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You were hesitant of why exactly you’d suggested a journey to the Gate’s floral meadow. Residing just outside the city, there was a usually unoccupied meadow buzzing with abundant, prosperous life.
As to why you’d proposed such an arrangement; you’d assumed it was a way to get Orin out of the overwhelming, graphic temple.
Could it also have been a way show her the beauty of the world she so despised? You were unsure. Yet, despite Orin’s views, your lover hadn’t refused your request, to your thrill.
The two of you, upon arrival to the meadow, examined the prospect; Orin more diligently than you.
You found it beautifully breathtaking; tapestries of painted jewels scattered about the field. Essences of life fussed about your ears. You found the chirping of the birds to be a idyllic melody.
In what you considered alluring, Orin found an abomination; for all she’d never known was to perfect the kill. She’d never learned how to sustain the living.
Orin seemed more cautious and hesitant than anything. It was as if she moved a muscle, the pleasant aura around you would falter. Sensing discomfort in your lover, you wondered if this mission had been a mistake.
“It’s not you.” Orin affirmed, reflecting a poignant manner. The changeling stepped apologetically forward pressing her forehead against your own.
She was right, it never was.
You enjoyed Orin’s company, far more than you wished to admit. You knew Bhaal’s Chosen wasn’t always the brute the city frightfully rumored of.
In anticipation of Orin’ reaction, you waltzed a few steps further into the various greenery and flora.
You turned, to beckon the frozen woman to follow you. Orin nervously lifted her gaze to you, gaze akin to a wounded, frightful lamb. Orin never wished to disappoint you.
“It’s okay. You’re okay.” You assured her softly, tone syrupy slush.
The changeling lifted a leg and cautiously took a step forward into the field. A bee whirled past her ear, and Orin’s attention snapped towards the busy insect. She was acutely aware of every aspect of the meadow.
“Orin.” You called softly, directing a lamb.
“This has not been your most clever decision; bringing me here.” Orin interjected slowly, but she still crept forever faithfully towards you, as eager to please you just as she was Bhaal.
You didn’t respond to her statement, guilt bathing your emotions.
Orin offered you no smile of reassurance, her expression instead pulled to a detached manner. Her defenses were high on alert. You could tell. You figured if you could simply calm the woman, pieces would fall into place.
“The bees aren’t going to bite you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” You teased gingerly.
Orin winced in the beams of light shining over her visage, perhaps from spending hours on end in her god’s temple. She took a further step, making a beeline towards your exact location.
“I am not as vulnerable as you think me to be.”
She didn’t, however, seem to be enjoying the experience as much as you were.
“We can go back to the temple if you want.” You offered quickly, feeling rather sour at the thought of the date failing.
“It’s fine, I assure you.” Orin mumbled. She’d faced far greater torments in her lifetime. She’d survive this one too.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“You can tell me if you actually want to go back. I won’t be upset, I promise. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“I’m telling you I’ll be fine.” Orin hissed, stepping further towards you. Insects such as bees and crickets bustled around your lover’s calves and bare feet.
At this point in time, you’d been used to Orin’s flaring, unpredictable temper. You didn’t press her further. Instead, you changed the topic of discussion.
“When I was younger, my friends and I would make crowns in this meadow.”
“Would you like me to show you how to make one?” You questioned innocently, a childish gesture on your part.
“You may.”
In truth, you were aware the changeling had missed out on many adolescent moments. Instead of dolls, she’d had corpses to play with.
Orin never had the chance to be a child. The thought pained you more than you ever admitted aloud. So, you intended to make up some of those lost moments to her.
She deserved to know the peace of a child, if nothing else, at least.
You folded your legs, shifted to sit on the soft, supple grass. You patted a spot beside you, inviting Orin to join you. She surrendered, complying to your request.
Orin hesitantly followed up to your position, and plopped herself down beside you.
You welcomed the company, grinning at your companion.
You thought you remembered how to invent a crown, and you sheepishly wanted to make one for Orin. How pathetic you were. Old childhood habits, you guessed.
You wondered if she’d wear it. Even if only for a moment’s notice.
To your pleasure, the meadow was pleasantly rich with flowers. Likewise, the sky was bright, clear, and cloudless.
“Let me show you how to make one.” You purled, hoping she wouldn’t refuse now that the opportunity had resurfaced.
“Show me.” Orin whispered, tilting her head with keen interest towards you.
You were astonished at how swiftly Orin had agreed to such a childlike activity.
“Thank you, Orin.” You breathed, voice too mushy for Orin’s enjoyment.
“I genuinely appreciate you doing this for me. It means more than you can imagine.” You murmured, eyes bright with adoration.
Orin seemed uncomfortable by your sickly sweet choice of words. Considering her comfort, you paused your praises, at least for a moment. You then directed her moments with manageable instructions.
“It’s simple, really. Just get a longer stem, any flower will do.” You explained, guiding the Bhaalspawn’s palm to a cluster of asters.
You flusteredly recalled an aster symbolized affection. Despite knowledge that might’ve amused your lover, you were too embarrassed to express their meaning to her.
You, instead, absently picked another aster. The petals maintained a sensitive salmon tint, and you smiled to yourself, perhaps to disguise the embarrassing warmth that flushed your features.
You explored your surroundings. Lemon-gold daffodils, albino daisies, plum asters, and pallid lilacs lay scattered about.
Hope. Loyalty. Faith. Youth.
You collected several stems of each, and returned back to your partner. You flopped down next to Orin, and to your pleasure, she herself had plucked a few stems.
She’d collected dandelions and buttercups, with an occasional lotus and aster mixed in with the bunch. You chuckled, acknowledging her main choices consisted of common weeds.
She glanced towards you with interest as you began crafting the crown. You invented slits between the stems, threading them together into a firm hold. Using three stems, you knitted them together, similar to how you’d braid your lover’s hair in the more hazy mornings.
Orin followed your lead, needing no physical or verbal assistance as she, with skilled fingers, cleverly weaved piece after piece together.
You were impressed at how easily she’d intertwined such fragile, delicate stems together. Especially since the woman was so heavy-handed.
Orin seemed quite focused on her given task for being so unenthusiastic about going to the meadow in the first place.
“You’re doing very well for this being your first time making these.” You praised thoughtfully, grin tugging at your lips.
Orin scoffed, before proudly lifting her invention into your view, as if she were a toddler pridefully showing off a handmade craft to their mother.
The crown wasn’t awful. Wasn’t perfect in the slightest, but to not criticize or even drain her ego, you offered praise instead.
“It looks amazing.”
Orin’s instantly brightened gaze proved she appreciated the compliment. Throughout your history with the woman, you realized Orin was a glutton for genuine praise.
“What do you usually do after they’ve been made?” Orin questioned, as if the answer weren’t the most obvious in the world.
“Wear them, mostly. But you don’t have to wear mine if you don’t want to.”
Orin blinked and slowly scooted over to take the crown you’d made out of your hands. You permitted her to lift it, and as she did so, affectionate touches between the two of you mingled for a moment.
You thanked your partner once more for allowing this experience all the while creating a fond memory for the two of you. You absent-mindedly rubbed your thumb over Orin’s waxen knuckles, finding a moment to just enjoy her company.
Orin’s hands were clammy, but she had seemed to relax some since you first arrived. Lifting your own personal crown, Orin sighed before bowing her head, allowing you to center the garland onto her.
“All done.” You purred before falling with honeyed giggles into the velvety grasses.
Orin remained where she had been seated, as stiff and alert as ever. You reached for her arm, and she focused on your movements, her defensive walls up once more.
“Try to relax. No one is going to interrupt us. It’s just us, Orin. Just you and me.”
You traced delicate digits down your partner’s arm, attempting to soothe her. Once you’d reached her hand, you caressed her palm, grasped it firmly, and playfully pulled her down into the verdant grass.
Orin didn’t protest. She trusted you. And that was enough. You turned to look at her in the grass, lying on your side as chuckles escaped your lips. You peered at her. You embraced the moment, admiring what was yours.
Orin, with her glossy skin scattered with vermillion swirls. Her flaxen hair, silkily soft and well-tended to (thanks to you). Orin, with flesh armor so visceral it had caused many potential suitors to flee merely at the sight. (If she hadn’t slaughtered them in a whim, of course.) But to you, she was perfect.
You had brought Bhaal’s Chosen to her knees.
Orin exhaled, and you moved closer to her, pawing at her attire absently. Orin hummed, but she didn’t move to stop you. She’d never been too fond of your displays of affection. However, she’d grown to not mind it.
“Is there a time when you have to be back?” You whispered to your lover, lips ghosting over her ear.
“You are free to do as you wish. I haven’t been summoned.” Orin invited. You accepted.
“It’s about time we had a moment.” You admitted sheepishly, snuggling up against your lover’s side. Orin welcomed the attention, not pushing you away like she’d usually done in the temple.
You mumbled incoherently against Orin’s chest, having grown to not mind the rotting flesh.
For a moment, you were lost in thought. Your mind consciously travelled to the last time you’d been alone with Orin; which was certainly not in Bhaal’s temple.
You couldn’t be any less important to her there. It was there in which she treated you differently. Orin was more hostile than usual, dry, uninterested.
It hadn’t bothered you much before, but as you lay together with Orin in the grass, a question bubbled at your lips.
“Do you ever miss me, when you’re at the temple?” The words spilled from your lips, before you could even comprehend why you were asking such a question.
Orin’s expression, in a completely new sense, softened as she moved to grasp your chin. Firmly. She directed you to look at her before she spoke.
“Do you think I do not?” Orin asked, a genuine question.
“I don’t know. You treat me differently when we’re there.” You accused the changeling, with a soft tone, not wanting to ignite an argument.
“I am not ashamed of you.” Orin stated firmly, gripping your chin with more force than before, her milky irises boring into your own.
“I have never been.” She assured, tone harsher than before; the woman seemed frustrated.
Orin’s cold, bony thumb folded over your jawline, and she rested her elbows on the grass, expression relatively blank.
You tilted your head, gaze flicking back and forth from her chapped lips to her eyes. You were close enough to kiss her, and her breath tickled your nose.
“Promise?”
Orin assured your doubts with a promise, hesitant grin tugging at her own lips as she studied your intentions.
You believed her. And because of this, perhaps historians would deem you foolish for trusting Orin so effortlessly.
~~~
And so the two of you would rest in the meadow for another hour or so, you not keeping track of time.
Orin, of course, never let you out of her sight throughout the hour; and you, determined to help her relax, continued with your foolish whims.
Eventually she kissed you. Just once. To your amusement, and Orin’s embarrassment, she’d missed and instead kissed the corner of your mouth.
The two of you laughed, and even Orin smiled.
And once you and your lover had decided to return, Orin had almost forgotten to rid herself of your crown. Almost.