Classic
Rasielle
It is winter, but for the love of me I could hardly tell. The moon is out, the stars are bright, and it is actually quite warm – well, as warm as a night in England could be. All is dark and covered in shadow, but not detestable. Smiling, I look into the night sky and let my mind wander.
I can hear him come from behind me, can recognize his footfalls by the way dead leaves crumble under his feet. I don't realize it, but I'm holding my breath. I knew he'd come. It was an unwritten arrangement, for him to come every night. To see one another in public was forbidden – lovers from separate worlds, such a classic story.
I turn my head, just a little, and the jewels in my hair jangle, just a little. He smells of fresh hay, as usual; such a simple scent, so refreshing. Very different from the exotic perfumes of nobles. Even when I'd grow used to the aroma of straw, I could never possibly have enough of it.
He comes up beside me and smiles. I don't turn. I let him watch me; it's so comfortable. He watches me, and I watch the sky, but secretly we're together, holding onto one another, fighting the present and at the same time fighting the future.
It can't last forever. We are enjoying what we have today and tonight, but the shadow of what comes is looming. I could not possibly live without him; but I'd have to learn. We'd be caught, one day. Fate promised it.
There'd be another night like this, I knew. Wintry but nice, beautiful, and I'd look into the sky again, and I'd remember. But he wouldn't be there. He wouldn't be beside me, watching me, grinning a little like the country lout he was – it'd be someone else. A duke, if my mother and father played their cards right. And the duke, or count, or earl, or whatever he would be… he wouldn't be the same.
Tears. They were coming; I blink desperately at the moon, lifting my chin and silently cursing my breaking heart. At least I'd have the memories, the memory of his touch and his smile and his voice and his scent and his footfalls – but it can't possibly be enough, can it?
But when he takes my hand, gently turns me to face him, and draws me into a kiss, I know that we're dying inside, together, as one. It will be over, and the dawning day would be the worst of our lives; but for now, at least, I had his touch and his kiss and his heart – and despite it all, the night was still warm. Even for winter.
fin.