"Is something the matter?" Luca looked down at the girl he just remembered who was sitting at a desk in his room. "Young miss?"
Felicita was fast asleep on a table in the middle of the man's room as it was a good three hours since the last time he had talked to her. Luca chuckled and leaned against the table as he looked at her with gentle eyes. He took a piece of her hair and twirled it in his gloved fingers, wishing he could touch her like this anytime he wanted to.
"Mmm..." Felicita rolled her head around in her folded arms. "Luca," she mumbled, still deep in sleep.
He let his eyes sink into her skin, looking into her, beyond her; he looked at everything that was her - Felicita, his everything. Yet, even if she was his everything he could only be with her so much before he would run face into the wall that separated servant and master.
No matter how much he wanted to, touching her more than the "necessary" was wrong; it was punishable. He let his mind sink into the mind-shift that he could touch her more with gloves than his bare hands. No. He wouldn't dare.
Servant.
Master.
There was no room for him to wiggle his way through.
"Luca?" Felicita yawned and rubbed her eyes. "What are you doing?"
Luca silently slipped his jacket off and placed it over the girl's shoulders. "Young miss, please head back to your room, it's getting late. You'll catch a cold if you stay here."
"You were experimenting again. I could smell it," the girl mumbled under her breath. "I could smell it. And it stunk."
"I'm sorry." He let a small smile slip his lips. "I promise next time I'll try not to make it stink."
"Try?"
"Ah! No. I mean-I mean the air will-to the herbs that's-"
Felicita laughed, her smile stopping the man mid-sentence. "I know, Luca."
He reached his hand out. His gloved hands (rough, bumpy fabric to soft, pale skin) rubbed against her arm. His face leaned in so close that Felicita could feel the man's breath on her skin, warming her, burning her.
"Luca?"
Broken reality - a discord between right and wrong.
The man pulled back, tripping against the table.
What was he thinking? What was I thinking?
Questions floated through the air, answers ran to the shadows playing a game of "hide-and-never-find-me."
"Luca-"
"Young miss, that is-"
"You can touch me."
Reality broke ever the more as the man through himself to the girl he couldn't touch.
- The End -
