I Found You, You Found Me (Love Song to a Ballerina)
Usually they descended like the blue of a lightning-bolt. Women, before, cast his life into sinister relief, his rain-glistening castle walls forbidding in the sudden blue-white-black, the fir trees sharp to impale lesser gods, shadows appearing at twice their size, no longer softening, upsetting the horses before in an instant, disappearing.
But her light was instead a benevolent illumination.
And when she stood before the vaulted windows and watched the rain fall, nothing seemed sinister anymore, and what mattered was a thunder rumbling its satisfaction. Did it come from his chest? Storms no longer terrified. Somehow. He joined her, and lifted a finger to the fogged windowpane and etched a heart, then smiled at himself.
Because of her smile unlike anything, and brown eyes narrowed in slyness. A fascinating, delighted disbelief when she put her hand in his. The sheets of flaxen hair he remembered running through those fingers, tingling, every inch of him alert yet unafraid. Light to burn away the darkness and then leave sunspots on his gaze. To acknowledge his gargoyles like good luck charms.
For the first time his hands felt warmer than glass and not as fragile; the difference between blue and gold lightning, and the gold—healed him, it really did.
Robert etched a cloud into the window with his forehead. She chuckled, cheek to his shoulder. He regarded the soaked grounds, joyfully, because he was going to marry her.