Her Citrus Scent

The setting autumn sun ushered in the nocturnal wildlife that emerged from their burrows. A choir of crickets chirping in unison of the occasional hoots of observant owls. A dim light in the abandoned cabin contrasted the dark of the woodland and the city down the trail. It stood as the last remaining structure on the beaten path. A haggard man stared blankly at the wall. The fireplace cast its warm shadow against him, revealing his glazed amber eyes. How long he stared at the wall was beyond memory.

Morbid thoughts consumed him, slowly wasting away his night with a near-empty flask. A closed journal lay next to him with scribbled ideas and reflections of the world he observed. Hundreds of years came and went with knowledge never seeing the light of day. On the last page, he’d written his final words at the chance someone would stumble upon his corpse.

Blood trickled along his wrists with wounds still stinging from the blade he’d run through. He let out a deep breath, eyes watering to old memories after glimpsing the dull, bloodied dagger. He was reluctant to act, though nothing seemed to matter anymore. Feeling along the object in his grasp, he gazed upon a simple, old-fashioned silver ring; Its etchings dried in the cold red substance.

“I gave it all up for a dream that could never be,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”

He fixated on the ring while listening to the crackling fire. Its radiant warmth cast against his skin, contrasting the cold air. The early arrival of winter seemed much crueler than usual. His relative peace would be disturbed by a rallying mob approaching the isolated cabin.

“There goes dying in peace,” he sighed, pocketing the ring.

The man stood up, making his way toward the tattered window curtain. His hair flowed past his shoulders with an unkempt salt and pepper beard. His gray henley shirt was riddled with holes at the hem and olive fatigues ripped by the knees. All beyond any sense of dignified presentation.

The scruffy man looked out the window, finding a small mob armed with torches, shovels, and, likely, guns. He strained his amber eyes, gauging their numbers. He rolled his bloodied sleeve down, dabbing the blood flowing toward his wrist before he walked toward the flimsy door. He noted people drifting to the sides when he swung the door open.

“Good evening, fellas,” the man greeted half-heartedly.

He recognized the heavy-set middle-aged man with the patchy beard leading them. His scowl matched amongst the many glaring at the hapless squatter. That same scowl he remembered before fleeing the bar earlier that night.

“You’re the bar owner,” he continued. He tried to play it cool, sensing the overwhelming discontent. “Derek, was it? I—imagine you aren’t here for a wellness check.”

“We want you out of here,” Derek demanded with a notably thick southern drawl.

The audible grunts and agreements followed his demand in the crowd, behavior eye-rolling to the squatter as he maintained reasonable graces in their interaction.

“I’ll leave at sunrise,” the squatter hoped to come to a concession. “I really don’t want to cause any more problems than there already is.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe you shouldn’t have shown up at all.”

“We want you out now!” someone shouted, raising his pitchfork.

The grizzled squatter observed, troubled by their frenzied reaction. Everywhere the lone man went resulted in the familiar sight; Thus, belligerent hostility wasn’t a surprise. But he’d still feel a little bothered by the misguided disdain from society. Yet, his time in the city was peaceful until the events at the bar.

“I don’t understand,” he spoke up, shaking his head to mask his confusion. “I—”

“You’ve done a number to poor ol’ Joe and Freddy!” Derek interrupted. “One of them had to get their arm amputated. You wanderers just come by and do as you please!”

“They wouldn’t back off, so I defended myself like anyone else would.”

“You think you’re slick, huh? Just because you’ve got magical powers and all that nonsense—”

“Please—I just want to be left in peace.”

“You either get out now, or we can hang you in the city plaza.”

While tensions flared beyond his scope, the wanderer watched his surroundings, expecting those in wait to spring at him. His level-headedness once again did well to hide his increased anxiousness.

“Please,” the wanderer maintained his tone. “There’s no reason for this.”

“It was people like you that brought those things from those godforsaken portals,” Derek snarled. “It was people like you that killed the people I loved.”

“Then—Tell these two who are about to lunge at me to back down.”

Derek’s glare softened, surprised by his keen observation. He cleared his throat, unwilling to abide by his request. Everyone else seemed reluctant to make a move on the sorcerer.

“You’re not going to tell them to back down?” The wanderer’s question was answered with the non-compliant nod of the bar owner. His attackers proceeded clumsily, half-hearted in their attempt to strike him down.

His stern eyes looked directly into Derek’s, finding more hesitance than before. He summoned a plasma sword seamlessly from the air around his hand. A well-timed step backward gave him room to cut off the hand of one, following up with a sliced into the back of the other. The would-be assailants collapsed into an agonized stupor while the horrified crowd looked on.

“This is my final warning,” he insisted.

“There’s one of you and plenty of us,” the bar owner’s voice trembled, raising his torch in unison with the others.

“And throw your lives away? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Someone from the crowd pressed through the crowds, drawing their pistol. A single bullet left the chamber when the man pulled the trigger, but an unseen barrier deflected the shot away from the mob. The gunman trembled, holstering his gun upon seeing the wanderer’s stony gaze. Another pair of attackers swung at him with baseball bats, but he tossed them aside with the flick of his wrist.

“Are we done?” the wanderer asked.

Derek snickered, seeing no one else would step forward. The distant trotting of a horse silenced the commotion as it raced up the hill. Everyone turned to see who would emerge, but Derek knew immediately, gulping audibly.

A young woman on a pale horse emerged from the dark path. She exuded a graceful beauty with a commandeering presence. The first thing the wanderer noticed were her silver eyes and the glimpse she gave him. A dark-gray hooded shawl covered her long silver hair and the upper body of her snug turquoise dress. Her skin complexion gave a radiant glow, standing out from the crowd of her familiars. He noticed a unique amulet containing an exotic, cyan-colored jewel.

Her ethereal presence impressed upon him as he watched her hop off her horse. She stood at 5’6”, with a slender figure further flattered by her dress. She walked through the heart of the lynch mob, looking around before meeting Derek. The wanderer watched closely, their eyes meeting as though she felt his scrutinizing gaze.

“E—En—” The bartender’s voice trembled.

“What’s the meaning of this?” She asked with a collected facade. Her tone contained hints of the typical southerner with soft English undertones.

“That wanderer caused us a lot of grief.”

The woman glanced over at the wanderer with the same peculiar shine in her eyes.

“Is that so?” she responded. “Wanderer or not, this isn’t how we conduct ourselves when it comes to pressing matters. What’s this about hanging him? Since when have we done those sorts of things?”

She sighed when she didn’t get a response.

“Everyone, go home!”

The lynch mob disbanded, hurriedly taking away their injured. The mysterious woman held her unwavering glare on Derek as their numbers dwindled. Another tired sigh escaped her glossy lips, softening her gaze. However, it wasn’t any different from the unsavory expression she held through the ordeal.

“I’ll discuss this with you tomorrow, Derek. Have a pleasant evening.”

They watched the torches fade into the city, enjoying the silence together. The wanderer furrowed his brows when she slowly looked over her shoulder. The mysterious woman replaced her scowl with an inviting smile. For whatever reason, the wanderer felt much more at ease.

“Aren’t you mister popular?” she broke character with a lighthearted chuckle. “Please excuse old Derek, he—hasn’t had great experiences with wanderers. Although, who has? Am I right?”

“I, uh—Thank you?” His words came as awkwardly as they came. His tone slowly settled into something more monotonous.

“So, what brings a wanderer to these parts?”

“And who are you?”

She gave pause, digesting his cold tone.

“Ah, of course! Enne Bouvire, I’m the protector of this city. And, your name?”

The wanderer didn’t answer, maintaining his mental distance. But it was during the brief, awkward silence she assessed him. A sadness dwelling within, the kind that pushes one to the edge. His alcoholic breath overwhelmed her. She kept that to herself although, the lingering smell of blood troubled her.

“I get it,” she sighed. “You don’t have to say anything if you’re not comfortable. But, may I come in at least? It’s freezing!”

The wanderer nodded as though unsure whether to do so before showing her in. He tried to avert his eyes from her, but she caught his glances a few times already. He could smell her wafting citrus scent when she passed through. She absorbed the oppressive atmosphere, walking over to the fireplace to warm her hands. The wanderer closed the door with the last burst of air coursing through the poorly insulated cabin.

“You’ve been cooped up here this whole time?” she asked.

Again, no response.

She glanced at a bloodied dagger and a flask by the side of the withered couch. She had a general idea of what happened before Derek’s arrival. It was enough to go on, but she didn’t know how to bring it up. Everything came together as she decidedly spun her body in his direction. She slid her hood back, revealing her protruding Elven ears hidden under her long, flowing hair.

“Uh, you okay?” her tone softened.

“You’re an elf?” the wanderer winced.

“I’m a half-elf, but I’m sure that’s not the problem.”

“It’s not. But the fact you exist—”

“Means I’m a product of forbidden love. To the Ethoxians, tainted blood courses through my veins. Should I feel ashamed if this is who I was born? Why bind ourselves to ridiculous rules, anyway? Love is supposed to be blind, no?”

“I suppose.” He shook his head, watching her take a few more steps.

“But, enough of that,” she continued, having examined her surroundings for long enough. “Why stay in such a rundown place? Such an admirable person with a breadth of knowledge—”

“Admirable person?” he scoffed. Her words were enough to tear down his cold exterior. The wanderer cleared his throat, seeing she returned a wink.

“Now—I feel a little more welcomed. You should smile more often; maybe the city won’t think you’re some blood-thirsty bogey man.”

Her warm tone was alluring enough for him to play to her tune. She hoped he would reciprocate sooner. She glimpsed the worn appearance of his journal. Her heart filled with questions as a childish gasp escaped her lips. Such excitability eased the wanderer as she awaited his response.

“How far have you traveled?” she asked.

“A great distance,” he answered. The half-elf glanced at him through the side of her cold gray eyes. “I’ve stuck to the shores most of the time. Inland is just no-man’s-land.”

“It’s embarrassing to admit, but I haven’t left this little city of mine in a while. And to think there was more land only centuries ago.”

“You—Aren’t missing much.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” she chuckled. “No… The world always changes, whether or not you play a part. No, not having a part makes us spectators. Otherwise, people are quite malleable. Where opportunities present themselves, hope is always in the cards.”

“Malleable? Maybe in the matter of self-interest, but people don’t care as long as they get by. Fairness, ethics—”

“Allow a society to thrive,” she interrupted with a burst of passion before collecting herself. “You seem so bitter by that fact. People aren’t as hive-minded as you think. “

“If you saw half the shit I’ve seen out there, maybe you’d have a clue.”

Enne perched herself against the table’s edge, biting her lip as she unraveled him. His bitterness was present in his voice, an eyebrow-raising response for her. It wasn’t long before he regretted his sudden burst, but she didn’t mind. She wanted to see what kind of person he was, although it took little effort with the alcohol’s mild effects.

“I—Shouldn’t have said that,” he mumbled.

“And why not?” she reassured without judgment. “A spirited debate is good for the soul. We can gauge where our beliefs stand. And if I may, you are definitely a cynic.”

“Oh? How can you tell?”

His sarcastic remark was quickly met by her contained chuckle. Everything she did just added more bewilderment to her sudden presence. Little did he realize how charming his awkwardness was to her. She noted his rough appearance with a horrid stench the abandoned home did well to mask.

“It—Doesn’t seem like you had a shower in days,” she commented as respectfully as she could. It didn’t last long, however. “Just look at you. You’re a mess. That long hair of yours is full of split ends, your beard is all over the place, and you—smell… awful.”

His heavy eyes averted in sheer embarrassment.

“I mean, no offense.”

“A little too late for that,” he responded, his eyes wandering toward the fireplace.

“Uh, there are plenty of rooms available in the city, you know?”

“I’d rather not cause any more problems.”

“Cause problems? Considering how they’ve treated you, I’d say you’re rather lenient.”

The wanderer turned to her after feeling her eyes scrutinizing everything about him. Her curiosity was of the dangerous variety, yet something he found endearing. He realized how he’d been pushing back against her, but she crept in with little effort.

“You don’t even know the whole story,” he insisted. “What if I would’ve killed one of them? Would you treat me any different?”

“What matters is what you actually did,” she countered. “Indeed, you maimed them, but it was out of self-defense. You didn’t want to hurt anyone… You’re not that kind of man.”

“You heard from that far?”

Enne tapped at her pointed ears with a smile. His eyes looked away once more, reddened by a mix of alcohol and embarrassment.

“You think I’m cosplaying?”

“What? N—No. I just—”

His words trailed into silence.

“How about this,” she carried on the conversation with vigor. “You can stay at my home for now—Like a guest of honor!”

“A guest of honor?”

“It’s rare a wanderer comes around. You must have a plethora of knowledge you can share with a maiden like myself.”

“What use would it be to you? You’re an Ethoxian—”

“A proud half-elf! Don’t lump me with those cretins!”

“Whatever. You’re a knowledgeable bunch. You probably know more than I could understand.”

“Sure! Concepts we learn, but not much real-world experience. That alone makes you valuable! Besides, that old library doesn’t have anything of note… Yet you waltzed on in.”

“You’ve been keeping an eye on me?”

“Private eyes are watching you,” Enne sang melodically. “Wanderers don’t come around these parts often, so someone is bound to say something.”

“Ah, maybe that’s it then. You’re just making an educated guess. If you knew I was in the area, you probably would’ve found me sooner.”

“Eh. Well—”

“So, when you heard about the mob.” Her face froze when he kept explaining.

“Now, wait! I did hear about a suspicious person at the library. So put two and two together, it’s fine—”

“Tell me, Enne,” he interrupted her rising panic. “What is it you want from me?”

“If it’s true, then—I’m sure you found something of value.”

“Not a thing.”

“That’s a damned lie! Wanderers innately know what they seek. It’s part of their intuition, right?”

“That’s a myth.”

Her shoulders sunk forward, pouting in annoyance.

“Look, you seem well-educated,” he continued tiredly. “There’s nothing in that library worth salvaging—Not for me, at least. You’d have a better chance of getting information from a merchant or some other traveler. I’m sure they trade books you can’t find in the library.”

“Still, it doesn’t change—”

“I was just there to kill time. Nothing else! I just want to be left alone.”

How can I convince him not to go through with his act? she wondered, glimpsing his bloodied cuff.

Enne postured herself with a subtle perk of her legs crossed. Her downcast eyes remembered the red glint of the blade’s edge. The crackling fire filled their silence as she gazed into his tired amber eyes when he returned his thoughts toward it. She wondered how he felt: the despair, the pain, and the uncertainty he felt while being alone in the world.

“Telling by the look in your eyes…” she spoke. The wanderer looked toward her again; this time her eyes pierced into the depths of his soul. “You seek something genuine.”

Enne knew he wasn’t the typical wanderer; he wasn’t heartless. She walked toward him as he staggered to take a few steps back. Her inviting gaze followed with a nod of unspoken acknowledgment.

“You’re not the villain that’s often described in the old books,” she continued.

“You don’t know that,” he responded.

“I don’t have to. Come on, where’s your sense of adventure? With our combined forces, we can make a difference.”

“I’m just a nobody—Like the title of a wanderer entails. I’m just here, pissing away my night.”

“You say that, but you’re always a somebody in someone else’s eyes.”

Enne chuckled, placing her hands on his shoulders with a smile that melted his frigid heart; The kind that only came a few times in his two hundred years plus existence. Such a gesture evoked locked-away memories of better days. For the first time in a while, he felt genuinely welcomed as warmth coursed through his body. The feeling quickly sunk upon realizing his hands along her slim waist. He retracted, although she didn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah, I think you and I will get along just fine,” She caressed along his shoulders. “I know I won’t convince you to come with me now, but please consider my offer.”

The wanderer kept his silence before she slipped past him.

“I’ll be waiting, wanderer,” she smiled.

“How are you so sure I’ll show up?” The wanderer questioned.

“A wanderer typically seeks a way to gain leverage over their world, right? Knowledge being the key? There’s much my city has to offer. Perhaps the way you see the world might change.”

“You sure think the best of people you meet….”

Enne flashed a mischievous smirk. Her gray eyes glowed from the fireplace when she turned toward him. She captivated him with her grace and warmth that oozed a particular familiarity. His curiosity grew voracious, wondering what her intent was. She shrugged her shoulders before leaning against the withered door frame.

“It’s—just a hunch,” she answered.

“Of course,” the wanderer said.

Maybe—There’s something worth looking at, he convinced himself.

“I’ll be waiting for you—”

“A—Alejandro,” he stuttered.

She poked her head through the door with a playful wink before shutting it.

Pressed against the door, Enne clasped her hands against her heart. Her solemn smile remained while looking to the dimly lit city. Alejandro sat by the fireplace, holding the knife before tossing it behind the sofa. The wanderer nodded along, thinking about what she said. When he looked under his bloodied sleeves, his wounds were gone. He winced, glancing toward the door with a baffled stare.

The musky scent didn’t smell as bad anymore since her sweet citrus scent lingered.

I remember the inception of the story began here.
Specifically Enne and Alejandro's first meeting.
The meeting of two worlds on a fateful night, contrasting energies that define the story.
Admittedly the context changed quite a bit, even as far as the dialogue went.
Thanks to Bubble's and Qi's input, I reflected a bit more on what had to be done.
Feel free to leave a comment and like!
Thanks for reading and hopefully you'll come along for the journey! :3