Fandom: Final Fantasy IV
Author's Note: First post here, and I hope that it's not too late for more posts to be welcomed. If so, then I can only blame myself for being so slow on the uptake. Also, there's some boob-groping, but that's about it. Nothing too bad, I suppose.
Barbariccia's voice, in spite of her asking a question, was not one that seemed to ask so much as demand. She circled the white mage before her, the one shackled tightly to the wall, a gigantic blade of great weight hanging precariously over her head. The fiend's golden hair, several times longer than Barbariccia herself, trailed behind her in a way that gave her representation of the wind more substance, each lock swirling individually in semblance to an air current. Much of Barbariccia's hair caressed the prisoner, one named Rosa, just as gently as a soft breeze from all of the seasons, some of the strands feeling like the hot squalls of summer, others, the biting cold of winter. The mild, flowery warmth of spring at first seemed the most prominent of her hair's touches, but beneath them all, Rosa could feel the cool mists of autumn. None of the sensations she found pleasurable.
Drifting forward to the point that their breasts were pressed together lightly, the air between the elemental and mage grew to be uncomfortably hot and cold at the same time, the heat from their bodies, and the chill from Barbariccia's eyes. “I touch you, and you neither revel, nor are you repulsed.”
Rosa's eyes, blue as the most vibrant of seas, met Barbariccia's, an ethereal greenish-gray not unlike the wings of a moth at night, and began to water. “I... I cannot say.”
At that, Barbariccia's strong fingers gripped Rosa by the jaw, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You cannot say? Or is it that you simply will not say?” Her nails pressed lightly into Rosa's cheeks, not hard enough to draw blood, sharp as they were, but their presence was made known. “You confound me, and I ask you for an answer, yet all that you, a mere mortal, offer is refusal. I do not take such things lightly.”
“I am not trying to be difficult,” Rosa answered, “I assure you. I just... I cannot describe what I feel when you touch me. To put it into words would render it inaccurate and worthless, but I can tell you that it's not a bad feeling, and yet it's not a good one either. I have no idea how to express it.”
Barbariccia gave her a cockeyed look, much like a curious and confused bird, and merely said, “Interesting,” before backing away.
In all actuality, Rosa knew exactly what she felt, and it was fear. Fear for her life, and for what could possibly happen to Cecil if he was to face the elemental. She would be the first to tell you that Barbariccia's touch was not disgusting, as she imagined that of Scarmiglione or Cagnazzo would be, but in spite of its softness, there was nowhere that the fiend's skin on hers granted comfort. Barbariccia came towards Rosa again, looking thoughtful, and declared, “I simply must have been touching you in the wrong way.” Her hands, still making contact light as the wind, cupped Rosa's breasts and began to massage them gently. Her lips, warm with the breath of life brought every spring, grazed those of the mage's before locking them together in a passionate kiss.
Rosa was unsure of what to think. On one hand, she was fiercely loyal to Cecil, and would not, could not betray him, even if she wanted to. Their love had rung true for years, and she would always be inextricably bound to and by it. She did not believe this to be an undesirable situation. However, on the other hand, never in her life had she thought that she would ever be graced by the undeniable beauty of one such as Barbariccia, and it scared her to think that, if anything but death itself had a chance to rip her from the comfortable bindings of hers and Cecil's love, it was the Empress of Wind. Never had a woman instilled such thoughts in her before.
Tense seconds passed, Barbariccia's tongue darting in and out of Rosa's mouth to taste the beautiful mortal before her, before the feeling receded, and Barbariccia withdrew. Her face was straight, but her eyes spoke of hurt pride, and of confusion. “Am I not good enough for you?” she inquired, “Are my ministrations to be met with dislike?” Rosa could do nothing but look crestfallen, her head resting on her shoulder, and turned away from Barbariccia.
Finally, Barbariccia's face began to show understanding. “It is Cecil,” she stated matter-of-factly, “isn't it? You love him, and as such can know not the loving embrace of any other.” Something told Rosa that the situation was very wrong when the winds that spiraled through the room died down and she heard Barbariccia's feet touch the floor. When she looked up, the fiend was already walking out the door, her hair dragging unceremoniously on the stone. Barbariccia did stop, and hesitantly turned her head slightly, though she did not twist far enough to look over her shoulder. Her voice echoed in the now horribly empty chamber.
“I would never have believed that I could envy anyone.”