbit with in the twilight skies of sexual pedagogy? "
"Well what am I to do, Inari? There is a clamorous thunder buried in my
breast seeking refuge in not only another's embrace but that of young
Jerarde's arms. I have measured both his self indulgences and false pretenses,
yet come up with nothing. This has only unearthed my love giving it a
greater intensity, striving for recognition. Like some horde archeologists
on an Egyptian dig, I seek discovery- now what am I to do?"
Inari laughed slightly,and turned to the oncoming sunset, while looking
to the window, in view of the abandoned and unkempt garden. She noticed
a rather fetching, and directionless hunter wandering onto the grounds
mistakenly, she repied "Easy Naydian, take another lover."
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