The Clock strikes

The moon defeated the sun, as nightfall rang supreme. The stars blanketing the sky, quilting the world in dim lighting. Layers upon layers of constellations telling the tales of travelers past as bed times unfold. She stood before her window. Her body leaning into the glass staring out the sleeping world. So soothing. Candles lit along each table as the dance floor motionless, the echoes of her footsteps ringing, coaxing her to twirl once more. Her blonde curls covered with a nightcap as a few misguided strands coiled along her jaw line, bouncing as she turned her head. The lace of the nightcap haloing her face, as the ivory skin glowed as the beams of light radiated her flesh. She wore a strapless white gown. The corseted top laced with black ribbon, as a serpent it coiled along her torso restricting her movement. The skirt of her gown gently fell along her slender legs as a black shawl covered her naked shoulders. Plump red lips painted a deep red as her cheeks sparkled with hints of glitter.

She wore black ballet slippers to silence her steps within the sleeping room. Her rocking chair swayed quietly, a gentle snort as the wood slept. The coat rack hunched its head as a top hat shielded the top beam as it rested. No rattling from within her closet as all the glass jars laid still. Her sanctuary was resting as the Professor was awake, dreaming with pale open eyes as she looked at the world in faded light.

Within her hand she held the handle as a candle stood upright, its flame glowing, flicking playfully before her. The wax bubbled, as globs coated the base of the candle holder. Her lips parted as she spoke, whispering in the silence. “Sleep well my slumbering world. Shut your eyes so you may rest. The moon is full, the stars awake, watching you cautiously as you lay. The world is do dark at night, so lonely, so empty. Within the day the halls are full, life is reborn once more. None stir within the Hallows, none when it is sleeping. Good night my darlings, sleep well dream light.” Margo turned slowly as she glided to the tables to blow out each candle.

Celestine walked through the halls dressed in a slightly more formal attire than his casual librarian garb. He felt the need for some reason, given the silent visit from the professor earlier in the day, and with everyone's duties performed and the school asleep for the most part, Celestine felt the need to visit and repay the gift Professor Margo had left for him along with the note she had left in regards of the ball.

Celestine had definitely dressed up for reasons he had no real idea. Always an understhirt with a night-worthy set of black button-up shirt and a dark blue tie. Black dress pants and a pair of slick loafers donned his bottom half. In the right hand was an amber tin with a beautiful tan lace tied in a simple bow filled with old man Worther's hard caremels. In the left were a pair of white lilies. Somehow he felt a real woman had written the that letter, and he meant to approach her as such.

As he approached her appointed classroom, he saw a crack in door, the light appearing to fade lightly as Prof. Margo slowly extinguished a few candles. Celestine knocked on the door and opened it slowly. He stood at the opening as his breath caught in his throat as before him was a pale beauty in her nightgown. It wasn't just the woman in the nightgown that stopped him. She held herself high. She was almost regal in that regards.

"Umm..." Gee, way to sound intelligent, Ravnos. "My name is Celestine Johan Ravnos, the librarian. I wanted to thank you for your treats earlier." Did I come at a bad time? It looks like she was about to retire for the night. Indeed he felt slightly out of place all of a sudden. He wondered if she had caught an illness or if the trick of the light made her skin seem pale and glow.

A smile drew upon the doll’s own face as she turned forward within the night. A guest among the sleeping as she lifted a candle within the darkness. Her pale eyes looking at his form as he spoke to her. Her lips curled as she blew out one last candle as she moved her hands down her outline clumping at the siding of her gown. Fingers twirl the fabric lifting the edges off the stone as her she took a step back with her right foot as she bent downward. Her knees kissing the stone as her head lowered. Her curls teasing her face as her eyes looked up at him.

“Welcome Milord, such life you bring within the room. You must receive a formal welcome.” She cleared her throat as the chandeliers sparked the lights of the room taking them over. The candles faded from the tables as the baskets with bedded flowers took their place. The rocking chair stood at ease as the coat rack stood in proper attention. Her sanctuary was alive as she rose with the light. Her eyes blinking slowly at him as the porcelain doll moved forward. Her eyes looking at his gifts as a pale blush blotted her cheeks.

“Upon my eyes Milord! Such a greeting! Thank you for your kindness.” Margo moved to stand beside him as she gently moved her arm in between his side and limb as she hooked her hand around his bicep. Her free hand continuing to hold the side of her gown as she walked him into the room. “Please sit Sir. Ravnos.” As they walked across the dance floor she glided, her hips weaving in luscious circles as she danced in soft steps. As they reached a table a chair pulled out. Margo released her grip from him as she took a seat. She crossed her legs tightly as she plucked a folded napkin from its place, laying it along her lap.

The tea cups shivered with delight as the kettle floated over their rims. The scent of honey and mint filled the air with transparent aroma as the cups were filled. The plump sugar bowl darted out as a spoon shoveled some sugar within. Margo smiled as she spoke while the spoon stirred the brew. “I do hope you enjoy our visit Milord, we are so delighted that you came. What does the Lord Seek? So I may offer my thank you with an answer.” As she spoke her voice was a chime, ringing playfully at his earlobe.

Celestine managed to find his breath again and relax yet again found himself surprised with such a formal greeting. She was definitely graceful and could probably balance a teacup upon her pinky while he tried to keep it steady on the saucer. Celestine soon learned that he had yet to know surprise.

The chandeliers lit with nary an effort and so quickly that Celestine held the white lilies over his eyes to keep himself from being blinded with the sudden change of illumination. As his eyes adjusted, he slowly brought the bouquet down and tried not to lose his breath again. she was indeed stunning. No incredibly beautiful and pale. He questioned if she had been sick and was putting up a show of strength. There was also the case of the sudden flowers on the table. Magic. Had to be. Knowing the background of this school it wasn't surprising; thus, he was not bothered by the fact, but something nagged at the back of his brain; something he decided to ignore for now despite how much it screamed.

Celestine looked to his right as Margo guided him into the room. She was close and personable. A well-trained hostess. Kind. Considerate. He felt like a king, but 'sir' made him sound of noble birth. He definitely was a thing but "Sir" Ravnos. The title made him nervous as he was suddenly expected, but he knew it couldn't show. He already was having a great time. She moved upon the dance floor with such grace. He could barely walk in a straight line considering his lack of focus. Indeed, she was amazing. Yet, something still lingered.

He ignored the lingering again as he sat across from the Lady of the room, his back straight and his shoulders back. His every Welsh instinct told him to treat the woman as an actual Lady of a household. To be shown respect. The air around her commanded it without asking or demanding. He wanted to do this for her. Celestine did nothing but gaze into her eyes. Such like a doll with blond curls. He felt them look into himself.

Amazed, he watched the teacups fill with tea. He had known of magic, but to see it in such control. Such natural attention. He wondered if this were an everyday occurrence for the lady, but he barely let his eyes stay off her too long. Soon he was smiling and relaxed yet still at attention yet shivering with her very word.

"My dear Lady Margo, such need of formalities exist not with me. I'm am more a "sir" as I am a nobleman. Please. 'Celestine' or 'Mr. Ravnos' if you must, Milady. I doubt I could live up to high standards otherwise. Yet I have the strange desire to act as one. Celestine gave a nod of his head in thanks, eagerly awaiting his tea. He expected ambrosia with all this anticipation leaking out of him. "Surely, Milady, I seek nothing but to express my thanks for your wonderful visit. Your sweets were most mouth watering, and your invitation welcome in every sense. I felt the need to come thank you personally after all your trouble and learn more of you as I have yet to meet you in my weeks hear." Celestine could not help himself with such wording. He felt it required, but there was no negative thought. He honestly wanted to be pleasing for her. "Thus, I can assure you my visit has been full with wonderful surprises and can no way be anything less than enjoyable."

As he spoke she moved her hands from her lip as she coaxed the handle of her cup. Fingers curling as she guided the cup to her lips, tilting it as the murky waves splashed within her mouth, drowning her taste buds as she listened. She lowered the cup as she smiled at his words waiting for him to finish. Her fingers laced once more as she giggled lightly. “My what words does my guest speak. His tongue striking with such formal grace. I am awed by your likeness, what pleasure it brings us to be viewed in such flattering words. Such as the poet speaks in verse, your affections cause every reader to blush Sir. Poet. If such titles you feel are in-just forgive as I rename you.” Margo twisted her body as she gave him direct eye contact. Paying respect as she lived for the subject she taught.

“As the knight is honored from the slaying of dragons, you milord, are in such a fairy tale. The Hallows is a wondrous place for I have been her for such a long time, however my departure has haunted me, following me in vivid reminders of why the students are so important to me. Both you and I share a common cause as we are subjects to this court, honoring the Mistress, obeying her conduct, as we provide our knowledge for the next generation.” She looked at his gifts as she blushed once more.

“A poet bearing tangible gifts! Your new verse has plucked the strings of my heart, just as the player plays the harp. So witty one is who dips their nose into books, quoting thoughts of past poets, from the tragic to the romance, from the villian to the hero with your words even the bastard has parent.” Margo reached out her hand as she touched one of the lilies. Her hand cupping the petals as she lowered her head to smell. Her nostrils inhaling with the sweet fragrance as she cradled the flower within her arm, keeping it close as she looked at the basket. She stood out of her chair as the chair slightly pulled itself back as her hands scanned the display selecting the center of the piece.

“In aiding my masterpiece I must dub you a hero, your thoughtfulness so knightly as you traveled down the hall to seek me, I wrote a note you have come in person, what adoring gifts you grant me with. If I were to close my eyes and gaze upon them once more I would be as delighted as I am now. Thank you Sir. Ravnos. Perhaps you are yet to see the beauty beyond your actions. For your eyes see yourself in one light, while the reader reads your words in another. A man with two roles. How precious he is, once he discovers his importance, that is when is fully a sir. I do hope I have aided you on that personal reflection, so you may see yourself through others eyes. Thus the reason for my class. Formalities is a vision, we are the makers, carrying that sight with us.”

Margo moved to take another sip as she bowed her head lightly towards him.

Celestine's blood rushed to his face in a blush, and he suddenly felt parched. He took the tea and shakely made the cup somehow come to his mouth without dropping either the cup or the tea. He sipped silently, finding a haven in the relaxing sweetness of the nectar. He put his cup down, almost dropping it and placed a hand behind his head, his eyes finding the tea most intriguing as his eyes did not leave it.

"Milady embarasses me with such flattery for mine own words are naught but a drop in the bucket compared to your ability. Please...I...I merely brought these to give my thanks and show you a bit of my own favorites as a child. They're really nothing spectacular." God, when did I turn into such a wuss. I'm falling to pieces here and can barely speak. What amazing words. What an amazing woman.

Celestine worked up the nerve to bring his eyes back up to hers, the blush still flushing his cheeks as if he were red with drunkeness, and he might as well have been. Such wit he knew himself to carry left him as a coward. Such a vocabulary he studied in school failed him entirely in his eyes. Milady Margo. I'm flattered. I really don't know what to say. I am grateful for your words and your truth having never thought of something so simple to become something worthy of the high courts."

Steadily this time, Celestine took hold of his cup and calmly sipped on the nectar it contained. "I can now see, Milady, why you are so good at what you do. You live it day-to-day. I'm most grateful for having met you. You're truely inspiring."

The cup teetering as his own shaking lips splashed the liquid into his mouth. Margo watched as her lips puckered into a pout as she saw his distress. “Milord? Is aid needed as you request a sip?” She giggled playfully as she watched his facial features. He seemed nervous as he spoke of her being inspiration. A blush as dark as his own cheeks continued to blot her own. “Milord! One must trouble me with compliments, none are needed with such praise. You must understand the world is full of inspiration, for with inspiration thought follows, with thought is action. A cycle of flattery if you will milord, for we all have our admirers, and we all have become captured.”

As he slurred his speech she moved a hand to gently place along his wrist, showing compassion for his slight discomfort. “Milord, I beg of thee to hold still. I have been brought up in Formalities since a child, for over a century I have spread the word of what I was taught, taking into action my knowledge, what would I be if I did not speak up, showering the world with such tongue? None would learn, none would appreciate, for none would understand. We all adore one thing or another, it is what we act on is what gives others the inspiration to follow. For with your kindness I shall think of you, each time I look at this flower. How charming it is, just like you! How bashful it is as the pale petals swirl along the red, for the blending of red and white make the blush of pink, in reflection of your face.” Margo moved her hand from his wrist as she gently grazed the back of her hand along his cheek.

With his own bewilderment of speaking Margo rose. She walked behind him as she lowered her form, placing her chin along his shoulder. Her lips brushing his ear as she spoke in a soothing tone. “Than the lord shall mute his lips, and rise to dance.” Margo walked to the dance floor as she curtsied before him. “The lord must present himself as he is the foundation with his strong frame. As the Lady shall mesh, colliding herself against him, in a Midnight Waltz.” She turned her eyes to the coat rack as it waddled to the closet door, opening it as a violin floated out, quick strikes of the strings with the bow in mid air as it raked the notes together. The flute flickered as each hole was awakened than buried as the two instruments played along the edge of the dance floor.

Margo smiled to him as she watched him from the table. “Come milord, dance with me. For a lady must not be kept waiting.”

Her concern, he found, was not feigned, but her eyes showered him with honesty. It calmed him immediately. His shoulders, while still straight, relaxed, not as stiff as before. his hands stopped shaking. He felt all anxiety leave him. She was right, after all. Celestine allowed a smile to grace his lips with her sudden closeness with her hand upon his own wrist and suddenly his cheeks. Wait, did she say a century? His mind spun trying to connect the dots she presented. His mind was so busy, he didn't notice how cold her hands were against his skin. His mind took it to be a sudden breeze or perhaps he was just so hot from being embarrassed that he was making everything else appear in the opposite extreme.

Wait a moment. Faye have rather uncanny abilities and can live long lives as can half-elves. Perhaps she's a fay. She is graceful and perhaps playful. Her eyes appear to be having fun. And suddenly he was hot again as she stood up. Her chin barely registered on his skin, but her presence somehow managed to calm him to the point his blush was dying down at least except heating up again with her voice upon her ear. He shivered, not from cold, but just the effect she seemed to have on him.

Without delay, he finished his warmed tea with a gulp. The female colliding herself against him? Mesh. What...imagery. Yet, he tried to prevent his thoughts from becoming debase lest he mentally debased his host. Celestine stood and walked confidently onto the dance floor upon her beckoning. Forgive me for keeping the lady waiting then, he responded with such joy and confidence. He had only hoped not to step on toes.

Margo stepped towards him, the scholar molded his hands like clay, creating the foundation to the dance. She placed his right hand along her left hip, while his right hand laced fingers within her own opposite. Her own right hand wrapped around his shoulder. She took three steps forward, her steps with confidence as her eyes locked onto his own. She took three steps to the right as her legs spread than pressed close. She removed her hand from his shoulder as she flawlessly spun. The turn was sharp and quick, her twirl ending as her own front pressed against him once more. She moved her hands to his neck as she pulled him to take three steps back.

Her hands moved down his front, leaving his neck as her fingers grazed his collar. She turned her body, her back leaning against him as her hands moved to tangle with his worn, crossing his arms before her chest supporting her as she leaned back, her right let lightly lifting off the ground gently swiping the air. Her head tilted back as her pale eyes swallowed his own pools as she pulled herself back up. She lifted their arms above her head, the x formation still in tact. She quickly spun once more, using her heels to aid her. Her body in illusion of the spinning top, a twirling in fluid motion, so agile until it slowed its pace. To fall to the ground awaiting to be touched. Such a toy, such a simple little toy.

As the music reached its climax she took the final three steps forward, the box drawn from their steps in an invisible path. Margo placed a hand along his shoulder as she walked around him slowly. The power of her gaze growing. Her own numb flesh chilling his frame to his bones. Margo was powerful with her movements, as the dancer performed for the man, taking the lead as she took full control. Margo moved to stand before him once more after her final walk around. She reached for his hand holding just his fingers as she spun quickly in multiple circles. As she twirled her body lowered to the floor.

As the music whispered, dying down the alluring echo. She stopped at her knees as curtsied before him. Her arm stretched out as she kneeled before him. Her head looking up, as she did become that top, submitting for a moment as her lips tightly pressed as she smiled looking up at him.

The music started, sewing its magic into the hearts of the ones on the dance floor. He locked his left hand with her right. His right around her waist. Considering how long it had been since he danced, he was in no way disappointed when Margo had begun to lead. While it was traditional that a man lead, this was indeed the twenti-first century, and given the occasion, there was nothing wrong with a change.

Yet, Celestine noticed something immediately. Something he didn't know why he missed before. Professor Margo was chilly. Cold. He was suddenly pleased that she was leading for his mind was running as his body merely followed her commands. Yet, even he had to nice how she molded against him in dance. How she moved. How she felt despite the temperature difference. His arms had supported her, his eyes facing down and unable to resist a glance at her ample bosom. Such passion. Such allure. Yet, why was she cold?

Celestine began to shiver lightly as Margo walked around him. He followed her, his eyes watching her own as she circled. He began to feel numb through his body and then watched as she finally twirled, like a graceful toy or a powerful drill and found her way to the floor. the dance ended. His body stayed chilled. The knocking in the back of his mind returned, reminded him that there was the same feeling as before. He kept his eyes upon the amazing woman. What a smile. What beauty. Yet..."Why," he worked hard so not to chatter as he still felt her hands numb. "Why are you so cold?"

The room paused at his question as she stood slowly. Her eyes locking onto him as she laughed softly. She rose to her feet as she took a few steps back. Looking him over as the fragile face turned slightly cold as he expressed his concern over her physical state. “Forgive me milord, for I am always cold. I am dead.” Margo smiled as she walked past him as she walked to her wooden throne. As she sat she crossed her legs tightly as she sat with her shoulder back. The smile rejoicing her face as he read his own stature. “You slouch awkwardly Milord, you must not of known who I am. Creatures are never what the seem. I am Margo Danae, daughter of Lord and Lady Danae. A daughter of the court as my family marveled within political affair, thus my joy for debate and reconciliation. For with disagreement a middle ground is made.”

Margo tilted her head lightly as her eyes narrowed. Her eyes looking down his body studying his hands searching for trembles. “I spoke to you of my age milord, as the Headmistress and myself have a deep connection within the worldly court. I am no jester as I speak so true. Milord, my cold flesh, my pale skin, my age. I am of true blood milord. I am a vampire.” She spoke with pride as she looked at him from the distance, she felt the tension brewing with his questions.

“Read your stories Milord, for I assure you my picture is in your books. For I, sir am the real Fairy Godmother. I gave the gift to that adoring girl in rags, transformed a pumpkin into a carriage. It was so long ago, I attended her funeral, a beggar molding into a princess. Such a fairytale. To be written about as a Goth-mother. I was the one wearing a pale hooded robe. Gleaming with joy watching her off for the ball.”

Margo laughed as she thought of the memories. “Milord, look at me. I teach Formalities and Social Graces, we shared a dance, you speak as if I am the poet and not the admirer, tell me what you truly see? Ignore your physical feelings since I am ever so cold. This is who I am.” Margo moved her finger to tap along her bottom lip as she watched his movements carefully. Searching for a flaw so she could understand his mindset.

Dead...That would mean...NO "You said Danae...I've not heard of that name. No family in Britain held such. Not even among the courts." He shook his head and closed his eyes. His mind recalling one of his worst experiences along with his own hunts. Never one good. Never one he met to be good. He locked his jaw tightly. That word. Such imagery came forth from his mind. The smell. The blood. That woman...brutally attacked.

He turned sharply to her, his eyes narrowed and found himself walking backwards out of, what, fear? No. If it were only so simple. "Vampire? No way. You...you can't be a vampire unless French Vampires are merely more cordial than us Brits." He spat his words. He hated them of all the species he had hunted. He hated their own disregard for humanity upon losing their own. Humans were only blood to be consumed. Bags of blood. They loved the hunt. They loved to inspire fear of victims.

"There's no way you could be a fairy godmother, vampire! Impossible. You...you hunt us. You-you toy with us. Because of you that girl...I watched her bleed to death! He had lost his composure. His own clothing was ruffled. his bangs out of place. His eyes full of anger, betrayal, lust, and loathing. He walked into the coat rack and jumped away. His eyes looking wild. What a woman. A beautiful woman of such grace, elegance, composure, and harmony. Was it a trap? Was he truly blinded by his own anger. He brought his eyes to her, his head still shaking in disbelief. His hand casually reached to his lower thigh and looked down. It wasn't there, but then, was she toying with him or really meant him no harm.

His words a spike, driving into her existence as he slandered her. Belittling her purpose as he degraded her for her birth right. Margo smiled, allowing him to speak, his physical reaction revealed his frustration as she lowered her head following his movements. The smile locking on her face. She spoke calmly, comforting him with a harmonious tone. The bell ringing as the choir sung. She was the conductor, the exhibitor as she prepared her case. The trail as he charged her with trickery believing all is the same, an individual drowning within the masses.

Her tongue stroking the roof of her mouth as she called to him. “Does the lord wish for me to speak on behalf of my conviction.” Her wrists crossing as she imitated shackles as she defined herself, her honor, her being. “In request of the lord I must show you, I have two arms, two legs, two eyes, teeth just slightly sharper than your own, I have hair a body a mind. So similar we are. A vampire is a creature just as man, we have enemies as do you, we have been hunted, we have been the hunters. As this world has formed a rivalry for dominance has been set, creatures divided along an invisible line as cultures created, as faiths emerge.”

As he mentioned her blood, being unfamiliar of her name. Her tongue grinded along her canines as she spoke in her native tongue. “Je languis pour le seigneur pour écouter ma voix, entendre mes mots et négliger ma course, pour n'importe le haut-parleur, le prédicateur le message est pur. Je me sens pour la vue que vous avez rencontré sur un cadavre de proie. Je ne l'ai pas attaqué, cependant avez-vous attaqué ma famille ? Devrais-je souhaiter que vous nuisez pour votre fait ? Pour les actions que vous avez vu comme vertueux ?” The French pouring from her mouth as she spoke in verse.

She paused as she repeated showing her intelligence proving the power of voices and symbols. “I yearn for the lord to listen to my voice, hear my words and ignore my race, for no matter the speaker, the preacher the message is pure. I feel for the sight you encountered over a corpse of prey. I did not attack her, however did you attack my kin? Should I wish you harm for your doings? For the deeds you saw as righteous?” Margo tilted her head as she smiled once more.

“Do I awe you still? Or do you fear that I may……eat you?” Margo rose out of her rocking chair as she stepped towards him. Her arms moved behind her back as her fingers laced. As she stood only a few feet away from the lord her eyes looked back at the door. “You may leave if you desire, note Sir. Ravnos that is the Headmistress felt I a monster she would not allow me this position. Perhaps be mindful of your past, it may not be your future, unless the lord closes his eyes, closes his mind, and reacts with ill fashion. Thank you for the dance milord, enjoy your night.”

Margo curtsied as she turned from him as she went back to blowing out the candles. She moved her fingers along the hot wax pressing the goop between her tips. “I feel just as you feel, you feel betrayed for not knowing who I am, I feel…..wax.” Margo closed her mouth as she waited for him to leave.

He expected a lot of things. Violence. Wrath. Revenge. Anger. Aggression. What he did not expect through his anger-clouded eyes was such passion and justification. At first, Celestine believed the woman to be belittling him. Challenging him. Yeah, crossing her arms and claiming, 'I'm the victim' was not an unheard of approach as a human on trial, but then that gave him pause. It was a very human move. It gave him pause to think.

Then her French flew in such passion that he knew she was angry. Her anger had come from his own tongue, and after years of beliefs and doubts, Celestine had found himself tried. Not in her eyes, but his own mind and soul. His body reflected with with initial widened eyes following by a sudden fascination with the floor. His heart pounded in his chest, desiring him to listen to her. He held it, feeling an ache. The girl in his memory looked at him seemed to frown at him, sensing his feelings then smiled as realization hit. In the end, he had become the hunter. In the end, he desired their fear above all. In the end, he had wanted her to taste death by his hands. In the end, he, the human. Was the monster he'd been hunting.

"You may," He ended up whispering and fell to his knees. His heart cried for him and in turn he began to cry for himself in shame of his own humanity. His hand continued to clutch his clothing at his heart. His shame. He felt indebted to Milady somehow. Her words in the end had been so curt that shame again washed over him. For some reason he felt it. No. He knew he was the cause. He became the monster in front of her and she wished not to see the monster, but perhaps she would see him.

The ground felt rough against his knees yet it tasted so bittersweet. He desired to feel that discomfort longer, another human trait; the harm of the self to repent for the sins of the self. "I apologize, Milady Margo. I do know the fault I am. The monster I am instead of the monster I wished to see. I apologize and offer anything you might wish of me, Milady. My shame shall haunt me for least a week. My heart and soul shall find me in contempt until my mind changes. Again...you're right. Somehow I feel the desire to know the stake for in the end, i was not the hunter. I had become the monster to seek the blood of those who might be innocent after hunting the guilty."

He sat there unmoving, feeling too much to dare look into her eyes and avoided her eyes as best he could. He bit his lip and clenched his hands into fists so hard that they too began to bleed, and yet he welcomed it after such dear reflections upon his soul.

Still, she had asked him to leave. He nodded his head, avoided his eyes, and stood. Turning, he made his way to the door and left without another word to contemplate on the night.

[Leaving unless stopped. Oh Merciful Angel XD Save Celestine]