Page 35 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
“I don’t understand,” he said, and Sebastian sighed.
That was the problem. No one understood except Rosalind. In her company, it was as though nothing else mattered. They were figures in a painting, entirely caught up in the scene they were experiencing together.
There was nothing beyond them, and nothing else mattered but the moment they found themselves in. Sebastian had never experienced anything like it, and now he understood better the reason he had kissed her. It was to capture the moment, a moment he would never forget.
“When I’m with her, I don’t believe the inevitability of what I fear,” Sebastian replied.
John sighed.
“But what can you do, Sebastian? You can’t fall in love with her. You know that,” he said, and Sebastian nodded.
“I know, but I think it’s too late for that,” he replied, and returning home that night, Sebastian could think of nothing else but Rosalind, and the kiss they had shared.
Chapter 15
The cherub suddenly came alive, fluttering up into a sky of artist’s clouds, their fluffy white trails picked out by the pastel pink sky beyond. The gentle sound of the tinkling water of the fountain was mixed with birdsong, and Rosalind found herself in a beautiful forest glade, the sort of which she often imagined in her paintings.
This was surely Arcadia, and looking around her, she gasped to see dryads, nymphs, and satyrs dancing in a festival of revelry through the trees. They were drinking wine, and a piper was playing a tune, as a procession now formed with a remarkable figure at its head.
“Dionysus,” Rosalind exclaimed, watching as the figure was lifted on the shoulders of his attendants and carried amid the revelry.
Looking down at herself, she realized she was dressed all in white, and reaching up, she felt a crown of laurels on her head.
“Goodness, diamonds,” she exclaimed, taking off the laurel leaf crown, to find it woven with beautiful jewels.
The procession was coming closer now, and Dionysus was laughing, holding up a cup of wine, as the music grew louder.
“Ariadne comes to Naxos, awake fair maiden from thy sleep, and find the love thou didst seek,” he called out, and to Rosalind’s astonishment, she realized it was not Dionysus who spoke, but Sebastian.
There he was, carried naked, save for a woven loin cloth, and laughing. The procession halted, the piping ceased, and Dionysus, or Sebastian, was lowered to the ground. He stepped forward, offering Rosalind his hand, as now the dryads, nymphs, and satyrs dispersed and six women, all of them dressed in white, hurried forward.
“Let us prepare fair Ariadne for her lover,” they exclaimed, pointing towards the fountain, whose deep, clear waters now seemed suddenly inviting.
Rosalind did not know what to say, even as the women hurried forward, divesting her of her robes, so she stood naked before Dionysus, who smiled at her.
“And when thou art prepared, fair Ariadne, thou shalt know thy true reward,” he said.
The waters of the fountain were warm and fragrant, and Rosalind slipped beneath the surface, emerging refreshed, as the women laughed.
“Purified, thou art ready,” they said, lifting Rosalind from the fountain to the soft grass of the forest glade, where she found herself immediately dry.
The sound of the pipes struck up, but the rest of the characters disappeared as Dionysus stepped forward. Rosalind was wearing nothing but the laurel leaves on her head, and now he put his arms around her, holding her close and looking down at her with a smile.
“Art thou ready?” he asked, and Rosalind nodded, her arms around him, as now he took the laurel leaves from her head and tossed them into the heavens above.
Immediately it was night, and the sky was filled with a million stars, their silvery glint casting an ethereal light across the forest glade, where the two of them stood alone.
“Is it done?” she asked, and Dionysus nodded.
“Look, thou brightest star, thy jewels a corona now they are, to sit amongst the heavenly dance, for love no more is left to chance,” he said, and looking down at her, he kissed her.
Rosalind awoke with a start, sitting up in bed, still believing she was in Arcadia, even as she looked around her and sighed. She was lying in bed, a thin stream of sunlight coming through a gap in the curtains, and now a gentle tap came at the door.
“It’s just me, my Lady. I’ve brought you your morning tea,” Molly called out.
“Oh. Yes, thank you, Molly,” Rosalind said, rubbing her eyes, and smiling to herself at the thought of the dream.
She had been Ariadne, and Sebastian had been Dionysus. It was just like the painting, and she allowed the thought of their kiss to linger as Molly entered the room.
