He rose and followed her to the fireplace.
"I will see you soon. Good night, Themis." With that, he watched her step into the fire and disappear in a swirl of green flames.
The energy that animated him moments ago deserted him. The room grew dark and quiet, and he shivered briefly and without apparent cause. With slow steps, he wandered over to the next room and took off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt, then fell onto the bed. He closed his eyes and felt the world start spinning. The wine. He cursed under his breath. He saw himself now, in his mind's eye, stretched out on the white linen, as if he were laying there and at the same time suspended from the ceiling beams. This body on the sheets was harsh and lean and cold—the incarnation of an enigma. He no longer understood it; not what it wanted, nor where it was headed for. Samuel sat up.
He got up again, put his shoes back on, and walked over to his office. On the surface of the stone table with the transmutation circle were cracks that had not been there before. Papers lay strewn about the room. The house-elf had taken the shards away but left the rest, likely not sure where everything belonged. Picking up a book from the floor, he noticed that the movement made him unwell. So he stood at the window instead and smoked, looking into the darkness and breathing in the fresh air that was saturated with the smell of rain. The events of this evening, he realized, had shaken him. And there was something else; among the elation and the terror and the laughter and him holding her up from falling and her holding his hand in comfort, he had felt like something deep in his core moved—like a muscle contracted and sent a flurry of signals along his nerves in all directions. Now he worried that when he saw her face across the Great Hall in the mornings, he would feel it again; that it was desire taking hold in a manner he could not ignore or cut away. That troubled Samuel Griffith, for he had missed the opportunity to make what was between them trivial. Much was at stake, much to be lost.
He moved at last and got dressed again, stepped out into the night, and closed the door behind him. He descended the stairs to the castle grounds, the whispering portraits the only beings he encountered on his path downwards. A long walk in the dark, he hoped, would clear his mind.
"I will see you soon. Good night, Themis." With that, he watched her step into the fire and disappear in a swirl of green flames.
The energy that animated him moments ago deserted him. The room grew dark and quiet, and he shivered briefly and without apparent cause. With slow steps, he wandered over to the next room and took off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt, then fell onto the bed. He closed his eyes and felt the world start spinning. The wine. He cursed under his breath. He saw himself now, in his mind's eye, stretched out on the white linen, as if he were laying there and at the same time suspended from the ceiling beams. This body on the sheets was harsh and lean and cold—the incarnation of an enigma. He no longer understood it; not what it wanted, nor where it was headed for. Samuel sat up.
He got up again, put his shoes back on, and walked over to his office. On the surface of the stone table with the transmutation circle were cracks that had not been there before. Papers lay strewn about the room. The house-elf had taken the shards away but left the rest, likely not sure where everything belonged. Picking up a book from the floor, he noticed that the movement made him unwell. So he stood at the window instead and smoked, looking into the darkness and breathing in the fresh air that was saturated with the smell of rain. The events of this evening, he realized, had shaken him. And there was something else; among the elation and the terror and the laughter and him holding her up from falling and her holding his hand in comfort, he had felt like something deep in his core moved—like a muscle contracted and sent a flurry of signals along his nerves in all directions. Now he worried that when he saw her face across the Great Hall in the mornings, he would feel it again; that it was desire taking hold in a manner he could not ignore or cut away. That troubled Samuel Griffith, for he had missed the opportunity to make what was between them trivial. Much was at stake, much to be lost.
He moved at last and got dressed again, stepped out into the night, and closed the door behind him. He descended the stairs to the castle grounds, the whispering portraits the only beings he encountered on his path downwards. A long walk in the dark, he hoped, would clear his mind.
Themis Lyra
----- COMPLETED -----
----- COMPLETED -----
