Sybrina by Amy Rachiele

prove something to himself at the cost of others.”
    “ Hmmm...” I consider this.  “I perceived it as revenge that smothers the captain and claims his soul.  Two soulless creatures fighting to the death, a whale and a man chewed upon and swallowed by vengeance,” I convey, thinking how fittingly accurate her reflections of the tale are told from her feminine perspective.  This beautiful woman never ceases to amaze me.
    “ Tales are typically founded in the root of human folly.  I’ve known many men who follow only one road and never truly see the ideologies of anything else. My father was a stubborn man but could, with the proper influence and information, see past his doggedness.  He was challenging, but had depth.”
    “ He was most difficult,” I concur, turning her to face me. I reach my hand up in a forward gesture, cupping her cheek. A lust boils in me, not for blood, but to kiss her lips.  Those plump, pink lips should be kissed often. “But the sun rose and set with you,” I whisper, my thoughts slipping from my own lips unguarded.
    She pauses for a moment, drinking in my declaration with an unmistakable blink of query, making her eyes even more radiant. A blunder in my relaxed , lustful state—carrying on a fruitful conversation with the beauty that haunts me day and night.
    “ You were acquainted with my father?” she asks incredulously.
    “ I was,” I respond lightly but have erred once more.  Knowing her as I do, this will require her to delve deeper into my response.
    “ At what time? Did you intern at a church near Boston?”
    True light shines from her eyes at the idea that I knew her father. Grief makes loved ones starved for a connection to the dead. More lies to tell.  The more I tell feeds the guilt that swells and plagues me, building an incorruptible wall between us. She is inferring that I knew him personally but my knowledge is only in observance of her and in their family home.
    I take a moment as we approach the balustrade of the ship that provides a remarkable view of the ocean in its dark enigmatic depths, illuminated only by specks of light from the sky and translucent moonbeams.  The glow of the lanterns behind us is lost.
    “ Business,” I disclose. “I happened to need a solicitor for a time.”
    A lady of her caliber would not ask a personal question regarding the nature of our dealings.  I inwardly congratulate myself for a swift response.   This satisfies her and Sybrina takes a more beneficial position, gazing across the black-soaked ocean.  Her tiny hands resting across the rail ignite my desire.  What would it be like to have her trace those fingers down my back in the throes of passion?
    “ What a serene evening,” Sybrina observes, surveying the scene before us.  Solemnness encroaches on her demeanor from the mention of her beloved father.
    “ There is something harmonious about the sea and the sky,” I declare, attempting a redirection to retrieve the mood. “In the distance they are married, blending together, opposites that find a common meeting place.”
    “ But it is a mirage.  Never the two shall meet,” Sybrina surmises, eyes shed into the fathomless ebony vista.
    “ I have hope that on some other ethereal plain, they have each other,” I defend.
    “ You have very romantic notions.” Sybrina turns to me, a sassy smile churning her cheeks to perfect orbs, brightening her countenance.
    “ Only when inspired by the company I keep.”
    “ You are very charming, Minister,” she expresses with a hint of sarcastic slyness.
    A breeze kicks up , dislodging locks of her hair from the pins that have it secured upon her head.  Those delicate fingers move, swiping the stray strands away; her gaze does not deviate from mine—an opportune moment.  My instinct is to trap her beneath me and lavish heat-filled kisses upon her lips—our bodies locked closely.  I summon my restraint in a cleansing flash, and reach into the humanity I still