Sanpha, watch over us (An Ida x F!Leith short)

this was written as a challenge, under an hour.

Their paths had crossed again on a day when the sun dipped below the horizon, and the moon reigned over the sky, casting its pale glow on the world below; on the world that Ida had come to know to mean more than rocks and trees, now including the slope of a nose and the curve of a hip. Lady Leith, lost in her thoughts, found herself seeking refuge beneath an ancient willow, a sacred space where the presence of love was ever palpable for the inhabitants of Riven, who sought such things in the face of everything horrid. Summer was fading now, the chill of the breeze enveloping the hesitance that lived within them both. Here, Ida watched as Leith ran fingers over her lips, contemplating. It had been only a month since they parted on that mission, where everything went wrong and blood had colored their clothes with rust and stain, and yet the kiss they had shared in the face of death had washed it all away.

Would she remember? Was it nothing to her?

Would nothing change?

It was there, beneath the weighing branches, that Leith's eyes met Ida’s again, and it was as if time stood still, and the universe conspired to bring their hearts together, yanking, violently, refusing to settle for a hazed dream behind closed eyes.

In that moment, the weight of their yearning pressed against their chests, like the longing for a season that had yet to arrive.

"Your cherry blossom lips, dewed with the honey I fed to you beneath the tombs of Oakweth,” Ida let her voice float on a cold wind, tender and tentative, “away from the pressures of what yesterday had wrought. How I miss the taste of them." Ida smiled as she approached, hiding her trembling hands with a voice as delicate as the branches that she pushed aside to venture closer.

Leith laughed, her heart caught in her chest. “Your poems had a way of making me… survive.”

“So I hoped. I couldn’t imagine a world-”

“We lived.”

“We did.” And as Ida stepped closer, her hand reaching out to gently touch Leith’s cheek, a surge of energy coursed through their veins, igniting a flame that could not be extinguished.

"Lady Leith, my persimmon. I yearn for autumn in your arms," Ida confessed, half poem, whole truth, her voice trembling with raw desire. “Have me to hold, as I will with you. For whatever time we have, for forever; for now."

In that moment, beneath the sacred tree, their lips met once more, sealing their vows in a violent kiss that trancendended any spoken or written word. Their love, forged in the crucible of yearning, would endure, unyielding and steadfast, like the ancient goddess of union who presided over their love.