T E N E B R A E
On my body, the grace of shadows
and in my heart: all Hells
and in my heart: all Hells
Tenebrae does not stop to think how dangerous they are for each other. He does not stop to think how he should not be here with her, but back repairing Caligo’s altar. There is no space for doubt this night.
He is a foolish man. He thinks of nothing but his wants, his desires. The night illuminates her, limns her in silver and turns her fierce gold into the softness of a dream. It is as if Elena comes to him carved out of paradise. She is midnight’s gift and the shadows unveil her.
He is a foolish man because when he stands before her, his lips upon her throat, upon her lips, he lets himself be so consumed. There is a beauty there, yes, but he lets himself think of nothing else. All of him is consumed by Elena. All of him made whole by the sight of her, by the press of her brow to his neck, the whisper of her words across his skin.
They undo each other and remake themselves together. “You have changed me.” He breathes, before her admission, before she confesses her love.
Then it comes. The stars are blinding, the lake dark with promise. Her words are pressed into the scant space they leave between their bodies. It sinks down into his breast, his heart. It takes root within his soul.
Love.
It stings as she says it. Terror pierces him with an arrow laced with bitter poison. But its twin is joy and her arrow pierces deeper. Delight slips like liquor through his veins. He can deny her nothing. He has given himself wholly to this, to the gold of Elena. He comes to her a man ailing and she vows to set him alight. Tenebrae is building his pyre before her. He might be her first martyr.
But he is a foolish man.
Forever with Elena. He is drunk upon them, upon her. He lets her fill up every piece of his heart and inch of his soul. “There is no rush.” He murmurs, could he offer her forever? He is still a monk after all. A monk who rejected his goddess upon her festival night. His punishment awaits and it may not just be a whip across his back but something more, something worse. What is the price of Elena this night? His faith? Would he pay it.
Forever.
Elena tattoos the word upon him as the pierces him with her blue eyes. They are deep enough to lose himself within and Tenebrae is falling into her. He smiles against her cheek as her confession strings itself in starlight. His shadows press in upon the contours of her face, they paint her dark, dark. “You will have my forever.” Tenebrae murmurs, as if he knows what it means. But he is a foolish man and has no ability to see the future, to know what forever could ever mean. Yet he vows it all the same. Pledges himself across her skin.
The monk aches when she leaves him. The cold of the night air presses in across all the places their bodies had been touching. He watches her lanturn ascend, her wish a bright light against the night. OF course Elena’s wish would rise in smoke and fire and golden light. Up and Up that wish of hers rises, until the universe catches it and turns it into starlight, into the wanting dreams of men.
He lowers his gaze from the lanturn and returns to Elena. He follows her as she leads him out into deeper water. “Is that what you wished for?” He asks as he presses close to her again, until it is impossible to know where he ends and she begins. So intertwined they have become. “Because that is a wish I can give you.” Then lower, low, “You who asks so much of me.” He smiles a dark roguish smile across her skin. “Tell me you wished for something more than just a dance with a monk.”
And he is holding her as the lake reflects the sky into a silken floor of stars and moonlight.
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