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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
"You are a beautiful tragedy," Cael whispers, brushing the bangs away from her face, "Ready to unfold."
She stares at him with a mixture of fear and fury. They are alone in a void of white. Nobody can help her, and she doesn't attempt to escape.
His silver hair sways with the wind.
It hurts. His gentle indifference hurts.
His immaculate armor is unstained with the deaths of Godheim, yet she knows their despair is embedded in its gleam.
She thinks she might hate him.
(She thinks she does not.)
The cold is burning her face, shattering any semblance of familiarity in this scene.
She wishes his eyes would show any trace of remorse or pain for his actions. Any guilt at the misery he brought in this land.
Cael pretends he wants to get her back home safely, but she remembers how many times she lost herself in the freezing tundra, meeting her demise at the kisses of the Glacial butterflies.
What a liar.
His deep, infinite abyss eyes look at her shaking form, unwavering.
"I know it is unfair," he continues, as if he could read her mind, "The point of life is to grow through this unjust world. You may accuse and resent me, but you are making your own choices at the end of the day. Free."
"I am choosing my own Hell," she barks bitterly.
Cael shakes his head. His eyes seem to glitter.
"You are leading yourself through Hell to reach Paradise." he corrects.
"And yet you try to stop me."
Something flashes in his gaze.
She recalls thinking Cael is akin to a porcelain doll. Perfect in and out. Never too much, never too less. Emotions locked away to never affect his mission.
But this is somehow wrong, isn't it ? If he doesn't care, then why did he come to her ? Why is he allowing her to live and love and lose and disrupt his plan and always keep watching gently over her ? Why are his eyes, those profound amethysts that never seem to start and never to end, flickering like the moon's reflection on raging waters ?
Perhaps she's as much a liar as he is. Because the man standing before her, never getting mad, ready to accept every inch of her wrath, is anything but indifferent.
"Fate is cruel," she whispers.
Cael smiles. It feels like praise. It feels a little bit like himself.
"This is why humans are the most magnificent beings to dare to defy it with their inextinguishable hearts."
She breathes in deeply. Cael's hand leaves her hair. His armor becomes one with the snow. He looks like a ghost, a fantastical creature from another realm. He takes a step backward, gaze holding hers, yet inexorably disappearing.
"You are a beautiful tragedy," he repeats, "I can only hope your genre changes before it is too late."
She watches him blend with the scenery. He is like rain, she thinks, whenever you believe to reach it it fades in your grasp. She wonders if she will ever understand Cael.
She is rightfully bitter at him.
Somehow, she finds she does not blame him.
✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧
"You are a beautiful tragedy," she whispers, holding Clarence's face in her hands with the gentleness of one carrying a unique treasure, "Who has unfolded all of its pages."
The Archmage blinks slowly, like a cat. Resting against the maple tree, he is barely awake. Even as she kneels, cradling his jaw, his sapphire eyes droop and fight against sleep. She is losing him. She can see the end of their journey coming near.
She refuses it. The stars may have repeatedly told her the truth, she prays until the end. She knows it will never come close to being enough. Thoughts don't change the world. Only actions can.
All they can do is travel the universe to the twilight of their story.
All they can do is bathe in each other's warmth and speak fragments of their beings. She longs for those memories to fill his dreams the day Clarence falls asleep forever.
With another slow blink, he raises his hand. Carefully, he picks a stray maple leaf from her hair. She almost cries at the gesture.
"Know," she continues, voice breaking, "That the stars are testimonies to your epilogue."
Clarence hums. He lets her speak her part. When silence stretches on, he breathes softly.
"I do not care for the stars," he says, putting the leaf on her knee, "I survived because of you. I fought for you. Truly, your gaze upon my story is enough. I do not need more."
And isn't it the worst thing in the world ? For the man she cares for in more ways than one, for whom she unknowingly traveled in time again and again and again and again for until she found him at last. The truth. The cold, soul-wrenching truth.
"You are a beautiful tragedy," she says, tears dripping down her chin, "And those never have happy endings."
His eyes are soft. Understanding. He isn't pleading for hope nor salvation, because he is aware he can never obtain neither. Her fingertips tremble. Her guts hold the guilt of sharing a piece of herself like never before, shaping one of the most precious bond of her existence, with the one she cannot save.
"I'm sorry," she chokes.
"I think," he starts, a small smile on his lips - so wise and so old and so lonely already - "It is time for the fairytale to go home."
