Chapter 2: Entrance
Disclaimer: This is fanfiction, so going into too much detail here is redundant, isn't it?
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The faint rustling of the trees surrounding the mansion played a gentle melody, pleasing his ears as he went about his work. He paused, taking in a deep breath, allowing himself to enjoy a small, simple moment of his life, the sort of moment that was few and far between. In his ever present search for the meaning of everything moments like this one were rare.
In an ideal world, things would be much more simple, but as it were, they were not and he was forced to be cut-throat and ruthless in business every day. It was the sort of life that made one cold, though he was anything but.
He longed for the touch of the one who wasn't his. He longed for her sweet voice. He would cling to any moment he had with her, trying to stretch it out over eternity. While he failed at doing so in reality, the memories of each encounter were always within him.
His longing for her never waned, it only intensified. With each passing day, it grew and it grew and it grew, engulfing his every spare moment.
The brilliance of her face was unrivaled by that of the sun; the light radiating from her as gentle as the moon. Never was there a creature more fair upon the earth than her, never did one enthrall him so.
He walked to the window and looked up at the blue sky. It was crisp and clear, not a cloud in sight. The sky was taunting him.
If everything he ever did was reflected upon, it would vindicate his claims of loyalty. Everything he did was so discreet, he wasn't even sure she knew how he felt. Saying it, saying the words out loud...he wasn't sure how that would turn out. So, in cowardice, he kept quiet, though, in every other respect, he was not a coward–that was to be sure.
He was now at peace with how he felt about her. There was a point in time when he would've felt as though he were betraying a person close to him. That day is forever gone now.
He walked back over to his desk, set down, and looked at his paper with the intent of reading it, of working, but now that she had crossed his mind, it was hard to concentrate.
He was parched, thirsty for her presence. It had been days since he'd seen her, days without being near her. Those few days without her were already too many and he didn't wish for them to accumulate more.
An argument with her was like hell for him. He never initiated the argument, though he recognized he brought it on at times. When she was mad at him, he felt as though the world was falling apart. Same for when she was distrustful of him, which she had become more so in the past three-hundred and sixty-five days alone.
It was hell.
His feelings for her were manifesting themselves daily and he couldn't help but think she was subconsciously ignoring them. He was convinced of the fact and it brought him great pain–a proverbial sword through his heart.
There was a rapping on the door. Without waiting for a reply, the intruder of his reverie entered. It was her.
"Hello, Lex," she said.