The Light-Well
by Jonathan Quince
Thursday, July 22, 2004 12:00:36
Light flooded the room from the sky windows high above. It seemed almost liquid, turning the air below the high ceiling to a luminous pool of water in which to bathe the house's occupants. The room was adorned with minimalist furniture and decoration; the stark emptiness only amplified the light's effects, making light itself into a feature of the house's architecture. The cohesion of the whole picture, with light used as brick and mortar to build a celestial dwelling, left question in the viewer's mind as to whether the light's effects were intentional, and moreover, whether such a room could indeed be built by design at all; for such fluid, almost organic beauty is usually considered within the ken of Nature alone.
A single object sat on the large table beneath the skylights. Though it brightened the room, it also seemed somehow to dim it by comparison; for the object shone brilliantly, casting rays of light out into the vast space around it that seemed to cut the space itself, penetrating it, dividing it even while fulfilling its purpose and shooting new life and energy into it. The object was no bigger than a large man's fist; yet it drew the eye more than any other feature of the room, and with it, the room seemed complete, as if wearing a crown.
I was standing lazily at the edge of the room, leaning comfortably against the stone wall and letting my eyes trace the paths of the light as it reflected in countless different directions. Time had been lost to me as I stood there, musing, immersed in that singular bliss and glory available only in the rare presence of true beauty. Some hours must have passed as I sat and stood at various places in the room, allowing the light to bathe me from different angles as I swam deep inside myself through a sea of meditative thought; I realized that the hour must be approaching noontime when I heard the sharp click of the back door being opened.
Visitors are seldom welcome in my house, and intruders would never reach two steps into my realm as long as it is guarded by twin sharp-eyed Akita dogs. The new arrival could be only one person, I knew — one whom I had been expecting, secretly anticipating all morning. I ambled over to the room's large windows, casually but deliberately letting my back face the entrance where she would appear at any moment now.
My knowledge was confirmed by the distinctive ring of her gait upon the house's flagstone and tile floors, then by the faint trace of her scent and the soft sigh of her breathing as she entered the room. Without checking my watch, I knew its hands must lay one on top of the other in their twice-daily embrace. A quick study, she was, and painstakingly punctual: Vivian would arrive at precisely the moment I was expecting her.
“Good afternoon, Vivian, my sweet girl.”
I greeted her by name without turning. As I spoke, I could feel her curtsey from across the room behind me; it was a habit of hers I had found too quaint and endearing to break her of, and besides, I genuinely appreciated the courtesy of her intentions.
As she came up behind me, I spun on heel to catch her in my arms and kiss her; she melted into my arms as if she existed to belong there, nestled with her lithe body held to mine, and she wished to stay in my embrace for eternity. I returned the emotion in kind, though somewhat more subtly than she was capable; I had missed her dearly. It having been quite some time since I had seen her last, we took to each other rather over-eagerly in conversation.
She updated me on current events in her life, on her thoughts and her musings, and on the progress she had made in her training even while absent from my tutelage. Presently, her eyes turned back to the object on the table, which must surely have caught her attention immediately upon entering the room; and she asked me what it was.
“That, my dear girl, is a light-well. The second one to be made, in fact, though the first one to be seen by anyone other than myself and the angel who sits at my hand. Take a closer look if you wish.”
She bent over the table to examine it at my invitation; her hand reached out as if to touch it and then stopped, hovering inches away, as if she would out of awe content herself with running her fingers through its aura. I spoke softly from behind her.
“The light-well is an invention of mine for the new paradigm, a contraption of lenses, curved mirrors, and cut crystals arranged just so as to gather the light in one place and to spread it. Although it gives the appearance that it is a source of light, this is an illusion; instead of holding its own light, which would require a depletable internal power source, the light-well gathers the ambient light of the room, amplifying and redistributing unused radiance that would otherwise be lost to the shadows. It is an exercise in synergy between art, useless beauty, and elegant engineering; it is an age-old tradition created for the glory of everything that is just being born. So simple it is in its construction, yet so intricate in its design: Like that artwork known as the human body, close examination of it will reveal wondrous hidden complexities.”
We spoke for awhile of the light-well, discussing the secrets of its design. She had apt commentary on its aesthetics, indeed, on the values of aesthetics in general; and I enjoyed a rare time for intelligent conversation with my beautiful little acolyte. Eventually, Vivian's thoughts turned to the practicality of the device.
“So, do you mean to sell it, then? It looks quite marketable to wealthy collectors. It is as a beautiful little novelty as I have ever seen.”
My response was soft and suddenly heavy with anger — anger not towards Vivian, but towards the world at large. “Not at all! Think, Vivian, of those who would buy it: Politicians, businessmen, layabout heirs who have no appreciation of beauty but wish to impress their similarly worthless compatriots. Like all the deepest beauty you see here, the light-well is not made for public consumption. Though it is just a trinket of metal and gemstones, it is an object of wonder, and therefore sacred.”
Though low in volume, my voice rang like cold iron against the stone walls of the room. “That is your first lesson for today. Learn it well.”
Her voice in response was soft, almost plaintive. “But, such beauty! Can it not be shared?”
My smile was harsh, cold, markedly less than merciful or humanitarian. “Oft have I considered traveling back in time to whisper dark persuasions in the ear of Shakespeare himself, explaining to him the world's corruption and commanding him, in the name of his appreciation for his own art, to never set a word to paper for a public undeserving of such beauty.” I caressed Vivian's cheek with my fingertips, capturing the first tear that broke free from the well of her eye and bringing it to my lips to taste. “I have not, little duckling, because I have a great love for this world and a great hope for humanity.”
With soft, deliberate motions, I carefully placed my right hand on Vivian's shoulder and grasped her right wrist in my left. With that one tiny and delicate wrist held firmly in my hand, I spun her body around clockwise until she was leaning face-forward to the table; I pressed her body down across its flat expanse, with her face so close to the light-well that she must close her eyes lest she be blinded by its brilliance, and twisted her arm behind her back. I kept twisting until I could feel the muscles of her arm stretch their limit and she yielded forth a small whimper of pain. Running my other hand lazily over the curve of her ass, I massaged her rear for a few moments, savoring, before slipping my hand between her legs.
By the tantalizing hint let slip by her scent, I knew she had been wet for some time; but as I slid my fingers straight into the neat folds of her labia, I felt her cunt juices flood suddenly over my hand. Holding her arm pinioned with one hand and working her own nether light-well with my other, I leaned over to speak softly in her ear.
“Now, my pretty thing,” I purred, “it is time for a different lesson. And this one shall be wholly private….”