At first he did not answer her question. It was hard to keep out of his thoughts enough to consider it in depth. Everyone reacted differently to this kind of magic. The body adapted, just as it adapted to usage of the wand. The channels got accustomed to the brute force, the gates less tightly sealed, more eager to open and let the magic contained within pour out. When he descended into phases of overworking himself with the creation of his accursed creatures, he grew pale and feverish and hungry. His nerves sharpened and dulled and his veins yearned, and he worked in seclusion until he felt hollow and no longer human. Then he pulled himself loose and took a break—went to France, or stayed out in the city, or traveled to the countryside and forced himself to participate in the mundanities of life until he regained a sense of normalcy. He knew he was potentially rewiring himself in a way that he did not fully comprehend and risking his health and sanity in the process. It did not bother him; that was, in his estimation, a moot point. He did not consider it irrelevant when it came to her.
He looked down at Themis. The jacket fell off the bed and slid to the floor. "I'm here. Just getting out of all the blood." He turned her over on her back and searched for the answer to an unspoken question. Color had returned to her cheeks and he saw that with relief; nonetheless, something was wrong and he felt her panic sharply, as clearly as he could feel her hunger. Perhaps she felt as out of sorts as he pretended not to be. Samuel took her arm and looked at the red scar, fresh but clean and even. He moved on top of her on the bed, propping himself up with his left elbow next to her shoulder and sliding the right hand under her back, to loosen the lacing of her dress, taking care to not put any weight on her chest or arm, where it could crush or hurt her. Feeling her shift underneath him made his breath catch. Her warmth and the pressure of him on her was the only vivid thing in this room, which seemed to darken and dull around him.
His actions today were unjustifiable, he knew that—he was trying to clear away the dangerous and venomous growths around him to make room for her in his life and sent her away to keep her safe, yet here they were; upon being confronted with her again, he had relented immediately. Had taken her back in and back here and followed along her request for her introduction into his darkest art without resistance. How could he act surprised that now she was getting tangled in the black thorns, terrified and bleeding and yet yearning for more? She was trying to make sense of something she had no way to understand because he did not tell her anything. He could not bring himself to tell her. All he wanted was to push further; to abandon himself into merging their bodies together in all the ways that they could. He needed the heat and the closeness and the taste of her skin; He needed the aliveness of it to hold himself together. The red principle pulsed underneath that desire, too. Life knew no clean seperations. "I am sorry," he said quietly. "I want to bring order to the chaos of my life, for you. I'm afraid it all is more tangled and messed up than ever."
He looked down at Themis. The jacket fell off the bed and slid to the floor. "I'm here. Just getting out of all the blood." He turned her over on her back and searched for the answer to an unspoken question. Color had returned to her cheeks and he saw that with relief; nonetheless, something was wrong and he felt her panic sharply, as clearly as he could feel her hunger. Perhaps she felt as out of sorts as he pretended not to be. Samuel took her arm and looked at the red scar, fresh but clean and even. He moved on top of her on the bed, propping himself up with his left elbow next to her shoulder and sliding the right hand under her back, to loosen the lacing of her dress, taking care to not put any weight on her chest or arm, where it could crush or hurt her. Feeling her shift underneath him made his breath catch. Her warmth and the pressure of him on her was the only vivid thing in this room, which seemed to darken and dull around him.
His actions today were unjustifiable, he knew that—he was trying to clear away the dangerous and venomous growths around him to make room for her in his life and sent her away to keep her safe, yet here they were; upon being confronted with her again, he had relented immediately. Had taken her back in and back here and followed along her request for her introduction into his darkest art without resistance. How could he act surprised that now she was getting tangled in the black thorns, terrified and bleeding and yet yearning for more? She was trying to make sense of something she had no way to understand because he did not tell her anything. He could not bring himself to tell her. All he wanted was to push further; to abandon himself into merging their bodies together in all the ways that they could. He needed the heat and the closeness and the taste of her skin; He needed the aliveness of it to hold himself together. The red principle pulsed underneath that desire, too. Life knew no clean seperations. "I am sorry," he said quietly. "I want to bring order to the chaos of my life, for you. I'm afraid it all is more tangled and messed up than ever."
