In no way, shape, or form do I own Girl With A Pearl Earring. I claim absolutely no rights. (creative or otherwise) I make no profit from this fiction other than growth as a writer and delight in writing.

After the catastrophe. . .
After the meltdown of attachment and inspiration,
After the unveiling of secrecy and deceit. . .

He sat, silent and brooding –inwardly mourning the loss of his subject, his muse.

He needed her.
She was the only soul around him in which he could confide the inner workings of his artist's heart, if only indirectly. She was the only soul around him to which he could relate, if only partially.

She understood.
Though she was no master in understanding art, she noticed -she comprehended the importance of subtle themes in his art. She saw his paintings beyond simplicity of people and objects on canvas. She was the only one to see into the heart of what he tried so hard to master with mind, hand, and paint.

It was their painting.
Together, they were trapped in the web of the patron's power and desire. Together, they risked dignity, livelihood, scandal, and wrath. Together, they risked deeper, warmer -more passionate things too. His mind could hardly dare to think of those things.
They had formed an alliance of sorts, increasingly binding them throughout their bittersweet situation. It was the bond of creator and muse that truly painted the picture. Their daring acts of entrapment, their moments of and insight and inspiration, their hours of tedious suspense and quiet, excited fear –this is what was given to the painting. The only reason for its continuation and completion lie in the fact that they had put into it what they did, and had no desire to end what formed between them because of it. He grieved for the tainting of their creation by unnecessary scandal.

It was his fault.
He knew it. He knew it and there he sat, his heart breaking o'er the depth of his carelessness. He had not been thoughtful enough. His mind had been too absorbed in the intrigue that was She. He had allowed himself to become too openly taken with her. If only he had been more subtle. If only he had the strength to keep himself from luring her into her into his world. He could have kept himself in check. He could have ignored those opportune moments of temptation. Somehow, he had fooled himself into believing that by not directly taking her, he was keeping her at a distance.
This, he knew now, was a lie. The hidden need, the secret desire, the quiet want to be closer was obvious between the both of them. His soul was in pain. The grief of losing his muse, his partner threatened to consume him. He had half a mind to destroy the painting himself. Sorrow had rendered him bound to his seat, however. Even if he could move, he knew he could never truly harm their painting. It was the only thing left of her now, besides what he was sure would grow into bittersweet memory. She was gone.

He had lost her.
As he stared blankly ahead, the meaning of his loss began to sink deeply into his mind. By admitting he had lost her, he would surrender all will and thought of fighting to keep her at his side. He would hold strong to his dignity as lord of his home, husband of his wife, and purity of his faith. He knew that letting her go would be the right thing for him to do as a man. He knew and yet. . .

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps in the hall. His eyes turned to the door and he heard quiet rustling and movement. She was there. He knew it. He could feel her. He suddenly regretted leaving the door closed for his privacy. The longing to be with her was set on fire all anew. Turning his head, he stifled the urge to call for her to come in. He wished he could not hear her muted sobs, for it made his urges all the more powerful. He thought that he must be a foul soul to cause her such pain and to want her to return even now.

He could hear her move again, the sound of footsteps signaling that she was leaving. She was actually leaving the house. She was actually leaving his life. She was actually leaving him. He held his breath as he mentally counted her steps out of his reach. He noticed that she paused before the stairs. She was hesitant. She didn't want to leave. As his mind wrapped around this, he realized that this was their final moment. His final moment. Could he let it end this way?

Thinking that he only had this moment, this second to decide, realized he didn't need to decide at all. Without another thought, he jumped from his seat and flung open the door. He moved swiftly down the short hall and towards her. Hardly noticing her shock, her grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the room, making sure to shut the door behind him. He pushed her firmly, yet cautiously against the wall, his palms also touching it on either side of her. He looked into her eyes, intensely meeting her questioning gaze.

"Griet."

He breathed her name barely above a whisper. He didn't know what to say to her or what he intended to do, now that he had her within his reach. He didn't even know how long he had before they were possibly discovered. Letting instinct and desire to guide him, his hands lowered to her hips, seizing them. She gasped and began to shift slightly from his touch. He doted inwardly on her dignity as a lady to become flustered, despite the desire he knew was within her.

He did not release her, however. Instead, his eyes moved from her surprised ones, down to her full, pink lips. Desire seared his entire being as he leaned in closer to her. He noted her realization of his intention, as her breath began to quicken. This only served to heighten his need more. Reveling in the feel of her warm breath on his lips, he moved a hand to stroke her cheek. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, his masculine pride basked in the fact that she wanted this as well, not truly trying to stop him. Slowly, ever slowly his moved his lips closer to hers. As their eyes smoothly drifted shut, her arms shyly embraced him, pressing their bodies close. He shivered at the lust her action caused him, inciting him to grip her tighter. His face moved a fraction of an inch closer, sealing their lips, in a soul shattering kiss, as well as sealing their fates.

I am considering continuation, but I must know if this is good enough to expand upon. Please let me know if I should.