Chapter 11: Cold World
Desdemona sat beneath the black moon in the garden, a vaporless gloom haloing her soul. She gazed upon the starless night, her heart feeling as black as the sky. An eerie wind lurked about the foggy mist, sighing low and forlorn, hailing the scent of nearing rain.
As if her shattered heart had summoned him from the bed, Loki revealed himself from a dense cluster of fog. "Are you cold?" He asked strolling toward her, eyes focused on her bare arms, the frosty wind rippling his unruly curls.
"I am not." She replied softly, eyes veiled, her breath fog greeting the icy air.
He sat to her left and faintly touch her bare arm littered with chill bumps. "You are chilled to the bone, Desdemona."
"This is a cold world." At the anguish flaring in her tone, his face softened, a sympathy in his eyes. She was not referring to the weather. What has his brother done now?
"Not all of us are cold." He ran his hand up her arm to the nape of her neck, his warm flesh licking her intimately. "Let me warm you."
She turned her reflection upon him, hollowed and torn. He removed his cloak and placed it lovingly around her trembling shoulders. "You deserve to be warm, Desdemona." He whispered, caressing her the hollow of her cheek with his index finger.
Sudden tears blooming, Desdemona sprung to her feet, dropping the cloak, and sprinting back to her doomed fate. Loki sighed a breaking heart sigh watching his love flee from his touch.
Note- For some reason when I paste over from Microsoft Office, parts of sentences are sometimes deleted. If you see a cut off sentence, please let me know.