Heather curled herself into a ball, done. She wanted to sleep but couldn't. To sleep was to dream, to dream was to squander a moment to savour the last few hours. She hugged herself tighter, pressing her knees to her forehead, it eased the ringing.
He'd been so slow, intimate and deliberate as a master smithy to a sword, with no price tag, no deadline. One made from the greatest iron ore, the finest steel.
Something had been done to her, something…
…masterful.
Her throbbing head had questions. Was it always like that? Her heart replied no.
The throbbing argued. How could one possibly know?
It just was.
Her body sang from her hips to her lips. The rest was too busy cramping up to reply, none worse than the whole of her left hand, her right pinky and big toe on both feet.
Are we dying?
No. Of course not.
How could he know it's my first time? Her head wondered.
He just does. It may never be as profound and complicated but when it's as passionate we'll let you know. Her body replied.
Heather watched Matthias form the gap between her knees. She'd never used the term love for anything outside of her soldiers, this was different.
That was a farce in comparison.
She questioned the whole of her existence and wept. It was silent but wet, each sob and gasp, repressed to nothing louder than a whisper.
Control.
So much time spent gaining it, so much determination and effort piled beneath her like a stairway… Like rock on mortar against time: it crumbled, disappearing as she reached for control. And before she could move it was all gone, leaving her to fall into chaos.
How? She didn't know, she wanted it back, but not at the expense of him. She wanted to carry on with her life, she needed to stay with him. She wanted control, she needed him.
She pulled herself up and snaked her hands around him falling over him, her wings spreading like a cloud over them both, her unable to let him go.