#fictional scene

Then spoke Tavros, deep-voiced as thunder over mountains: “Tell me, maiden unbound by gods, how do you walk the mortal path unguided? How judge the just from the crooked way? Do you not feel alone, heavy with the weight of freedom, to steer your life without the hand of Nyx?”

And Melissa, steadfast as Ephara’s own priestess, replied: “No. The road is clear. Wrong is what destroys, sunders, and scars. Right is what builds, delights, and leaves a worthy trace. That is my compass, and it is enough.”

Yet she turned, her words like a spear: “But tell me, bull-born Tavros, is it not so that your kind take women into bondage, their bodies enslaved for dark desire? What say you to this?”

A heavy laugh rumbled from Tavros, yet joyless: “Not women only. Men also, and satyrs, centaurs, leonins – we bind them all.”

But Melissa’s gaze was iron: “That is no jest.”

Struck, Tavros answered, wounded in pride: “Do you think me a beast, a violator, a brute without honor?”

And Melissa, firm as stone, spoke: “I do not. Yet I will not close my eyes. Cultures err, and yours errs in violence. The pride that shields you blinds you. Brutality is the wall that cages Skophos.”

Then Tavros, snorting like an ox goaded by flame: “Is all the blame ours? Tell me, O Melissa without god, without sin, without flaw – where lies your people’s failing? Where lies your wound?”

With a sigh she answered, wearied but unyielding: “Many are our faults, and they are taught in my father’s hall. I have never claimed perfection, nor mastery over you. I only sought to counsel you. If counsel is spurned, then I withdraw.”

But Tavros raised his hand, pleading: “Stay. Forgive me. I desire your counsel, I will heed your words.”

She measured him with her glance, wary as a hawk: “Are you merely toying with me? Is this but play?”

And Tavros, with a grin curving his savage mouth, replied: “Is it unthinkable, then, that I might seek you?”

Melissa stepped nearer, her voice sharp as a whetted blade: “You are too great of stature, too heavy with strength, for a human woman to endure you. Such a bond is folly.”

But Tavros, undaunted, laughed low: “Do not speak of what you do not know, little one. Human lovers I have had, and not by force but by will. They sought me, and sought me still.”

Melissa frowned, troubled by his boldness: “These words do not honor you. They push me away.”

And Tavros bent, whispering as though confessing to the night: “Perhaps. Yet I do not repent my thought. For I see beauty in you – beauty to sing aloud in the agora. And also darker things, which I would speak only close, where no ear but yours might hear.”

But Melissa stepped back, resolute: “Prove yourself, then, not with boasts, but with study and respect for my father. This is not the speech we should share.”

Tavros straightened, but his eyes burned still, a flame both arrogant and desirous: “Too late. Already I have claimed victory.”

Melissa, cool as shaded marble, answered: “Once more, Tavros, you understand nothing. You do not yet know my people as you believe.”

The bull lowered his head, smiling with defiant tenderness: “Perhaps not. But I know you. For I see in your gaze the same fire that burns in me.”

Melissa arched her brow, half in jest, half in scorn: “Now you feign the lover, when boldness failed?”

But Tavros declared: “I am many things, Melissa. One does not exclude the other.” And as their words still clashed like bronze upon bronze, footsteps came ascending. Zeno, the gray-thoughted, arrived to the terrace. Melissa turned away, serene once more, and Tavros drew breath, steadying his storm. The lesson had yet to begin, yet both had learned much – whether to bind them or to part them, only the Fates would tell.