AN: Not that you really want to read it, ha. But yeah, I've been wanting to do a RS fic for sometime now but never got to it. I settled for a oneshot because I'm lazy and inspiration struck as I was listening to the album for like the bizillionth time. I LOVE Nidria. She's my fav character. I think it's Lizzie Huffman's sultry voice. And Nidria's character design. It reminds me of the East. Her robe and the way she is posed remind me of India but her makeup like China or Japan. It's all so fascinating! =D
::Disclamier: not mine.
:Summary: Because Nidria had found her missing piece. And Ahrima had found his too. Drabble.
By nature Nidria was an Artist.
Her gentle, slender hands were made to create beauty. Her dark, sloping eyes were designed to see splendor. Even the delicate, tanned feet were fashioned with the intent of matching the steady rhythm of the drummer's melodic drums. For who else but an Artist could craft such wonders?
Yes, Nidria was an Artist.
When by chance a resident of O's great world happened upon the quiet young female, they would describe her as gentle, perceptive and inspired. Often they would find her down by the Great Stream observing how the sun reflected in the clear water. Perhaps she would be in the small Weaver's cottage helping the old Weaver spin fine silk into beautiful robes of every color. Her fingers never ceased to amaze the others, be it from painting a mural on their City Hall or from creating a new figurine in the city square. The citizens admired her, none even more so than young Ahrima.
Often he would find himself drawn to her graceful figure, catching sight of her honey-colored robes on some half-empty street and following close behind. She would forever be hiding behind that mask of hers, but once she had glided it slightly past her face and a small smile graced those red lips. She would even wait for Ahrima as she made her way to the stream where there they would sit, the rushing water the only noise between them. When he did speak, she would lower her mask along with her eyes.
To Ahrima this meant she was delicate and observant, a quiet lily always listening. He found the way she silently laughed behind her long sleeve fascinating. Those eyes, outlined with dark red charcoal, would fix on him slowly and he held his breath.
To Nidria, this was a habit she could not break, a display of her bothersome introversion. For who else but an Artist would feel free amongst the beauty of a plain canvas, the glorious smell of clay for molding and yet amongst her own feel as if she herself had not yet been molded completely? Yes, Nidria was not also an Artist but a girl. A young angel O had bestowed with creativity and timidity.
"I have noticed the berries by the orchid are growing rather quickly this season." Ahrima would mention, glancing at her and the way her lashes fell across her cheeks.
"Yes." She would reply, looking up and noticing how bright his smile was. "I believe we shall have a good harvest this year."
And when she spoke, he knew her soul. Silly as he thought it was, he also believed it, for Ahrima was a believer in such things as love and destiny. Her voice brought him peace as he'd never known it. O might take his prescence for granted but he knew this Artist would not. The life she gave into her art filled him with inspiration for his own creations. And had she not said before that she believed in him too?
Nidria would watch his eyes on her, feeling her smile grow as she reminded herself to keep from leaping in the air and twirling like a daisy caught in the wind. The urge to simply reach out, place her hand in his and float away from everything swept over her so strongly she swayed with the breeze against her skin. It was in her nature to see beyond what was seen by others, to reach the hidden layers of a person's heart. Indeed she would often notice the little things no one else did; a twinge of regret there or a hint of sadness here. That sadness seemed to permeate within Ahrima and it affected her much the same. Perhaps it was love that created this invisible rope between them and therefore only love could solve the problem they now shared.
"I know you are sad, Ahrima. Sad and frustrated with O." And she would dare to let him place his hand in hers. "You have told me your misgivings about O's appreciation for your talents, but let it not be forgotten that O rarely offers compliments to any of us."
"He does not see my true potential. He refuses to see that any of us can be greater than he imagined."
To this Nidria would listen.
To anything she would listen.
If it was for him, she would listen to every gust of wind that ever twirled it's way into O's world.
But she would always place her hand gently on his shoulder when he tensed and fisted his palm. When the fire of frustration entered his eyes, she would remind him with reflective eyes that he must be patient. And when his mouth turned down at the corners from disappointment, she would lean in and place a soft, barely-there kiss upon his cheek. It did it's magic and they would talk hopefully until the setting sun when Ahrima walked her back into the city and they said their goodbyes. She would lay in bed as the warm breeze from her open window tickled her arms and made her wonder when she would be brave enough to let him really kiss her.
Because by nature Nidria was not only an Artist but a soul longing to find that one missing piece of her sculpted life. Her hands that created beauty, wanted to feel it in another. Her eyes that saw splendor, wished to see it mirrored in a different pair. And her feet that matched the steady beating of the drums, ached for his to dance with her.
For whom else but she, Nidria the Artist, the face behind the mask, could ever know that her heart longed to lead her to a greater thing?
So, maybe I should continue doing oneshots...? Ah, it's kind of my first abstract/no plot/character study oneshot. =/ Just how I picture the characters. Hope you liked. =)