From: "Amanda Sichter" To: "Outside The Lines" Subject: [OTL]: The Sword Unsheathed Date: Sun, 18 Oct 1998 19:56:16 +1000 Well, I was feeling very whimsical and poetical when I wrote this, so it is more an exercise in language than anything else. Plus I wanted to explore the concept of having a mutant power that everyone in the world would envy, but is a curse to the one who has it. No Marvel stars. My goodness, I think I've written a TCP piece! Disclaimer: None really. I suppose I could say the Universe is Marvel's. There, that'll do. The Sword Unsheathed I am Beauty. I had another name once, but I can barely remember it. Beauty is what I am. I hear it when I walk down the street, the soft sussuration of voices behind me -- 'Beauty, beauty, beauty' - an echo of passing, a longing, desire reaching out in voices, caressing me, whispering over me, wanting me, needing me, touching me, as my power makes them want me, need me, desire me. They never touch me. They will never touch me. They will only want me. I am the breeze passing by, a memory of paradise, a taste of honeydew and ambrosia. I am the blade unscabbarded. I am Beauty. I walk veiled down the streets, swathed in layers of blue and gray, hiding my brilliance from the sun and their eyes so that I do not make them swoon with the glory of me. Only my eyes could they see and I keep them averted so I do not pierce hearts with them, with the sheer drowning intoxication that is my merest glance. But they feel me, the subtle emanations of my power that slides from me, that tells them 'Here walks Beauty, feel her, watch her, long for her' and I feel their eyes on me as they follow me onwards and feel the way they want to unwrap my veils one by one, scatter them until I am unclothed before them and they can touch me, hold me, feel me, enfold me, pierce me, love me, love me, love me. And I know that the men who pass me, whose eyes follow me, whose hearts leap for me, they go home and, in remembrance of me, they make love to their wives, their mistresses, their lovers and afterwards they weep in despair, because they have been touched by Beauty and nothing -- nothing -- can ever be the same again. And I know their love shall wither and die upon the memory of my passing and all their days shall be ashes evermore because they cannot be free of me ever again. And I feel the women who watch me, who want me, who long for me, and some want me as the men want me and are glad and some are shamed that they could want me so and all are in despair because they know, in deep, unmoving places in their heart, that they have seen Beauty and I am so much more, such glorious unbounded majesty, so much more than they can ever be that envy eats into their heart and in the end consumes them. This is my power. This is what came to me when I was fifteen, what drove me into veils and solitude because I became Beauty and none could survive my piercing loveliness. Do you know of the Gorgon, of Medusa? She turned men into stone, struck them dead, cursed by a goddess for daring to compare her beauty with Aphrodite's own. They would have you believe that she was given a visage of such unsurpassing horror that men turned cold and marble-stiff at the mere sight of her ugliness. What they do not tell you is that, when Aphrodite saw her face, she wept, for the Gorgon was of surpassing loveliness, outshining even that most glorious goddess. So Aphrodite cursed her, made her so incandescent that no man could look upon her without perishing in the sheer flame of her beauty. She was so lucent, so pure and shining, that men's lives caught within them, stopped by her loveliness, and their flesh turned to stone not from horror but from purest delight. I am the Gorgon now. My power has given me such terrible beauty that none can look upon me. They offer me anything, their lives, their hopes, their monies, their souls, just to see me, to gaze upon the flame that burns beneath the veils. I do not listen, do not speak, do not accept, for I am so bright that I burn their eyes when I am veiled. I do not unclothe myself. Except once. He came to me, offered me anything, everything, that he could see me, touch me, taste me. I was young then, uncertain in my power, and he was a strong and powerful man, wise in the ways of the world. So strong, so sure, so confident that I hoped he might survive me, that he could become my prince, my love, the sheath in which the bright blade of my beauty might be scabbarded, a menace no more. So I went to him, on the appointed day, and I unwrapped myself, slowly taking veil from veil, until I stood before him, the whiteness of my flesh a flame before him, my glory terrible and bright. He trembled, I felt it, and whispered 'Beauty' and his hand reached forward and touched my cheek, just once, and hope leapt within me that he would survive me, would be the one who could enfold me, keep me safe, keep the world safe. So I raised my eyes to his, my glorious eyes and he saw my visage whole and terrible in its loveliness, and he perished utterly from the earth, burned away into nothingness by the leaping fire that is my power and my curse. He was the first, the last, the only one who has ever touched me, for I never now shall unveil myself again, not beneath the sun that shines upon this earth. I am beauty. I am the taste of paradise. I am the heart of a star. I am the fire that dances upon the world in human form. I am Helen of Troy. I am Judith of Bethulia. I am the Gorgon's daughter. I am the Siren's song. I am the blade unscabbarded, the sword unsheathed. I am desire made flesh. I am glorious to behold. I am Beauty. I am so very alone. The End For those who don't get the allusions. Aphrodite was the Greek goddess of love - the Gorgon's origin is much as portrayed here. Of course, being Greek myth, no-one ever said anything about how Medusa felt about being transformed into a woman who could kill with a look. I imagine it would be much as Beauty feels. Helen of Troy was known as 'the face that launched a thousand ships'. She was so beautiful that a 10-year war was fought for her when she was kidnapped. Judith of Bethulia is from the Bible. She defended her town by going to the tent of the leader of the invaders and revealing her beauty to him. He died and the town was saved. The Sirens' song was so wonderful that men would forget themselves and sail their ships onto rocks and die just from the sound of it. Amanda wolf@ozdocs.net.au 'Never moon a werewolf'