A mortal with the gall to try and touch a god?
As Alistair hand reached out, he would find that it seemed to strike some invisible sort of barrier. Not quite solid, but he certainly wouldn’t have the strength to press his hand through. He might be an accepted and thus possessing of a heightened status in her mind, but still the goddess demanded respect.
And then, shockingly, he gave it.
Safrin’s arms spread wide and Alistair would feel almost a tugging as if a small vacuum had been created around her, pulling him close. Briefly thoughts of smiting him where he stood, placing his head on a spike or otherwise disposing of him in a public way came to her mind, but he had surprised her. She had expected him to, as many men would, to simply reach out and touch. To view her beauty and interpret it as something beautiful but fragile.
But he had asked, and she could feel his sincerity and would reward it.
The feeling of her skin would be indescribable. A close description, were he to try and describe it later, would be like the sensation of a perfectly exhausted body watching a sun set. Or perhaps the exestentiel understanding that comes with observing the stars and realizing how small one really is. Her beauty and the softness of her skin was perhaps the least interesting thing about the experience. As her lashes fluttered gently, untold secrets whispered in her eyelashes and as her painted lips coiled in a smile, the world would seem so easy and bright in her presence and with her understanding.
“You have believed in that which was true before. Those truths have merely changed.” She soft softly. Then with a delicate laugh, she pulled his hand away from her cheek and held it between her own. “Beauty and hope? Perhaps in time you will find I am capable of inspiring much more.” She whispered as if merely to herself, tracing the lines on his palm with a fingertip devoid of the whorls that would normally make fingerprints.
“And who do you believe is testing you darling one?” She asked, curious. Did he think them? Fate? A higher power? Himself?
As he leaned forward, the goddess endured. Though normally she would not permit herself to be kissed like this by a mortal, Alistair had earned himself this with his earlier actions. As his lips pressed against hers, again he’d be filled with that temporary and uncanny sense of purpose and place in the world; his body invigorated and his mind soothed and honed to something ready for whatever he might set it to.
“Bubo..” She mused, tasting the word on her tongue. The owl fluttered as attention was focused on it once more. The stone wings fluttered soundlessly as it glided to sit gently on her shoulder, peering down at its crafter with wide and star-sparkly eyes. Safrin The devil is not as black as he is painted
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