22nd November 1894 -- Astronomy tower, Prof. Lyra's rooms

Droplets of water formed on Samuel's skin. They gathered there from the steam in the air. Some grew heavy and with the slightest movement of his head, they dislodged from his hair and ran down his back. The sensation pulled him back into now. He had been lost in thought.

He sat in warm water, almost too hot, in a claw-footed bath that was foreign to him. He lingered on the details of the room, the arrangement and color of the tiles and the things that stood on the shelves and side tables. A most personal space. The presence of the woman it belonged to was palpable even though she was two rooms away, waiting for him.

He had arrived at her tower half an hour after she had gone away from his place. It was not the first time Samuel visited Themis, but usually they kept to her office. Making his way there, he had known that this time the doors to her more secretive life would open for him. He wanted nothing more than to be submerged in it. And at the same time, he wanted to know nothing more of how easily she was changing him. The process was already underway. In his deepest substructure, his cells were mutating in their shifting environment.

Samuel let himself glide backwards under the surface and closed his eyes against the water pressing in on him. He washed his hair and then the rest of him and got out of the bath. The scarred transmutation circles on his torso stood written on his skin in chaotic red ridges, irritated by the hot water. They would never fade; testament to the first time he had let someone transform him.

There was another reason he needed to get away for December — it would give him time to find out if they could continue their explorations. He did not want to stop but in this moment the responsibility he shouldered felt crushing. They had come so far, were so close to the breakthrough. If December passed without any harm coming her way, he might be alright. Perhaps it was all entirely irrational and his sense of being trapped in something inescapable merely a holdover from dark memories that rose back to the surface in cyclical patterns. Every winter in December; every few years when the occasion of more suffering had reinforced the idea that he was doomed to repeat cycles of destruction forever.

Lost to this line of thinking, Samuel had gotten dressed. It all had taken a long time. She would be wondering what held him up.

"Themis?" he looked around, entering back into the main portion of her living quarters.

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Themis Lyra

  

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Threadlog

Still as a statue, Themis sat at her window, her eyes lost in the stars. She'd given up on her book, but only after rereading the same paragraph at least three times. She convinced herself Samuel was thinking of how to exit the situation. Then she decided he was searching for a way to share his plan for tomorrow. Themis panicked as she would never expect Samuel's concept of 'plan' to include actual caution. The man seemed to be courting danger, and Themis knew she urged him on. Their curiosity was dangerous but navigable together. While she was the novice, she had learned enough rudimentary control to balance when Samuel pushed and she pulled. She momentarily imagined that they would make a handsome pair when dancing. She labeled this asinine and dismissed it immediately, but not before her mind flooded her with images of the hypothetical. She was sorting through the mounting evidence she was losing her mind when Samuel startled her out of her destructive train of thought. He derailed the train completely.

Themis was entirely uncomfortable with the amount of emotions she experienced at the sight of Samuel like this. He had no business standing in her private quarters looking like a civilized Roman god. "Here, Samuel,"she gave him almost reverently. She said nothing for too long, but Themis didn't flinch at silence. She needed a moment of quiet to balance the buzz in her brain. She felt betrayed by the flood of feeling ricocheting beneath her skin. She lacked context for this moment. What roles did they play when so much had changed from the first time they stood in her study and she admitted him without a second thought. It had been natural then, but something was different about tonight. She could feel the intensity of Samuel claiming space in her domain. Her willingness to allow it confused her.

His presence was in her rooms before he arrived tonight as she found herself fretting in a looking glass. Themis did not fret; that was for debutantes and other children. She had settled on something soft, delicate, but the fabric seemed overwhelming on her skin. She was second-guessing the loose braid she'd set her hair into as the strands dried and curled up defiantly. The golden sun earrings she donned without a second thought suddenly felt too bold a statement. Her indecision was resolved when Samuel arrived. A twinge of anxiety eased when they had an enjoyable meal, even if unspoken questions were in the room. Themis had been pleasantly surprised when he agreed to the bath she had prepared for him. He prevented her from seeing him out of his shirt, and she could guess the reason; she wasn't foolish enough to think his wounds only marked his hands. His absence had her brain running amock, but his return steadied her even as he shifted the center of gravity in the room.

Compelled to explain herself, Themis chose her words carefully. "I feel vulnerable in this moment. It is not a negative sensation as much as an unfamiliar one." If he had felt a third of this uncertainty before making his declarations this afternoon, he was more the lion than she. "I am at a loss of what to say because what I want to convey resists my words." She'd come to her feet at some point but fought the urge to intrude on his space. "I feel you in everything. The temperature in the room changes with you in it." It was an inadequate description, and the shortcoming displeased her. "I can feel your eyes in a room, and it pleases me. You speak volumes in silence, but I crave the sound of your voice." She forced her hands to stay low and immobile, her shoulders straight and back. She wouldn't run away now. "I cannot breathe without thinking of you, and yet I cannot express myself without sounding like a fool." Her words proving true, Themis took a breath. "Forgive me."

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Visual Inspiration | Themis' living quarters

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

Thread Log

Themis sat at her window with a book. Samuel entered trough the doorway and stood there for a moment, contemplating her image. She was at her vantage point, overseeing the stars and dark lands behind her and the pathways and spaces of her rooms before her.

Samuel drew closer until he stood right next to her. It was silent between them. He moved to touch a strand of her hair that had fallen out of her braid and obscured the sun-shaped earring she wore. While he listened to her, because she did have a few things to say to him, his hand settled very slowly on the back of her neck. He was examining the new reality in which that was a thing he could dare to do. "There is nothing to forgive," he repeated her words back to her.

"I sprung this on you and I don't regret that. But you have reason to feel vulnerable—you are daring, in receiving me as you did.", he said and he knew that he understated his fondness for her courage and his admiration of her depth. She did not say yes to him just for the sake of it. She had begun to know him and she saw the difficulties he would bring to her life.

He sat down next to her at her writing desk, quite close to her. In the past he had made it a habit not to dwell on her beauty. Like an open secret it was to be known, but not acknowledged. Now he could indulge in appreciating all he saw. He wanted to take her hand, but something cautioned him to move slowly.

Their dinner had been short and they had skirted around speaking of anything that moved below the surface.
"Even more so in inviting me here. After what I told you.", he added.

There it was, heavy in the air: his plans of taking leave of her, just after igniting the potential between them. It would be excruciating. Samuel thought about returning to his room on the morrow, undertaking his many trips to London and keeping away, not seeing her anymore, except for in the hallways. Insidious, self-inflicted torment awaited him and he could not let go of it, not until the next few weeks were behind him.

He had not meant to do it, but with his choice of timing he was committing an act of cruelty. They had apparently both denied themselves their desires, until they became manifest by his sudden decision to express to her how he felt. And instead of blissfully falling together, they would be apart. Was he doing the right thing? He did not know. But he would not chance it. The price to pay was too much to ask of him. He could not do that again.

Now he took her hand. If he did it to reassure her, or to anchor himself, he did not know. His thumb moved across her palm. He should explain himself. But how could he? There was so much she did not know about him. There were so many secrets he kept, and he was certain she had hers in place. It was difficult to see how they could even begin an attempt to be honest with each other. The only thing he felt free to do was to pour both of them a drink from the wine they had opened earlier.

The cold glittering stars waited behind the window. Once again they taunted him. No matter what he did, their fateful cycles repeated.

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Threadlog

Themis was distracted from her own confusion when Samuel brushed his fingers along her hair. She quickly became more interested in the location of his hand than in her own racing thoughts. She had no room for thought when his hand cupped the back of her neck. He moved as if she might bolt from his attentions, and her answering stillness was the reassurance she could most easily offer. She could never run from him; the impulse didn’t exist in her catalog of possibilities.

She felt some tension leave her shoulders, even as her pulse accelerated, her skin heating beneath his hand. He soothed her, his own assurance in his actions settling her unspoken fear that he regretted her invitation here. Something like satisfaction celebrated his reassurance, her pride basking in his assessment of her. Her self-esteem was sound and her taste for flattery nonexistent, but the idea that Samuel found her daring; that he didn’t dismiss the dangers of her decisions had her glowing.

She sat with him, the space between them minimal. Her own hands twitched to touch him, and it took the full force of her will to keep them still in her lap. She would honor the pace he set, resisting the recklessness that seemed to drive her in his presence. He emboldened her, created a world where she was safe to experiment and explore. It had pushed them higher, farther in their academic pursuits, the promise of discovery and the solidity of her partner making her willing to test every boundary they encountered. And this close, she allowed her eyes to dwell on the parts of him that always captured her attention. There was a severity to his look that should have served as her warning to avoid him. Nothing of Samuel hinted at a soft or idle man. His movements were deliberate, alluring in the way predators were before they struck. How had anyone ever underestimated this man?

“I don’t regret my decision.” She echoed him as the truth of their situation settled between them. Perhaps it would have been easier if he had just vanished before her eyes and she could continue ignoring how she only felt like herself in his presence. The weeks of September had drug on, and she survived his absence then. She would do so again, and she would do so without complaint, never mind that she no longer had to wonder what it would feel like to have his lips on hers. She would miss him, she would be miserable, and she would bear it. There was no other answer.

Whether he could read her growing uncertainty or if he acted for himself, she felt herself breathing again when her hand settled in his. Her world narrowed to the stroke of his thumb for a moment, the simple gesture igniting her and somehow soothing in the same motion. His hands were rougher than hers, with scars and skin reminding her of the myriad of unknowns between them. She took the wine he offered her, the distraction welcome. She didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound trite. She allowed them a moment with their glasses, their hands joined, and the crackling of the fireplace. The scene was simple and domestic, a quiet pleasure she'd never wanted or asked for. It seemed impossible that something like this could endanger them both, the world beyond their rooms a hostile place. She'd made her decision before realizing she had one to make. She would protect this, their private moments together. Merlin help anyone that stood in her way.

Setting aside her wine glass, she covered his hand with hers. "Perhaps I am not so daring as I am selfish." She raised their joined hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "So very selfish."

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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Samuel smiled at that. His eyes remained fixed on her. His gaze followed the trajectory of their hands until she kissed the place where the back of his hand hardened into his knuckles. "If this is your selfish," he said to Themis, "be selfish. I will embolden you. Just as I promised." He reached across to her to get her closer to him. He wanted to kiss her again. Why dwell on painful and threatening notions when he could quiet his mind by something so simple, yet unbelievable? As the events of the afternoon had taken him to sky-high places, his stress was just as immense. He wanted badly to escape it. "Until you are as selfish as I am," he told her, and he felt secure that it was entirely impossible. Samuel had proven plenty of times how egotistical he could be, and the only thing he held in his defense was his awareness of it. It was just right for him that she had a naturally moral character. It would force him to hold himself to higher scrutiny. Soon.

They kissed, and he became aware that although she was connected to the source of his inner turmoil, she seemed to be able to soften the edges. What a day it had been. This morning he had gotten up for his first class with no thought other than that he would see her to continue their academic endeavors. It seemed to have happened in a different reality, or to someone else.

He was strained, and at the same time alight with wiry energy. Now he was not satisfied until he had her pulled onto his lap and in his arms again. He rested his head against the crook of her neck for a moment and breathed in. Bliss. He was suspicious of it. It felt too uncomplicated to be trusted. Both of them were deeply complicated.

He looked up to her and perhaps his doubts showed in his eyes, but he did not loosen his embrace. "We can pretend that this is simple, for tonight," he suggested. Once before he had told her that they could pretend nothing had happened — on the evening of their near-fatal experiment. It was the only time he recalled that she bristled at him and got sharp in her tone. He moved his hands along the line of her back. The fabric of her dress against his scarred palms created a sort of friction that made his nerves tingle.

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Threadlog

Themis was a woman of balance and precision. She preferred order and systems to intangible things like feelings. She would have agreed to this self-description until Samuel smiled. Balance went out the window with that gesture. She was so far from level ground, from polite, protective distance now that it seemed laughable. She gave the universe full permission to dissolve into chaos, so long as she could see Samuel smile like that again. Her answering grin was bright as the stars beyond her window.

She forced her body to still as he reached for her, to allow him to dictate their kiss. That disciple lasted a fraction of a second before she found herself leaning into him, encouraging his affection. “Consider me emboldened.” Her grin mischievous as she lightly nipped his lower lip. Even as she acted, her rational mind was demanding an explanation. She had no idea what came over her, well, not entirely true, as ‘Samuel’ seemed to be the answer to all of her questions this evening. Some part of her knew exactly what she was doing, some aspect of herself she’d never examined. She replied to her own gesture with a gentle kiss, perhaps her attempt to say she could behave herself. Her commitment to ‘behaving’ was quickly tested.

She offered no resistance when Samuel relocated her to his lap. For a moment, she was overwhelmed. The unfamiliarity of being enveloped by another person, and a primal understanding that her throat was vulnerable stiffened her for a moment, her senses adjusting to a flood of sensation. She felt him breathing against exposed skin and her hair; felt his arms tighten a fraction around her. The tension in his thigh beneath her contrasted with the texture of his drying hair against her cheek. Samuel was so alive, so vibrant. Taking in the scent of him, she relaxed into his hold.

When he shifted there was something critical in his eye, some question. His suggestion explaining his hesitation. She remembered the first time he’d offered her a chance to pretend. That was the night that everything changed, when something in her changed. That night, she had dismissed everything as the work of the wine. It helped her function in his presence, pretending she didn’t feel a thing beyond academic camaraderie for him. She had spent that night unsettled, something clicking into place inside her while jarring everything else out of order. Without noticing, Samuel had become essential.

One hand found his cheek, her thumb tracing his sharp cheekbone. “For tonight,” she confirmed, but added “You are worth the complexities.” She leaned into him, needing to kiss him, to reinforce her words with actions. His hand moving along her back set her body burning. She lacked Samuel’s scars, but the hand along her back burned like a brand. His.

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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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.

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   Themis Lyra

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Threadlog

The time spend in her sitting room was a sweet blur of joy. They spoke little, simple little nudges at each other, a reminder how much they had paid attention when the other spoke. It passed in slow, lazy kisses that delighted Themis in their novelty, in their simplicity. There was nothing complicated about how she relaxed into him while her muscles were still twitching in anticipation. She wanted everything and for nothing to change. This was one of the most terrifying nights of her life; she wouldn’t change her mind.

Leading Samuel into her bedroom was surreal. They split briefly, Themis gesturing toward her bed, her head spinning at the reality that she was asking someone dear to her, she refused to offer it any other label, to rest in her bedroom. Slipping behind her dressing screen, her face found her hands. She was absolutely, completely out of her depth, and she wasn’t ready to stop. Her face was flushed, she would blame the wine, but their kisses, and Samuel’s apparent ability to tease, had her cheeks pink in her vanity mirror. Scoffing at herself, her joy warring with nerves in her eyes, Themis shed her earrings and clothing quickly. She’d chosen the light blue silk and lace gown, telling herself it was just another night, not that she wondered what he would truly think when she stepped from behind the screen and the gown the only thing between them. More than slightly terrified about what he would say, even less interested in delaying.

Stepping out from her dressing screen, she had only a moment before Samuel felt her eyes on him. She’d expected scars, but the massive network of circles on his back with something like a trunk and roots tearing down his spine. The entire display seemed to flex as he breathed, looking like the freshest of scars. A wave of pity struck before she could rid herself of the feeling. No, these scars didn’t deserve her pity, she wouldn’t disrespect his decisions by weeping over scars. It didn’t occur to her to think him less attractive or somehow marred. Perhaps it spoke to how poorly she’d maintained her defenses around Samuel, but she saw his scars, his sacrifice, and found herself trying to make sense of a growing sense of pride. He was magnificent, and he was brutal. Why on earth didn’t that frighten her more?

She crossed to him, somehow moving even as her eyes examined him. She was able to maintain her composure even as she experienced a war of vision in her head. He was stunning and he was braver than she had given him credit. For a moment, she stood before him at the foot of her bed, but standing above him now seemed wrong, expressing some display of power she disliked. She kept his hand in hers and slowly went to her knees before him. It sent a thrill of something almost sinister up her spine, something she couldn’t name as she looked up at him, the depth of her affection bright in her eyes. God, she was proud of him, of what he’d endured. She wouldn’t pepper him with questions or why or how. He had offered her vulnerability, and she would accept it with care. She wouldn’t trouble him with trite ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘does it hurt.’ She had eyes, she could begin to guess at the sort of magic that would have go into such a mark. It wouldn’t come without sacrifice. And judgment wouldn’t come from her.

Pressing a kiss to his knee, she asked calmly, “Will I need the same marks to continue with our experiments?”

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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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.

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   Don Juan Dempsey, Themis Lyra

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Threadlog

She rested in his palm easily, her trust in him complete. He’d already saved her life; had risked his safety to protect her. What more could she ask from him? She had many things to ask him, in truth, but none of those questions were welcome here tonight.

When Samuel’s hand tensed on her jaw, some part of her understood she should be silent; attempt to avoid attention. That part of her had no real experience in life and was easily ignored. Still, when his fingers tightening on her jaw became uncomfortable, she forced herself to breathe, then let him come back to her without being the first to blink. Something in her knew that blinking first, and blinking wrong, may very well get her killed. It still didn’t prepare her for his words.

Something twisted in Samuel, the change visible in the tension of his spine. He tensed, arched, before seeming to inwardly collapse. She kept her breathing steady, her growing unease not connected to Samuel in a meaningful way. He was dangerous, they were dangerous together, but he wasn’t dangerous to her. Or so she’d chosen to believe. The did nothing to calm the warning in her brain, now screaming on Samuel’s behalf.

"If I were to say yes, would you do it? Do you intend to die in my arms?" The easiest conclusion to reach was Samuel losing someone of value to the magic that marked his body, but it still seemed surreal. Her mind raced to annotate every word until she could lower the panic in her brain that came with his words. There was no version of his dark question that didn’t make her queasy. That her reaction wasn’t instant revulsion spoke to something Themis must reexamine. Why wasn’t she gone? Why wasn’t she afraid of him?

“I would never die without exhausting all possibilities known or imagined. And, I do not intend to die for some time. What occurs is beyond my powers.” Themis declared automatically. It happened without her agreement to further commentary. She wouldn’t field questions on her loyalty tonight, couldn’t explain the web of her allegiance to Samuel in a way that would send him to tomorrow rested and adored. She could think of many situations where she would die for him; she’d proven that to him already. A part of her was offended he even asked.

She relaxed as best she could, but she finally gasped, “Samuel, gentle, please.” Her hand straining under his death grip. He released her before she could recover, blood rushing back to her hand. Her path forward was obvious: retreat to gather her wand, demand Samuel leave, and pretend the day ended with declarations of affection. How simple was that? Why was she considering everything but that?

As soon as Samuel’s grip relaxed on her hand, she reacted. Pressing up from the floor and joining him on the edge of the bed, Themis gripped his face between her hands, her decision made. “No one dies tonight, I swear it. Do you hear me?” Themis’ tone went cold, her eyes demanding compliance. “Samuel, I am not a lamb to the slaughter.” That was the best she could offer him, her nerves now crackling with energy.

“I,” Themis paused, her courage and anxiety meeting. “I want to know the answers to my questions when the world doesn’t seem to be running out of time. And, I intend to die years from now. Even were I to die three days from now, my desire is the same: I want to spend tonight here, with you.” She kissed his lips, peppered his jaw with kisses where her hands didn’t cover. “Sam, please, come to me. Come back to me.”

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

Thread Log

Only when she was suddenly beside him on the bed did he turn his head and look into her eyes. Not a lamb for slaughter. She did not appear like a lamb, nor was it her reaction to retreat from him. She represented the lion, and he seemed to have forgotten that, just as he had forgotten himself in saying what he just said. Her blue eyes were close to him, ablaze with a demand for him to get back to reality and see her. It shook him awake.

Samuel was not sure what would happen now, anything seemed possible. The air between them was compressed by the crackling energy that had jumped out of him. He had suffered a lapse of control with her, again. And again she kept steady despite the pressure and the pain. Just like last time, when he let his power pour out towards her with no way to make it stop.
What was she doing to him?

Losing control was very dangerous, that was his lived and reinforced experience. When he fell, there was no one waiting to catch him—it was his purpose and use to others to dictate the boundaries that would keep them from falling off the ledge while he took them along towards the perilous path of transformation. Seizing power was his prerogative, and he tried to be benevolent and did not always succeed.
Someone who made him feel so beside himself was a threat.

"I am sorry," he managed to say after she placed the first kiss on his lips. "I did not mean to say that. Of course you are not. Please forgive me."
The tension gripping every one of his muscles turned into a rushing feeling that was directed towards her, as strong as he had ever felt. "Forgive me," he repeated and followed the impulse to put his arms around her waist and to hold her tightly against him whilst he pushed himself away from the edge and fully onto the bed.
Her body was moving over his now, the silk a sensation that was barely there. She was warm of course, but never ran hot. Feeling her elongated, slightly sharp contours was right and made him dizzy with want.

"You deserve answers to your questions and I want to give them to you. I will. As soon as I return," he promised, although he might later regret it. He hoped he would find the strength to be truthful. He thought, while he looked at her face, that he wanted to give her everything and anything he could. With that conclusion in his heart, he steadied his hands and forced his breath to slow. Samuel paused and gave them a moment to catch up to where they were, before he kissed her again.

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   Themis Lyra

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Threadlog

The seconds ticked by as she waited for the ghosts gripping Samuel to relax their grip. Whatever memory drove him to his eerie words had a strong hold on him, one she felt unable to penetrate. “Samuel, please!” She tried again, her concern mounting in his silence. He snapped back to her, suddenly a litany of apologies. Soothing and reaffirming what they had already established between them, she found herself repeating, “There’s nothing to forgive. It’s alright, I’m here.”

It was hard to say who reached first, but Themis buried her head in the curve of his neck, breathing in his reassurances even as she maintained her mantra against his skin. He’d legitimately frightened her, the dark truth of what he endured to become the man he was flickering into her field of view. She wouldn’t shrink now, the dead holding no power over their present. She wouldn’t allow it. She didn’t resist when Samuel pulled her to him, the expanse of his heated skin and the map of scars creating a new, intriguing texture against her. This was as much of him as she had ever seen bare, her instinct to investigate every inch of him delayed by the turn of events and topic. If anything, the scare heightened her heart rate, her blood already buzzing in her ears. She forgot her own promise to go slowly, gently, when a hand covered his heart, the ridge of his scar pulsing beneath her hand. The scar felt different, as if his magic flowed even nearer to the surface here. She resisted her curiosity to pry and fought the urge to interrogate until the fabled ‘soon’ occurred. She couldn’t still her hand. Through the silk of her gown, she could feel the warm weight of him, the reassuring solidity she was only now beginning to explore. Stretched over him like this, their contrasts felt magnified. Even the undertone to his skin was darker than hers, everything about him seemingly carved from some darker material. He was earth and fire, heat and momentous strength wrapped in mortal skin. He burned like a furnace, and she couldn’t get close enough. She fit against him, her angles seeming to soften to mold against him.

Unable to stop herself, and uncertain what to say in the wake of his question, she busied herself with lazy kisses at the base of his throat, the feel of his pulse erratic under her tongue. In the wake of her concern, her need to touch him was overwhelming. It was too real, suddenly, that no matter what she may say, he may not come back to her. And there was nothing she could do to protect him. The helplessness, her fear, wouldn’t stand for more inaction, not when tonight was feeling more and more ephemeral. Her answering kiss took on an urgency, an edge of panic she didn’t feel fully in control of. She needed him, brilliant and alive in her arms. His earliest confession still rang in her ears. He said he saw her; tonight she wanted to be seen, to be known. It was unfamiliar, the urge to connect instead of shrouding herself behind walls. Knowing how time was against them, it seemed unacceptable to protect herself as she did in all matters. Not with Samuel, there was no defense for him. Needy and fueled by adrenaline, she broke her kisses briefly, finding his eyes. “Be here with me now. That is all that matters.”

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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He felt her mouth at his neck and this was where his breath seemed determined to get caught. She held the tension of fear in her. He had scared her and hurt her. Now everything seemed to contract around the fact that she was, incredibly, still with him.
Samuel was reeling, if he was honest with himself. How could he have leveled this on her so callously? The surface he saw himself on shifted to an incline and he was slipping and sliding along—his balance gone, his dignity at least afflicted and his pride in a precarious position.

So he fled to where he retained his agency, which was in what he could do in the present moment, and in what he could do to her. Because her hands were on his body, traveling over the sensitive lines and ridges marring his chest, causing him to shudder and flinch. She had yet more grace to give to him. And she needed him to take away her panic. "I'm here. I'm here now. Don't be frightened. I'm not going anywhere tonight," he told her and he forced himself not to apologize anymore. He had said it, it was enough.

She needed to map his unknown body with her touch and he let and encouraged her, only extricating himself out of the remainders of his clothing. It said something, he thought, that he did not mind to be bare before she was, because with someone else he might have. There was such devotion in her face, eventually. A yielding that cast away the sordid beds through which he had gotten here. He turned to her, wanting to become the lover that would provide her with all she could wish for and that would not betray her.

Thoughts of her past did touch on his mind briefly. She had been married and he even vaguely remembered the face of the boy, when they were at this school all together. It could not be said that Sam had liked him back then, or seen much that made sense to him. He was hard-pressed to remember his name and he did not want to. What had become of her life then was still a mystery to him, and one that would have to remain for a while longer. For now, they would make this night last, because it seemed that they both feared the morning, when the stars would be gone. This room would be harsh and sorrowful with sunlight and he would have to leave. He did not want to think about that.

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   Themis Lyra

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She treasured every little shudder and twitch, allowed herself a moment where her only goal was to memorize what, how, and where she could touch him to make him lose his train of thought. The optimistic (and slightly wicked) part of her was already imagining what she could do to this man without a deadline. What would it be like to turn her precision focus to memorizing Samuel, to learn what made his breath catch, what made him laugh, and (again optimistically) what would make him eager to devour her? Everything was possible if only she had the time.

Time. Damn it to hell with time. She could feel her chest tightening, her throat drying up at the thought of time, at the thought of the threat that loomed over them both. Themis would find a way to protect their bond and maintain a life, that didn't concern her now. All of her plans and momentary musings stopped dead at the same point: Samuel was leaving. Samuel was leaving, the danger was inherent, and she wouldn't be able to protect him. It racked every nerve, all dimensions of her need to protect and defend, stymied by Samuel's insistence that she not interfere. She would honor this, how could she not? Her teeth clenched at the idea of their roles reversed. She wanted to shake him for it, but she knew she would be no different. Were her personal life messy, she wouldn't bring that to Samuel; it wasn't his to fix. It didn't make it any easier to imagine him out in the world alone. She knew he was far from defenseless; Samuel was his own weapon and could fend for himself. This did nothing to calm her. Themis had never been of the temperament to sit home and let the men in her world report back to her. She didn't allow others to fight her battles, and she certainly didn't relax when those nearest and dearest needed her. Perhaps Samuel needed nothing; maybe the worst thing he faced was some mandatory family gathering, but she couldn't shake an unbearable thought - she was abandoning him to his fate.

She had paused her exploration, body going tense as possibilities mounted and scenarios played out in her head. His voice brought her back. "Don't be frightened," he said as if her heart wasn't coming to terms with just how little control it had over matters now. She was frightened, the acknowledgment itself spiking her anxiety, as she laid against him. She was terrified, and not because Samuel had hinted that their experiments would be the death of her. Death was inevitable, and she thought little of it until it came to Samuel. Somehow, she survived nearly two decades without him, but the idea that now he could be gone? It was unconscionable.

His movements caught her attention, and suddenly, she didn't have the mental capacity to worry. There was nothing polite about her reaction, no subtlety in how she drank him in when he discarded the last of his clothing and lay beside her, looking like a god. All she could do was stare. Careful, as if touching him now would make the illusion disappear, she let a hand rest on his thigh as she searched for words. They were simple when she committed to them. "You're beautiful." She didn't mean to harm his pride or to belittle his masculinity, but there was no better word for a man who seemed carved from marble and given life. He was beautiful; his brilliant mind, razor wit, and cheeky sense of humor only added depth to him. And here he was in her bed. She was unworthy of such a gift.

She wanted to touch and explore; she wanted desperately for him to command her to stop thinking (not possible) and to absolve her of the guilt she felt over the coming morning. She wanted him, but she managed to contain herself. Themis had never been shy, but she didn't scream for the spotlight or command focus, and she found herself wrestling with an unwelcome sensation. What if she was a disappointment to him? The fear was insidious, quietly poking at insecurities she'd never considered. Themis didn't care what men thought of her; she was beautiful and, had it suited her, she was certain she could play the game of hearts and own any man that crossed her. It was a simple belief, one she'd never tested, but now she found herself at a loss. She did care what Samuel thought more than she was comfortable admitting to herself. When she looked into his eyes, she could see the woman she wished to be. The entire line of thought was foreign and uncomfortable.

It occurred to her, finally, that reciprocity was important. And she couldn't move.

It had been over twenty years since she was so exposed in front of a man. The momentary thought of Daniel soured her mood, but Themis wouldn't dwell. Daniel was dead, and he held no power here. It didn't keep her from mentally cataloging every imperfection on her body. She believed that her connection with Samuel was an intellectual one at first, but he was a man with eyes. Was it so wrong to hope he found her pleasing? The seconds passed, and Themis made her decision. Dropping a quick kiss to his lips (she couldn’t help it), Themis moved to sit back on her heels. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the hem of her night dress. It was a matter of seconds to shed her last layer of clothing, but the moment seemed to stretch on, Themis holding her breath.

Tossing her night gown away, she knelt next to him, nerves making her twitch. Sitting back on her heels with only her hair to obscure her, Themis was finding it hard to breathe. She forced her breathing to settle and resisted the urge to cover herself. She had no reason to hide, this was Sam. It was the only explanation for how she was able to sit next to him bare.

Somehow, she couldn’t look at him now. Everything felt too intimate, too personal, and she was certain it wasn’t hers to see. There could be no shortage of the lovers Samuel takes to bed, the thought turning something sour in her stomach. She had no claim to him, no reason to care, but Themis found herself comparing ghosts. Would she disappoint him? Was there someone else? Was she worthy of a man like Samuel? The questions kept coming and Themis had no answer other than her need to be with him. He brought out the best in her, every ounce of competitive fire, an insatiable lust for learning; everything made sense with him nearby. She’d rather be a squib than disappoint him.

Sitting back on her heels, she made the conscious choice to keep her arms at her side, resisting the urge to cover herself. Still, with her clothing abandoned, Themis seemed to shrink a bit, the move upsetting to her. She didn’t worry much about her appearance or attractiveness, there was no reason to care, until lately. All the sudden, she was kneeling in her own bed nearly shaking because she could only hope Samuel would find her worthy. It was unsettling, wrong, but her reality. With an unsteady breathe, Themis brushed her hair back over her shoulders, kneeling next to Samuel as naked as the day she was born. Licking her lips, discomfort radiating off of her, she gently added, “I’m alright.” More to herself than him.

A worthless marriage, societal conditioning, and insecurity made a perfect mess of Themis’ esteem. Biting her lip, an impulse she usually can avoid, Themis still met his eyes, even as she blushed. “I hope,” she stopped, her timidity annoying her. “I want to be worthy of your attention.” It was honest, but it was too much, too vulnerable.

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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The stars seemed close behind the windows that night. He became aware how far up they were above the castle and the dark grounds. That was just fair. He wished they might be suspended in the sky, to never descend. Samuel permitted her to arrest him in her focus; he could almost see the concentrated arrow coming from her inner being, which was looking for a way to be tethered to him to stay connected. Silently inviting her to be just that, he took her hand and laid it on his center, where his sternum ended and dipped into the gentle line that divided his core down to his navel. Here overlapped the borders of the large scarred circle on his chest with the one on his stomach, their convergence marked by the singular rune of the incomprehensible. It was his belief that at this point, in the depth of the body, resided the unknowable element that held together what was wrought by the stars and born by the earth. Here lay the gate of magic and life. He had come closer to proving that belief than anyone else alive today. "Careful what you do to me," he said to her with a glance towards her hand and a smile. Don't transmute me yet, he thought. I don't know what will happen if you do. But the terror that had gripped him at the memories of his past was quieting down.

He took her words in and let the silence draw on. Beautiful. There was no discomfort in accepting her compliment. He fondly laid his hand on hers. Her other hand settled on his thigh.
It was not difficult for him to conceive of his worth and value. Samuel knew well that other people had found him beautiful too. Many also beheld him to be harsh, arrogant, and unapproachable; smug, sinister, and punishing. He knew that too. He struggled for acceptance and dealt with alienation all his life. Intrinsically he knew his merit and he resented if others did not. Nothing was easier than to take what was there for him, nothing more natural than to control the resources that were relinquished. This was not a universal experience relatable to the majority, and one that had a dark shadow. Samuel could take from others carelessly, put them under great pressure to compete with him, and lacked at times respect for the autonomy of those who could not keep up. He had to prove his integrity endlessly to himself—his commitment to be more than his most depraved, most hungry, and most hostile version.

Themis was not like that at all. She had different questions haunting her. He watched her draw back into herself to fight an unknown battle. He did not move to take the gown off her body and he did not avert his eyes to give her privacy. Her gaze went somewhere far away and her smile took on a cryptic sadness. Samuel saw how the face of his lover became that of a stranger, at the turn of a moment. He remained, almost holding his breath, and waited for her return. Finally, she kissed him and sat back on her heels. Samuel turned half on his side and stomach, like on a cue, keeping her in his undivided attention. She took off the last layer. Themis did not look at him, but he looked at her for a long time before he moved a hand to her knee at her words. "Themis," he said. Then, in a movement entirely foreign to him, he turned on his back and laid his head down gently on her thighs. Her white, frightened face was above him against the dark of the ceiling. Her golden hair was so long when it was not bound up in a braid that it fell down towards his forehead.

Lying like this, with her sitting up tense and afraid above, felt unaccustomed and vulnerable; he felt exposed. It was not the body language he presented towards the people that had shared his bed in the past—it was trusting, all his most vulnerable parts unprotected. It was his body, receptive and defenseless. Passive. He thought of all the glittering, lonely people. Some beautiful and brilliant, some needy and despicable. They came to him for the thrill and for a false sense of security. Some came with fantasies of love that soured into humiliation when love was withheld. The most anguished were the men, who wanted someone to submit to in a deep darkness of shame. He was ashamed too, in a way, and also not. His vulnerability was the most untouched and pure thing he could give to her. She was questioning if she measured up and he did not know how to show her the impossibility of that comparison. He thought that if he now rushed to tell her about all that was beautiful and proportionate and pleasing about her, it would never be enough. She knew all that. Someone had told her before. It was not really about that. He had felt this deep doubt in her before, and it touched him in a way he was unprepared for to see it out in the open.

He raised an arm to caress her face and to move away strands of her hair that obscured his view. Then he took one of her hands, her arms were held tight to her side, and placed it on his chest, together with his. "Do you remember the day we met?" he asked. "Met again, I mean. After all these years. It was the first day of August, I believe."
Samuel knew what he wanted to say; he was uncertain how exactly they would get there. His words seemed to form just as he spoke them. He searched for her gaze above him.

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   Themis Lyra

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"I'm always careful." She couldn't help but wink at him, "Or at least I was once." This was closer to the truth when she considered her situation. She preferred to move through the world in an orderly fashion and tended to step back and analyze before committing to actions—or so she was when she wasn't near Samuel. When the two of them were together, her idea of caution changed. Her sense of self-preservation became a secondary need. Their experiments were dangerous, and both of them knew what happened when the urge for just one more little discovery nearly pushed them to ruin. There was more care now, more structure to their work that gave the illusion of safety, but there was no way to carefully alchemical, not that she could see. Samuel proved her point by resting her hand on his core, Themis feeling a now-familiar buzz in her blood when her hand fell to the symbol in the middle of his torso. The structures on his body were alive with a power of their own, his magic seeming to coax hers, pulling for her to embrace the addictive sensation of flexing her power. She didn't need his warning to know that nothing good could come of her testing her magic on him. She wondered if he could feel her as she did him, magic calling magic where her skin met runes. What must it feel like to magnify her strength by making the body a conduit for magic deemed too dangerous? A shiver went through her as she considered his earlier ominous question. Were she to need such markings, would she be able to wear them as he did? Could she sacrifice her body to serve some higher magic? The lack of a definitive 'no' felt prophetic. She didn't know how to reconcile with that.

Themis found herself looking backward at the younger iterations of herself. She could barely recognize the versions of the witch she imagined. The younger her couldn't conceive of the witch kneeling naked in a bed with a man who wasn't Daniel. If she was honest, the younger version of her had no wish to be so exposed to anyone, Daniel in particular. She hadn't loved him and saw little issue with her ambivalence. Her marriage had been about practicality and security. When she thought of her motivations now, it was clear that pleasing Uncle Horace was her goal. She disliked it when he worried; found it unacceptable that he should be concerned for her when they had academic and professional goals to occupy their time. She'd questioned before if she ever loved Daniel, thought back to the reckless boy in Gryffindor two years her senior. He had been her friend for her first five years, a frequent companion at their rowdy house table. He'd tutored her in Defense Against the Dark Arts, couldn't imagine that it wasn't her favorite class. He'd like to show off even then, and, at the time, it was almost endearing.

Daniel was fine, perfectly acceptable, until the incident in her fifth year. She had seen something in him then that should have remembered as a woman. She'd made enemies of the entire quidditch team the night she reported their misconduct to their head of house, nearly got the whole lot of them expelled. Perhaps she would have felt some remorse for her actions, and been able to empathize with her housemates' need to celebrate. Maybe she could have allowed teenage indiscretion to be what it was, but that was not her path. There were alternate paths she could have chosen, but it was Daniel who made her decision. His entitlement irked her. When confronted after hours sneaking back to the common room, drunk on firewhiskey and adrenaline, Daniel hadn't seemed the least bit sorry. The lack of remorse was distasteful, but it had been something else that set her resolve to ruin the evening. One of the beaters joked about keeping his girl in line, and Daniel had been foolish enough to laugh. Always the ringleader, Daniel drunkenly announced to the team that he would 'handle her.' Handle her. She never forgave him. He refused to speak with her the rest of the term, his silence meant to be a punishment, but it didn't wound as he intended. When she returned for her sixth year, Daniel now absence, his presence wasn't missed. There was a slight unwinding in her chest, a relief. It was much the same when Daniel died. When he came back into her life, a nineteen-year-old Themis was no more interested in his advances than she was in drinking poison. She'd done her duty, allowed his courtship and his empty words, and even managed not to wrinkle her nose at his hollow professions of longing. She managed not to cry at the feeling of helplessness that came with her wedding night, did her best to go away inside and allow him no added satisfaction in his conquest. Because that was what she had been to him, something that needed controlling, to be owned. Nights with him felt like punishment; she was sure that was the point. It was the only way he could punish her for not making him the center of her universe. When he'd fallen to his death, she considered mounting his ill-fated broom on her wall. Dying was the kindest thing Daniel did for her.

She was lost to the memory of the angry young woman looking back at her. Something like panic gripped her as she thought of her younger self, thought of what had been and what sense of agency she had lost. There was no escaping this spiral into what had been; it was clawing at her, demanding she surrender to the despair she remembered, to the sense that her world was ending and she was incapable of rescue. Samuel proved her wrong. He brought her home. His hand found her knee, and the feel of his touch was the north star she needed to find her way back to him. She blinked away the clouds forming, the sting of repressed emotion in her eyes. Somehow, his head was now in her lap, and the gesture nearly brought the tears she refused to release. This was trust; this was them.

She smiled when his hand found her face. Themis leaned into his hand, kissing the scared palm before it brushed at her hair. She relinquished her hand to him, her shoulders relaxing when Samuel's hand held her to his chest. She was in awe of him. Her free hand went to his hair, stroking gently, as the words she couldn't find stayed just out of her reach. It soothed her; the act of touching him grounded her in a way she was unaccustomed to. The weight of his eyes should have frightened her. She knew he saw everything, every tell, every fear dancing behind her eyes. He saw her, and he drew closer. Instead of turning away, she met his gaze and allowed his examination. When he directed her to the more recent past, she followed him, knowing intrinsically he wouldn't abandon her to her ghosts. "I remember," she confirmed, the first of August now the beginning of a chapter that brought them to tonight. She remembered it now as some moment of fate, the day that changed the course of her story. He'd shown her a power she didn't know she had and opened her to a world beyond imagining. She also remembered their conversation, and her heart raced in her chest. It had been so easily academic then. "You changed my life, Sam." Her affection, gratitude, and something else she hesitated to name glowing through her words.

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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