The cold February snow whirled around a figure in the darkness of the new moon. The woman dressed in a black trench coat wandered through the dank, cold streets; the wind whistled its somber tune as the frost danced in the darkness of the night. The nights had grown shorter as winter began to release its hold on the ancient city, but the ice valiantly held its grip. At once the woman stopped and gazed at an alley lit with the dim glow of a single lamp, burning softly in the night. She walked noiselessly on the cobblestone, a remnant from a bygone age. An oaken door appeared out of the thin darkness and loomed before her, she reached out and ran her fingers down the surface of the wind worn wood and produced a key from the pocket of her long coat. She opened the lock on the aged door and stepped inside out of the cold. The woman smiled as she walked into the warmth of the house and felt the voices of the leafy tenants fill her soul. The room was filled with exotic flora, gifts she herself had left from her previous visits to the house, some older than she would like to remember. She placed a hand on a bromeliad she had left on her first visit to the home; it was much bigger now than it had been then. She wondered where the time had gone, the days of warmth and happiness that had once been. She gave a quiet sigh and turned to a set of stairs that twisted to the top of the house.
The woman walked up the stairs softly, as if to not wake the leafy tenants of the house. She walked into a well lit room filled with green foliage and a menagerie of blues, reds, violets, and yellows. She ran her fingers through the delicate flowers as she padded her way through the soft mossy floor and into a still deeper chamber. The next room was filled with books, and papers strewn across a messy floor; she smirked at the cluttered room and lowered her eyes to a dozing figure seated in a padded chair. He was wearing a white coat, hers from a time she would like to forget, his dark chestnut hair tousled every which way. He sat asleep, his head lowered onto a book perched in his hands. The woman removed her jacket and placed it on a desk in the corner of the room. She approached the man seated asleep, laid a hand on his shoulder and lightly nudged him awake. He awoke to find her arms wrapped around his neck, her breath in his ear. A faint smell of honeysuckle danced across his nostrils as he heard a low chuckle in his right ear. He turned his face and looked into her eyes: her bright vermillion eyes, the color of the brightest meadow on a spring day. He saw the light and the fire in her bright and wild eyes and was lost within them.
She released him from her grasp and laid upon the large bed in the center of the room. He stood and soon joined her on the bed. He went to her and laid down beside her lovely forest colored form, he reached up and cupped her face with his hands and brought it close to his. He gazed into her eyes for a moment and all at once he saw Eden dance in the brightness of her luminous pools. Then he kissed her passionately, a lover's kiss. She returned his affections with a deeper kiss, and placed her arms around his body and ran them down his back. Then she pulled away and gave a quiet laugh, as if remembering a joke told long ago. He smiled down at her and then softly kissed his way down her cheek and rested his lips on her neck, slightly biting her emerald flesh. She gave a soft moan and pulled him down on top of her, he buried his face in her scarlet hair and breathed in her scent, the scent of honeysuckle and roses. She whispered his name softly into his ear, he sighed and pulled away. She pushed him slightly until he was above her, he looked down at her naked form; at that moment she was his Venus, his Helen, his Diana. She brought her face to his and kissed him lightly on his lips, then fell down to the softness of the bed.
He pulled her to him, and they were one, they moved together and danced a lover's dance. She moaned into his neck as he bit down on her shoulder, the color of raw peridot. She shook as she reached her peak, and pulled him into a final kiss; she broke the kiss and looked up at him. He held her there in his arms and moved his hands along her luscious body. Her that belonged to him, she smiled a knowing smile as she laid her head on his chest and allowed him to hold her close. He whispered her true name aloud and professed his love; she breathed a long sigh and murmured her agreement to his sentiment. He gave her a light squeeze and held her all the closer to him. Then he felt something deep within him, her venom seeped through his veins and his eyes filled with silent fear. The world began to lose focus and descended into a blur. He heard her voice one last time then fell into darkness.
She fell asleep in his arms to the sound of his breathing, it was not enough to kill, she had made certain. Sometimes he had to be reminded who she was, what she was; she heard him mumble her name in his sleep and she smiled a secret smile. When the dawn sun arose he awoke, like Persephone she had left and with her passing came spring. The ice had thawed in the night and the sun felt warm on his skin, he looked at the desk and on it was a rose, its vines curling down around the legs of the desk. He looked out the window and saw the grass growing in the courtyard hidden from the outside world by the dark alley. He looked down and saw a leafy ring around his neck, he counted the number of the points on the leaves and tears welled up in his eyes. He gave a laugh as the tears fell down his cheeks and onto the living chain that adorned his neck, a gift from his May Queen; a wreath made from poison ivy.