She came into his field of view wearing a gown of silk, her face flushed, her hair loose and her eyes, unbelievably, like morning stars. He searched for apprehension in her gaze and found only a bright expression that confused him.
He took her in and kept taking her in as she joined her hand with his. He was filled with reverent disbelief. Samuel moved to steady her and to assist her as she turned to sit down next to him on the bed, but felt Themis shift downwards instead. She knelt before him. He looked at her, surprised, but a smile already formed in his eyes. Samuel pondered that Themis subverted his expectations endlessly, not only today. She had that way about her. There was always more moving and developing in her than he could anticipate. He invested her face with a myriad of mysteries and he ran his fingers along the line of her jaw and cheek.
What she said next stunned him entirely. His movements froze. He said nothing for a moment.
"If I were to say yes," his voice came from a far distance, "would you do it? Do you intend to die in my arms?" Die in my arms, too -- He had almost said it, but just managed to cut himself off. There was a strange flat coldness in these words and the moment he uttered them, he regretted them. He had not meant to say them. All the things he walled off from his mind flooded back in. They had banished his terror with the ceaseless joy and wonder of the affection they gave and received but now he felt the noose tighten around his neck again. Doomed to repeat.
His hands gripped her too tightly—he was hurting her. He let go, disturbed, trying to regain his footing. He needed to apologize to her, immediately. His voice did not obey his command. He envisioned himself taking a knife to her back to carve it open. Would it be the knife that rested above her fireplace? Had he already forged the tool for her eventual destruction and gifted it to her for her birthday? This was sick. He felt sick. He dug his hands into the edge of the mattress and his entire body tensed. He prayed it would prevent him from any further movement.
He took her in and kept taking her in as she joined her hand with his. He was filled with reverent disbelief. Samuel moved to steady her and to assist her as she turned to sit down next to him on the bed, but felt Themis shift downwards instead. She knelt before him. He looked at her, surprised, but a smile already formed in his eyes. Samuel pondered that Themis subverted his expectations endlessly, not only today. She had that way about her. There was always more moving and developing in her than he could anticipate. He invested her face with a myriad of mysteries and he ran his fingers along the line of her jaw and cheek.
What she said next stunned him entirely. His movements froze. He said nothing for a moment.
"If I were to say yes," his voice came from a far distance, "would you do it? Do you intend to die in my arms?" Die in my arms, too -- He had almost said it, but just managed to cut himself off. There was a strange flat coldness in these words and the moment he uttered them, he regretted them. He had not meant to say them. All the things he walled off from his mind flooded back in. They had banished his terror with the ceaseless joy and wonder of the affection they gave and received but now he felt the noose tighten around his neck again. Doomed to repeat.
His hands gripped her too tightly—he was hurting her. He let go, disturbed, trying to regain his footing. He needed to apologize to her, immediately. His voice did not obey his command. He envisioned himself taking a knife to her back to carve it open. Would it be the knife that rested above her fireplace? Had he already forged the tool for her eventual destruction and gifted it to her for her birthday? This was sick. He felt sick. He dug his hands into the edge of the mattress and his entire body tensed. He prayed it would prevent him from any further movement.
