configuration.
Morning Glory withdrew something from one a leather pouch on her belt, a clear bottle with a crystal stopper. She reached for his hand and placed it on his open palm. “Give this potion to your lady love.”
He held it up to the light. The liquid inside was pomegranate seed red.
“After she drinks it and gazes upon your face,” Morning Glory said, “she’ll love you utterly and beyond anything.”
Donall considered the prospect. He tried to imagine Lydia showing the kind of desire for him Morning Glory had. “I…I don’t think I could bear that.” He hated to be ungracious about the gift, but he couldn’t lie, not to Morning Glory.
Her face fell. “I don’t understand. You liked being with me just now. You can have that passion every day with the woman you marry.”
“I don’t think I could take it,” he said. The very idea was—not appalling. That wasn’t the right word. Overwhelming. “I wouldn’t be able to do anything but adore her. Like opium, I suppose. Once I had that kind of passion, I’d spend every moment worrying for m ore. That kind of love…it would ruin me.”
The fairy shook her head slowly, and her brows crunched together. “You want to marry Lydia though you know she doesn’t love you?”
“She respects me.” He shrugged. “She likes me well enough. She’ll never bring shame on the Bausiney name. And she’ll never break my heart.”
“She’ll never make your heart soar either!”
“But that’s quite all right, Morning Glory. Don’t you see?”
Donall’s eye caught the fresco painted on the ceiling of the Sacred Temple of Joy and Wonder. It depicted a satyr ravishing a nymph from behind. His hands groped her breasts and his mouth clamped on her neck. It should be repulsive, but it made Donall ironically philosophical.
“ You have made my heart soar. I’ll carry this feeling to my grave. I know exactly how it will be. This day will live in me all the days of my life. The memory will be a talisman against all sorrow, all pain. Nothing will violate that memory. Today is and ever will be perfect. Nothing can tarnish it.”
Something shifted inside him. Every word he’d just said was the immutable truth. And like a charm, speaking the words had freed him of Lydia’s power.
Morning Glory touched his cheek and smiled. “And I feared you might not be the romantic I first took you for.” She closed his fingers around the vial. “Keep it anyway. My gift to you. You might find another purpose for it.”
“Will I see you again?” He knew he wouldn’t.
“I don’t know.” She extended her wings and lifted off the floor. She was indeed the most exquisite creature he had ever seen.
“My heart is breaking right now, Morning Glory. I want you to love me forever, and I know it’s impossible.” He stared at the marble floor. He’d never felt more alone. “I’ll be safe with Lydia. I could never break my heart over a woman who doesn’t love me. She presents no danger.”
When he looked up again Morning Glory was gone, and Lydia Pengrith was ascending the temple steps with all the self-confidence Donall had admired in her. And still did. Charles and Gwen followed behind, but it was as if they didn’t exist.
Lydia had changed too. The shift was invisible but powerful. Before, she’d fixed on Charles as her object. Now, Donall held the favored position. Or rather the cup did. The fairy cup had turned her. As Morning Glory might say, it didn’t matter. Donall let Lydia’s smile wash over him, and he returned one equally sincere. He extended his arm to her, and she took it.
“You’ve redone your cravat, my lord,” she said. “How very clever of you.”
We’re No Angels
B EING DEAD FELT LIKE BEING alive but with elements of the sublime juxtaposed on the mundane.
The yew wood rocking chair was impossibly comfortable, as if the person who made it had Beverly’s frame in mind through every step of its construction. In the fireplace the
Morning Glory withdrew something from one a leather pouch on her belt, a clear bottle with a crystal stopper. She reached for his hand and placed it on his open palm. “Give this potion to your lady love.”
He held it up to the light. The liquid inside was pomegranate seed red.
“After she drinks it and gazes upon your face,” Morning Glory said, “she’ll love you utterly and beyond anything.”
Donall considered the prospect. He tried to imagine Lydia showing the kind of desire for him Morning Glory had. “I…I don’t think I could bear that.” He hated to be ungracious about the gift, but he couldn’t lie, not to Morning Glory.
Her face fell. “I don’t understand. You liked being with me just now. You can have that passion every day with the woman you marry.”
“I don’t think I could take it,” he said. The very idea was—not appalling. That wasn’t the right word. Overwhelming. “I wouldn’t be able to do anything but adore her. Like opium, I suppose. Once I had that kind of passion, I’d spend every moment worrying for m ore. That kind of love…it would ruin me.”
The fairy shook her head slowly, and her brows crunched together. “You want to marry Lydia though you know she doesn’t love you?”
“She respects me.” He shrugged. “She likes me well enough. She’ll never bring shame on the Bausiney name. And she’ll never break my heart.”
“She’ll never make your heart soar either!”
“But that’s quite all right, Morning Glory. Don’t you see?”
Donall’s eye caught the fresco painted on the ceiling of the Sacred Temple of Joy and Wonder. It depicted a satyr ravishing a nymph from behind. His hands groped her breasts and his mouth clamped on her neck. It should be repulsive, but it made Donall ironically philosophical.
“ You have made my heart soar. I’ll carry this feeling to my grave. I know exactly how it will be. This day will live in me all the days of my life. The memory will be a talisman against all sorrow, all pain. Nothing will violate that memory. Today is and ever will be perfect. Nothing can tarnish it.”
Something shifted inside him. Every word he’d just said was the immutable truth. And like a charm, speaking the words had freed him of Lydia’s power.
Morning Glory touched his cheek and smiled. “And I feared you might not be the romantic I first took you for.” She closed his fingers around the vial. “Keep it anyway. My gift to you. You might find another purpose for it.”
“Will I see you again?” He knew he wouldn’t.
“I don’t know.” She extended her wings and lifted off the floor. She was indeed the most exquisite creature he had ever seen.
“My heart is breaking right now, Morning Glory. I want you to love me forever, and I know it’s impossible.” He stared at the marble floor. He’d never felt more alone. “I’ll be safe with Lydia. I could never break my heart over a woman who doesn’t love me. She presents no danger.”
When he looked up again Morning Glory was gone, and Lydia Pengrith was ascending the temple steps with all the self-confidence Donall had admired in her. And still did. Charles and Gwen followed behind, but it was as if they didn’t exist.
Lydia had changed too. The shift was invisible but powerful. Before, she’d fixed on Charles as her object. Now, Donall held the favored position. Or rather the cup did. The fairy cup had turned her. As Morning Glory might say, it didn’t matter. Donall let Lydia’s smile wash over him, and he returned one equally sincere. He extended his arm to her, and she took it.
“You’ve redone your cravat, my lord,” she said. “How very clever of you.”
We’re No Angels
B EING DEAD FELT LIKE BEING alive but with elements of the sublime juxtaposed on the mundane.
The yew wood rocking chair was impossibly comfortable, as if the person who made it had Beverly’s frame in mind through every step of its construction. In the fireplace the
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