I held her tightly, feeling her every precious tiny movement. Kissing her on the neck, I taste her skin, so sweet and yet so bitter, warm to the touch, so very like us.
Her skin is pale, soft and tender, perfection in the tiny traces of light that now touches it with the rose of the impending morning. Dawn will break soon, and the silence with it.
My fingers and lips roam, giving chase and exploring the one who moves me so. I tangle my hands in her hair, running the copper strands through, and watching as they slip from my grasp, unaltered and unchanged.
I return to her neck, tasting the tender flesh once more. I pause for a moment, fighting the urge to bite down, to taste my love's very essence, bitter and metallic on my tongue. Her body would drain of strength slowly, and all of her being would be mine. But she is not mine to claim, instead her own, free and untamed as her savage hair, yet as gentle as her precious, subtle smell, so innocent and pure.
No matter how hard I try, I can never claim her, never begin to grasp what it is that makes me love her so or long for her touch, so calm, gentle and warm.
All of me all of my soul, is mesmerized by the mystery and the impossibility that is my Ginny. Do I transfix her as well? Am I, perhaps, her evil queen of ancient myth? Am I anything at all?
The answer is not for my eyes to see, nor mortal mind to grasp.