The light was dim enough to plunge the corners of the room into utter darkness, but bright enough to set her skin glowing. She sat on the edge of the large bed, her hair swept aside to expose her neck and back. Saetan deftly and silently undid her final garment, a simple corset, and she would shiver slightly when his fingers brushed against her skin in the process.
It came loose and he laid it aside, leaving her unclothed. The room wasn't warm yet but Tersa didn't seem to feel cold; although she was looking slightly self-conscious. Saetan noticed he was still fully clothed in his layers of black, and swiftly undressed to ease her intimidation.
The bed covers were of the finest velvet, heavy and soft. But they could have been the most crude, home-spun material, in contrast to her skin. As they lay back, Saetan traced her entire body with his hands, caressing with the softest yet most possessive caresses Tersa had ever felt. How could the man embody such contrasting characteristics?
His hand paused somewhere above her hips. Then a finger traced delicately the scars, the scars that had healed long ago but not quite in the correct way, leaving odd-shaped, jagged pale lines in it's stead.
It was even darker lying back on the bed, as the drapes blocked more of the light, but Tersa looked up to where she could make out his face. She opened her mouth to speak, but Saetan's lips softly smiling lips descended upon them to silence her.
When she kissed him back in earnest, that was confirmation enough for his unasked questions. And so he showed her exactly what a former Consort to Witch could do.
Tersa opened her eyes unhurriedly, enjoying the simple pleasure of feeling the rippling velvet around her, warmed by her own body heat. A crisp current of cool, fresh air fluttered against her face, and that woke her a little more effectively.
She knew she was alone in the large bed; Saetan always awoke before her to see to some official affairs regarding Dhemlan Kaeleer or Dhemlan Terreille. Tersa had understood much of his routine now; he preffered taking care of these issues during the day so he could have the evening to attend meetings of the Hourglass coven, if any, or persue other things in relation to his position as a Black Widow, such as prepare intricate and essential poisons or weave dream webs.
Tersa would watch him do so sometimes, feeling a dull, disconnected ache of longing when he spun webs she couldn't anymore; not since losing the Red.
That morning she woke and she knew. It had been a full moon since the night he had first bedded her. They had made love nearly every night since, and now, this instant, this morning, she knew. His seed had taken hold. Tersa lay a hand on her stomach and looked up at the drapery above the bed.
She felt a deep sorrow within. Sorrow for the son she knew she was now sheltering within her. Sorrow for what was to befall him, what cruelties he would endure and perform. But there was also joy. For she knew, she knew that salvation would come; it would come through the very same source it would come to Saetan; through the one they would call Dreams Made Flesh. Like father, like son.
He and he alone would be Saetan's true heir. The father, the brother, the lover. The lover is the father's mirror...
Tersa felt herself slipping into herself. It was an odd sensation, and without her jewels to hold on to she kept falling softly, falling into that abyss, trying to hold onto the Birthright Green web that should be there, then to the Red that should be there... but there was nothing there...
The sound of the bedroom door opening pulled her back up and out of the abyss. It was an uncomfortably fast and fragile ascent, but when she heard Saetan's steady, deep voice, Tersa felt better rooted to the physical.
"Good morning." In a swish of black he was standing by the bed. He smiled slightly down at her, and gently stroked her face with the back of his black-nailed hand.
Tersa smiled up at him return. As Saetan noticed her hand, still resting on her stomach, he raised a questioning eyebrow. Tersa nodded, looking more solemn that a would-be mother would.
Fondness and relief glittered within Saetan's golden eyes, a warm, molten gold now, and he swiftly bent down to give her a lingering kiss.
But when he pulled back, Tersa caught a glimpse of a sorrow that differed completely from her own on Saetan's face. It was deeply etched and deeply felt, one that stemmed from past memory, not from the weight of glimpsing future pain.
The sorrow was from a previous time, a previous woman, a previous child. For the first time, Tersa felt a genuine surge of fear and sympathy as she looked at the man before her, the man who had wiped out an entire civilization to avenge the cruel fate that had befell one innocent babe.