The strange thing about delusions is that if they go unchecked they become reality. Oman functioned well in her psychosis. The tea she used for quelling the visions worked well enough. For that, she seemed to be in control of the matter. And still, they came to her in times of crisis or high stress. Perhaps this was one of those times. The mentor vision, Fire, painted her back with a broad soft brush. She could slowly see the birthmark there disappear under the golden paint. In the mirror she watched him, arms crossed over in front of her chest. He was tall, this memory. His strokes had delicate attention to detail. There were chance glances to her in the reflection. Beloved. She was comforted in his presence. She longed to reach out and touch him. This was good. For it would not be easy for her this act against her nature. It challenges everything she is, truly. But, coin is coin. A contract would be fulfilled. The order undertaken.
Before the looking glass, all that glitters is gold. Oman donned the golden chain skirt, and top. She admired herself, thinking how much she looked like a statue in the square. Imagine if you were apprehensive of being beautiful? What if society rewarded great beauty with slavery and defeat? Such is the lot of a Gorean woman, Oman was no different. Normally, the disguises she chose shed the invisible cloak of plainness or marred ugliness. Tonight she would be seen for what she was, breath taking and beautiful. She had to find Her, that creature within. Long ago tucked away, and hidden even from herself. The act had to be believable, real. She had to get close to the dais. Close enough to kill a man. ' I wonder if he can feel me? I am closing in, Peacock', she whispered and fitted the bracelet on her wrist. There was a click as she checked its mechanics. Ibrahim was a skilled jeweler indeed.
After the nine veils, they garbed her in a black haik, so that Ibrahim could enter the tent. He was courteous, and turned his back. " She, I will signal the lights for you, " he had said with a nervous tension. " You have the strong box, and seating near him?" she asked quietly. " Yes I do. You will be safe, " this assurance was strong even though he dared not look at her. The giant exited and headed towards the House of Bonnane. Oman smoked and paced the carpets underfoot,' Where is She? She, that will come and take my place. A self long since dismissed, a part long suppressed.'
Before the looking glass, all that glitters is gold. Oman donned the golden chain skirt, and top. She admired herself, thinking how much she looked like a statue in the square. Imagine if you were apprehensive of being beautiful? What if society rewarded great beauty with slavery and defeat? Such is the lot of a Gorean woman, Oman was no different. Normally, the disguises she chose shed the invisible cloak of plainness or marred ugliness. Tonight she would be seen for what she was, breath taking and beautiful. She had to find Her, that creature within. Long ago tucked away, and hidden even from herself. The act had to be believable, real. She had to get close to the dais. Close enough to kill a man. ' I wonder if he can feel me? I am closing in, Peacock', she whispered and fitted the bracelet on her wrist. There was a click as she checked its mechanics. Ibrahim was a skilled jeweler indeed.
After the nine veils, they garbed her in a black haik, so that Ibrahim could enter the tent. He was courteous, and turned his back. " She, I will signal the lights for you, " he had said with a nervous tension. " You have the strong box, and seating near him?" she asked quietly. " Yes I do. You will be safe, " this assurance was strong even though he dared not look at her. The giant exited and headed towards the House of Bonnane. Oman smoked and paced the carpets underfoot,' Where is She? She, that will come and take my place. A self long since dismissed, a part long suppressed.'
The nine men of Black took her to the house. It was not quite the dinner hour, so they were readying the room. From the ceiling hung two lengths, thirty five feet each, of golden fabric. When yanked on it had some give, or stretch on the bias. She told the men to face away from her. It had been ordered that they not gaze on her directly. The First had been adamant. The nine would not have the privilege of seeing her in this predicament. It is the only reason she acquiesced to the order, aside for the debts she was paying.
Oman lay in the cradle of gold, checking its length for safety. She began to wrap it around her waist, turning, hoisting herself up as she went until she finally was near its rigging. Like a giant golden cocoon, she would wait for the lighted signal and be born anew.
" I am here Peacock, you shall know my scent. My face will be the last you see. For him. For the glory of Ar. "
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