He liked to refer to it, in later years, as The Trouble.  It had a pleasing weight to it with capitals added, a dignity entirely at odds with the actual nature of the events.  It sounded like the crucible through which a boy passed to manhood, or a vast national struggle, with a hero emerging from the tumult to lead his battered fellows to victory.

It sounded better that way– noble, inspirational.  On the rare occasions when he removed the capitals, he knew that he wasn’t that hero.  At best, he was the guy who wandered off in the second act, rattled some chains out of curiosity, and got eaten.  In his most honest moments, he was the damn fool in the prelude whose thoughtless, selfish actions set it all in motion.

But those moments were rare.  Self knowledge, never his gift, would do him no good now.  She had never forgiven him, so there was no point in penance.  That became part of the legend, the tragic ending of The Trouble that the hero was left to shoulder bravely as he staggered off into the distance.  It was such a pretty picture that sometimes he even forgot that the burden was his.

This week’s Trifecta prompt calls for 33 to 333 words on the third definition of the word trou·ble:

He was almost in love with her. She was beautiful — God, so beautiful.  She moved like a cat, even during the daytime — strong, lithe, so powerful that he couldn’t help but watch her across the council hall.  He stared, even when the debate had stopped and the council chief was tapping his foot and waiting for him to respond.  Then she’d look, and her eyes would laugh and promise him he was forgiven.

She was beautiful in the daytime, but it was at dusk that he could hardly believe her.  As the light faded, her black skin would melt into the night and her gray eyes glowed.  It was like a communion with a god he barely knew.  He couldn’t turn away.

And yet.  She laughed, she smiled, she touched his hand.  She was the best company he could imagine, but there was still something in her he couldn’t reach.  At first he’d splashed in the shallows, then floundered deeper.  Still she laughed and smiled.  You could fall as far as you liked, he thought, spinning so deep you didn’t know which way to turn, and yet never reach the core of her, still slide right past the place where her secrets lived.

He wondered if they understood each other.  Was it different, if you were one of them?  Was there was some quiet sanctuary deep in the heart of Maj Malai, far from human eyes, where they let the secrets fall, where she was nothing but herself?  Or was she an enigma, even there?

Welcome to this week’s Trifecta challenge!  This week’s prompt (to be written between 33 and 333 words) was enig·ma noun \i-ˈnig-mÉ™, e-\:

1: an obscure speech or writing
2: something hard to understand or explain
3: an inscrutable or mysterious person

Thanks again to everyone stopping by!

He’d moved out of sight, but he couldn’t escape the sound, the distant thunder of stone falling on stone, of walls toppling to the ground.  It was all day — all night.  Didn’t these conquerors sleep?

He waited, and watched.  Watched for survivors, travelers returning to the City unaware that the world had changed in their absence.

He watched for survivors, but that wasn’t what he saw.  With each carrying rumble, he saw the City.  He saw the bright mosaics he’d played next to as a child.  Gone.  He saw the fountain where he’d told Asiri he loved her.  Gone.  He saw the sunlit columns of the temple.  Gone.  His eyes watered, and he told himself it was the sharp summer wind.

He’d thought the thunder was the worst of it, but in the end, he was wrong.  What was worse was when the thunder stopped, and there was only silence and the wind on the plains.

This week’s prompt from Trifecta Writing Challenge. This week’s challenge was to write between 33 and 333 words using the third definition of the word thun·der (noun \ˈthÉ™n-dÉ™r\)

1: the sound that follows a flash of lightning and is caused by sudden expansion of the air in the path of the electrical discharge
2: a loud utterance or threat
3: bang, rumble

It’s good fun, this prompt business!

“So,” Raicha started.  “Sahmin Bahlaru.”  It was the first time since the wedding that she’d had the chance to talk to Camilia privately, and her curiosity was killing her.

Camilia smiled a little, and took a sip of her wine.  A bead of condensation ran down the side of the glass.  “Charming, isn’t he?”  Camilia’s head turned toward where he was standing by the fountain, talking to one of her half-brothers.

“He is,” she agreed dubiously, looking at him.  He was, certainly.  Pleasant, acceptably good looking, of excellent birth, entirely appropriate in every respect.  Camilia’s choice had relieved and disconcerted the nobility in equal measure, depending on how well they really knew her.  She could see out of the corner of her eye that Camilia’s nose was wrinkling in amusement.

She recognized that expression. Her suspicion deepened.  “Camilia, what are you up to?”

Camilia’s mouth turned up, but she shook her head.  “Raicha, really.”  She motioned lightly for one of the servants to adjust the awning above them where the sun had moved around the edge.

One of the late Emperor’s lesser wives swept past, looking as pinched as she had ever since Camilia’s coronation.  A sudden thought struck Raicha.  She put her head back against the chair, and touched her sweating wineglass to her cheek.  It was probably marring her paints, but it felt good all the same.  She tilted her head.  “I’m told Aila Sino is taking a second husband to administer the estates she just inherited.”  It wasn’t common for a woman to take multiple husbands, but…

Aha!  That earned her a slanting glance from those sharp green eyes, pregnant with mischief.  It was as good as a confidence, that look.  Raicha started to laugh softly.  “To your wedding, my dear.”  Camilia, still twinkling, solemnly clinked her glass against Raicha’s.  Raicha subsided into her chair, grinning.   They lay in companionable silence while Raicha began to review all the scandalously inappropriate men of their acquaintance in her head.

Second prompt!  This time a little fiction, in response to this week’s Trifecta Writing Challenge. This week’s prompt called for use of the third meaning of the word  confidence (noun), defined as:

3 a: a relation of trust or intimacy <took his friend into hisconfidence>

   c : support especially in a legislative body <vote ofconfidence>