Samuel would later remember that time in her rooms in the tower flowed past without reason or meaning. It might have been the longest night of his life—he would like it if it were.
Their time in each other's arms at the window held joy and amazement. Beneath the joy, of course, was trepidation and beneath the amazement was uncertainty. He moved on a smooth surface on which he tried to hold on to his balance, dignity, and pride. And Themis, he thought, was doing much of the same. Although he suspected that she was braver than him.
Samuel looked with disbelief at the light in her eyes and her high and beautiful brow. Tonight it was free of worry and constriction. It made him preemptively guilty to imagine it overflowing with sorrow. Nothing he had accomplished in his life from the days of his ill-begotten youth prepared him for falling in love again. He fought, at the very bottom of his heart, not to resist it.
All the time they did not have in his office was now here for them to take. They found themselves after a long while in her bedroom. He sat on the edge of her bed, having already taken off his shoes, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat. Themis was somewhere in the room around him. Samuel could feel her and hear her movements, although he was in this moment not looking at her. He observed his hands. They had laid his waistcoat aside and now undid with technical precision each of the buttons of his shirt. The room around him was warm and tight, seemed smaller than it was. He felt the wine they had drunk. His fingers finished their work and he slid the white cotton shirt off his body and laid it down on the waistcoat. There was a moment of quiet.
His skin seemed to respond to the change in temperature as it was laid bare. The large web of transmutation circles brutally etched into his body, down his chest and back, extending below his navel and even resurfacing on the soles of his feet, reacted to the movement of air upon it with barely perceptible stinging. The scars were never-fading. They were red and scornful; Living parts of him—connected to his blood to feed their purpose and an undeniable testament to his extremism.
Sam turned to look for Themis until he found her. "Come here," he said to her and extended one hand towards her. It was a singular bid with no speech prepared to follow it. There were things he used to say in similar moments, but none of them would do for her.
Their time in each other's arms at the window held joy and amazement. Beneath the joy, of course, was trepidation and beneath the amazement was uncertainty. He moved on a smooth surface on which he tried to hold on to his balance, dignity, and pride. And Themis, he thought, was doing much of the same. Although he suspected that she was braver than him.
Samuel looked with disbelief at the light in her eyes and her high and beautiful brow. Tonight it was free of worry and constriction. It made him preemptively guilty to imagine it overflowing with sorrow. Nothing he had accomplished in his life from the days of his ill-begotten youth prepared him for falling in love again. He fought, at the very bottom of his heart, not to resist it.
All the time they did not have in his office was now here for them to take. They found themselves after a long while in her bedroom. He sat on the edge of her bed, having already taken off his shoes, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat. Themis was somewhere in the room around him. Samuel could feel her and hear her movements, although he was in this moment not looking at her. He observed his hands. They had laid his waistcoat aside and now undid with technical precision each of the buttons of his shirt. The room around him was warm and tight, seemed smaller than it was. He felt the wine they had drunk. His fingers finished their work and he slid the white cotton shirt off his body and laid it down on the waistcoat. There was a moment of quiet.
His skin seemed to respond to the change in temperature as it was laid bare. The large web of transmutation circles brutally etched into his body, down his chest and back, extending below his navel and even resurfacing on the soles of his feet, reacted to the movement of air upon it with barely perceptible stinging. The scars were never-fading. They were red and scornful; Living parts of him—connected to his blood to feed their purpose and an undeniable testament to his extremism.
Sam turned to look for Themis until he found her. "Come here," he said to her and extended one hand towards her. It was a singular bid with no speech prepared to follow it. There were things he used to say in similar moments, but none of them would do for her.
