They first meet two thousand years ago
A raw sun burns a hole through an Egyptian blue sky. She dances for him in a palace of fire . Her magnificent body is slick with oil and clad in a costume of silk and veils. There are twenty other women chosen for their perfection and their beauty but he sees only her. She wordlessly becomes his beneath a velvet sky studded with stars.
In Byzantium they are lovers. Rich, proud and aloof aristocrats, they undress each other in the candlelight and lie upon jewelled pillows beneath a ceiling of pure gold. He ties her wrists and ankles.
In Venice they pass each other at a masked ball. They brush hands but are unaware of each other’s presence.
He wears her brightly coloured favour, perfumed with her love, at a joust. His opponent’s lance spills his crimson blood over it, staining it forever.
She poses for him at the dawn of the Renaissance, her delicious nipples hardening beneath the scrutiny of his painter’s gaze. Centuries later, with the storm clouds of war gathering over Europe, she will pose again. exquisite elegance and style for the cover of Vogue.
He aches for her in Versailles where she is the renowned princess of another and never spares him a second glance.
She lives with him in eighteenth century England, the gorgeous muse for his wild, romantic poetry. enrapturing and bewitching London with her brown-eyed, pale skinned beauty.
They gallop across the baking red earth of central Spain on white stallions. He composes a flamenco dance to her in his head. The horses hooves and his heartbeat mark out the rhythm.
And here, in the early years of the twenty-first century, almost aware of the silver thread that has bound them through history, they are separated by circumstance. They wonder at the coincidence of name and the undercurrent of desire. Yet they are locked on different paths..
They will be one again. In some other, future time.
This is their destiny