Marisa didn't quite know what to do. Asriel – or Fëanor, or whatever his name actually was – had accomplished the very rare feat of completely disconcerting her. "So," she said eventually, knowing it sounded stupid but feeling forced to say something, "what do you get up to when you're not exploring?"

"Planning my next explorations, mostly," he replied. "When I have the chance. People want to talk to me so much, now I'm a sort of celebrity. It's an awful waste of time."

"You don't mind talking to me, though," said Marisa, certain enough of that fact – he would hardly have invited her here if she bored him – to make the sentence a statement, not a question.

"No," he admitted. "I don't. You're less tedious than most – ordinary people." His dæmon swished her long tail angrily from side to side.

"I suppose that is intended as a compliment to me?" asked Marisa, who had noticed the catch in his voice and was wondering what it meant. "Because it could just be interpreted as a criticism of everyone else."

"Why couldn't it be both?" he asked.

"I suppose it could," admitted Marisa. "I just don't think you're the sort to give compliments lightly."

"Not normally, no. But my usual rules don't seem to apply in your case."

"Or maybe," said Stelmaria, "you haven't been trying to apply them."

Marisa tried to control the sudden rush of joy at this. He did care about her, at least to some extent. "Why bother about rules when you could just be having fun?" she asked, feeling suddenly mischievous. "Rules are so restrictive."

"That's heresy," he said, "coming from a loyal supporter of the Church like you."

Touché, thought Marisa. "You said it yourself," she replied with a grin. "Rules don't apply to me. And you don't appear to care about them."

He smiled in exactly the same way that she had. "So, let's just do whatever we want," he concluded. "There's nothing to stop us. We could do anything we wanted together."

Marisa nodded eagerly. "We just need to decide what to do. We have a whole world at our disposal." The mood in the room had suddenly changed: they were both eager, excited, longing to explore.

"Where do you want to start?" he asked.

Marisa got to her feet. "With you, of course!" It was a bold move, but she felt she could get away with it. She walked over to his seat and stood next to him, almost begging him to come closer.

They were no longer pretending not to care: they were filled with a passionate desire for each other and for everything. Nothing mattered, not Edward, not his immortality, not anything but each other and what they could do.

He got to his feet. He was so close their bodies were almost touching. The snow leopard crept, body low to the ground, out from under the table with a purr. The golden monkey leapt into Marisa's arms and climbed up onto her shoulder.

Slowly, tentatively, he reached out one arm and encircled it around her body. Then he did the same with the other, until each hand gripped the opposite wrist, with Marisa trapped in the centre. They were still not touching.

"Asriel," she whispered.

"Marisa," he responded in kind.

There were no barriers now between them. She impulsively flung her arms around his neck. He tightened his grip, and to her surprise she found it felt the safest, most natural thing in the world to be in his arms.

She was startled when he lifted her off the ground and spun her around effortlessly until she was dizzy, but soon found herself laughing. She couldn't have faked anything now, when her mind had lost control of her body and everything was done on impulse. Dimly, she wondered why this didn't feel horribly unsettling.

She found herself blinking, eyes flicking from open to closed, unable to settle, almost like the way her dæmon, when she was younger, had been unable to decide on a form when she was too excited.

He put her down, and she wondered how she was able to take her own weight when she was so dizzy, she could barely think. She closed her eyes, for good this time, since they weren't doing her much good, and then found herself being drawn almost magnetically to him. The motion was slow and controlled, but finally she found herself kissing him.

She'd kissed many people before, Edward not least, but she could honestly say that she'd never felt like this. It was like it released an explosion of joy in her which her body could barely contain. She let it linger for as long as she could, and suddenly she knew she had to get out.

She'd hoped to make him fall in love with her, to wind him round her little finger, but she'd ended up falling in love with him. And she couldn't let that happen. What had she done? What had she got herself into?

She had to get away, to think clearly, to make sense of this on her own. To work out what to do next. Clumsily, she pulled away from him and opened her eyes. She'd thought for a moment he'd cling to her and refuse to let her out, but the moment she tried to escape his embrace he let her go.

"I should go," she said, barely conscious of the words coming out of her mouth, brain on auto-pilot. "Edward will be wondering where I am. I'll send a message."

Barely aware of the disappointed look on his face, or her glass of wine which she'd barely touched, she walked quickly to the door and fumbled with the handle in her haste to get it open. Finally, it yielded to her and she darted out in a flash and was half-walking, half-running down the stairs before she could regain control of her body and emotions and go back to normal again.