I hover over the angel, and watch her sleep, watch as her breath pulls in and out through parted lips. Her sighs, the way her hands curled into themselves, the way she melted into the blankets... Such treasures that are burned into my memory. How I need her.
And yet, a curious feeling of celibacy steals over me, a blend of guilt and anxiety. A moment, and the feeling has passed.
Oh, but to be beside her, to feel her weight shift as she slumbers, to be there to hear all her murmurs through the night, to see her face painted silver in the moonlight! When she wakes, it must be like the sunrise, like life given to the dead. I wish to bow and bend before her, to lay prostrate as she loads abuses upon me, to once again be her faithful servant.
No. Retribution must be more than to make myself as a swine before her again; I must be her equal, and if I cannot, then she shall be subservient.
Bold from my validated thoughts, I lean over her, one hand braced above her head, and oh, just a touch away from tangling in that mass of golden curls, holding them, crushing them in my fist. I must kiss her. I must! It is no longer a moment of weakness, or just a lucid dream. It is a need, as much as the air that seemed stalled inside my body.
My face lowers toward hers, disaster moving into beauty, my lips, oh my wretched lips! A mere whisper from her mouth, parted as though she knew that I was there, waiting to be kissed.
The sheets sigh against her skin as she shifts in the ornate bed, and her arms raise above her head, her fingers coming alive in a slow dance. I'm caught for a moment in wonder, watching her fists clench and relax, and finally come to rest, one nestled in her hair, the other brushing my fingers. In the process, her head shifted to the side, exposing her ivory neck. It would be a fine thing to place my nose against her warm skin, to bury my head in the curve just above her shoulder.
And then...
Her eyes flew open, suddenly, as though one waking from a bad dream. Her sapphire eyes darted around for a moment, and as she turned, I always already lost in shadow. All that she saw were two golden eyes, and perhaps the glimmer of moonlight reflected on my mask.
Or perhaps it was just a dream...
* * * * * * * *
I had been bold in going to her in the dead of the night, made brave by my discoveries. Those moments spent watching her sleep, bathed in moonlight had been my payment for spending hours upon hours bent over ledgers and books, poring endlessly over them, considering, planning, and above all, thinking. What I had suspected had become overtly obvious as the moments plodded on, and I wanted to laugh, to cry, to fly from the building as it became so clear, and what had started as a spark became the golden light of a plan.
She would have no choice but to accept my offer, repulsed as she may be, but she would consent in the end; I had found her weakness, and exploiting it would be to my intense pleasure.
Nobility was such a cruel caste.