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John and Ophelia sat in silence, the man eventually leaning back evidently taking in everything that had been said. The woman sat back as well giving him time, flipping through the book of Keat’s work and sipping her tea. Of course, he would have known the poem, she thought. It seemed to get through to her friend very clearly at the least. She still felt the touch of his lips to her hand lingering, which kept bringing a flicker of a smile to the corner of her mouth.

Every once and awhile she peeked over to see the John deep in thought, his fingers sliding over the rim of his now empty cup or wringing his hands lightly. His expressions went from peaceful to grieved, tears pricking his eyes once more. But they seemed to finally land on acceptance before he spoke.

“I dare not say the words that, even hinting at their essence, caused someone pain. But I feel the warmth of your feelings and how I wish to be able to give such warmth back,” His voice was still shaky, body and soul recovering from too many hardships, “I can’t lose you if we continue like this. Too long have I been alone, Lia. I dare not become used to the sun’s light only to be thrust back into the dark again.” He was back to wringing his hands together, head downcast. He seemed haunted by memories, the degree of their atrocity she could only imagine. She dare not let him linger though and put down the book and reached over lifting her friend’s chin to make sure he was here with her and not trapped behind the wall of his past as he so often seemed to be.

“You’ll never lose me. The light in the casement burns ever bright, no matter the distance or time. You are that bright torch for me, blazing the brightest in darkness but never snuffed out by sunlight.” The man’s face softened as she spoke, but yet she felt compelled to stand and go next to her friend, loosely wrapping her arms around his neck, her hands dangling over his chest. He leaned his head against her arm and grasped her hands with his.

“ Do you think you’re God will be displeased to know you pray to another?” he said quietly, his breath warm against her arm as he slowly moved his fingers over hers. His tone was light, even sounding a bit droll. She found herself elated to hear his voice lift from its previous despair.

“I think he will understand considering it was his plan. But will you forgive yourself the day you find someone to pray to, even if it is not my God?” The man gleamed with laughter.

“If you mean yourself, I may not keep a sanctuary as you do in my mind. Instead I have a small garden I tend to, with all the flowers that faith brings and scouring for weeds of doubt.

In that place, there is never darkness only a shaded trellis of your compassion which I sometimes lie under when the sky grows cloudy. The rain tastes of conversations in dark places which water the generous blossoms.

But yet it may not be all the fancy a gardener could feign, but it grows healthily all the same.”
The man finished, his eyes closed and mouth pulled into a contented grin as he spoke seeming to be roaming this garden of imagination. She did not recognize his words as any poem she had read and felt a knowing grin creep into her.

“As easy as breathing, as I said before,” she said kissing his head jovially as his eyes opened and he came back to this world. She continued, “I think you’d surprise yourself if you actually start writing such things down. And now you have no excuse.” she released one of her hands from his to pick up the journal and wave it around before he grasped it from her and put it back down again, amused. She released him from her hold as he picked up the pencil and opened the small book to a new page. As he began writing she stood behind him, her hand on his shoulder fingers curling around a loose piece of hair. She hoped he was focused enough to dismiss her actions as she has always desired to caress his long charcoal locks. Once he had written down all he had said to an extent she allowed herself to comment.

“ I do wish I could visit such a place, though I might grow tired of the lack of night. Without it, the day becomes harder to appreciate, does it not?”

“I could never grow tired of it with you, I think,” he said back almost without thinking. Ophelia giggled,

“Such a romantic you are. But I do hope there will be no griping when I pull you from the shadows.” She continued to play with the same lock of hair thoughtfully as the man put down the pencil and closed the journal. He turned his body so he was looking at her as she sadly released the strand of hair she was holding,

“Is it all this simple? Such confessions of one’s deepest feelings? All these unsaid strings of actions built up until the heart bursts with words to explain them… Love I always assumed would brim more heavily with metaphors and rhyme.” He was smiling, finally having to have accepted all that had been said in such a short time. The woman grinned back at him,

“Giving our vulnerability to another, I think is what makes us the most human. Though it may be the hardest action to take, our animal fibers fighting against the very thought,” Lia said, “ Especially when one has likely been shown cruelty for showing such a part of themselves” She spoke, giving further admission to her uncouth behavior in watching him from afar for so long fearfully in the dark afraid of his rejection or worse, anger. She still berated herself for such childish thoughts.

“Whose cruelty do you speak of? Surely you have been spared such indecencies.” The woman shook her head sitting back down again.

“I speak of what I know you have endured...before you ever hinted at such things in our talks. Before I was brave enough to ask you for myself,” the woman began her confession biting her lip and sitting back down. So many things were being revealed already. She continued,
“I do envy Miss Ive’s boldness in her endeavour to speak to you first. I had always been better at keeping to the quiet shadows then approaching someone for conversation. I marveled at her ease and wit and found myself aligning my schedule to hers in hopes I could learn the magic of her ways. I so often caught myself watching her be able to speak the language you know best effortlessly. How jealous I was.” She could not bring herself to look at John, feeling a growing shame for the immodesty of her actions, but yet it brought such a sense of relief. She felt John’s fingers land on her cheek, prompting her to look back up, her finger’s moving to meet his so he could not retract. She so much wanted-needed his hand to remain there. He did not look angered or disgusted by her actions, but surprisingly entertained and showing only a hint of embarrassment.

“To think I wondered if the ward was merely haunted from all the lost souls within. You played a beautiful ghost then for I often felt a angelic presence. As i’m sure you know, I too am dear friends with the shadows which hide me away as I ask them. Speaking with Miss Ive’s always felt like communing with the shadows, my only true companions for so long. And she was like a doting mother to them, moving them at her will. How could I resist?” he looked off into the distance nostalgically. Ophelia nodded in agreement wondering if that too was part of the kinship she felt with the other woman. She felt surprise at him noting on her own feelings of being a ghost wandering through the world sometimes, gloriously detached except to help those that needed it, like the ghost of christmas present from Mr. Dicken’s novel. She even had to hold back a grin at him calling her an angelic presence. If only he knew angels were not always what they seemed.

“I don’t anyone could resist her powers if they tried,” the woman responded ,”Though one day I hope I may be able to run into her again in a more pleasant setting. She looked so...lost when I last saw her but I know naught where she is or what excuse to make to give comfort.”

“Have you ever felt abandoned by your God?” the man asked, his eyes still far away in thought.The woman shook her head. She felt the lord’s presence in ways no one could ever understand in fact like an overbearing father sometimes. In the past she wished release from his sheltering gaze and that of his apparitions. But she had come to accept her fate now, and had been rewarded most gloriously it seemed.

“No,” she replied simply.

“Then I don’t think you would have been able to help her. Miss Ives is the type to figure things out in her own way I would gather, as we all end up doing. But alas we may find her again where hopefully she will have found her peace.”

“I dearly hope so,” said Ophelia wistfully. John seemed to come back to the present looking down at her slightly amused.

“But yet, to think I would meet someone who has such similar habits to my own. Yet I think you should surpass me in ability if only for your height.”

“ Ah yes, I sometimes feel like a mouse sneaking through the city’s streets. I learned very young how to do so. My so-called step-sisters even sometimes called me a spotted rat for being able to evade their wrath. They never were very creative with their taunts to be sure.” The woman scoffed, trying not to think about that particular part of her childhood, “Yet again they were only the children of my father’s mistress, so I tried to not pay them any mind.” John looked concerned,

“Surely your father did not allow such actions to be often taken against you?” The woman shook her head,

“He was too busy being bewitched by their mother to pay any mind to me. Only once that foul woman died, did he start to regain the fullness of his more...protective nature.He still supports her remaining child, I hear, when he can. It’s very noble of him I guess,” she said with an annoyed sigh.

“You so rarely speak about the man. Was there so little between you?” she could feel his curiosity swelling and decided to relent a bit more.

“Oh no, nothing like that. He loves me as much as a father could love a daughter,” she said with a sad smile, “ But after my mother passed, god bless her soul, this witch of a woman took him and his grief using it to her advantage. I was powerless to do anything back then.” John’s hand was over hers again and the calm of watching the first snowfall enveloped her.

“I’m so sorry to hear.” She waved it off with her free hand.

“I was saved from having to be in the house with him and those people by going to the convent. For six years I was well treated and surrounded by a wonderful group of women. I still keep the letters my father sent...when he could send them anyways. I never could bring myself to go back though, I think. We’ve been apart for so long, I can’t imagine it.” She turned her hand over in John’s so she could grasp at his fingers with her own. She ran her index over the edge of his pinky thoughtfully, “What about your father? Is he the family you mentioned?” She felt her friend’s hand grow stiff beneath hers. She tried not to worry about it as she had guessed his family life was a subject of great torment and she would not pry too far.

“My father….left me when I was very young. But he accorded to me, his books to learn from if I should ever claim a glint of thanks for the man. I think he liked the concept of me more, a thing existing in the great works. Instead I only try to understand them from this utterly physical world.” Ophelia laced her fingers more firmly through his hearing a detached dejection in his tone.

“Surely your mother-” she started cautiously but he stopped her,

“I never knew my mother. In the norse mythos, I read of a goddess Rán who controls the seas and storms. Sometimes I feel as if she calls to me as the storm which pulses through me in my darkest hours or her rain like a damp embrace,” he said in a ramble, looking out the window now, “The darkness of her weather never scared me but shrouded me from others peeings eyes, and so she nurtured me through many long nights.” The woman looked down in shock at her and John’s entwined hands. To think of her friend as a poor, book-laden child wandering the streets made her wish to curse such a man who left him. But it was not a power she would dare wish to attain as she already had her own beholden strengths to right wrongs. But what was important now was that he was no longer alone. Perhaps if he had this mythical Rán, he had never truly been alone. She wondered,

“Do you pray to this Rán then?” she asked, still looking out the window as John replied.

“Do you ever speak to your mother as she is then?” he questioned back gently, it seemed, simply for curiosity's sake. Naturally, her mother was in her prayers. Otherwise she would not deign to speak with a spirit.

“When I was still young I did. I was teased relentlessly when those girls who lived in my house found out. The eldest, Hecate, was the cruelest of the mistress’s children. She often said spirits would never find peace in heaven and hence roamed the earth. She even tried to get me to play their hellish games for inviting such things. But I refused. So, my mother has always resided merely in my prayers.” Ophelia looked back at her friend whose yellow eyes were now intently focused on her.

“Is there a difference between a conversation and a prayer then, if the being you are speaking to cannot respond?” he asked, his tone edged with worry. She felt his hand gripping back at hers. The woman pushed back visions of Ouija boards and séances being viewed through slotted openings in doors and smiled back at her friend to relieve his worried gaze.

“All a matter of how one calls it, I suppose then. But you never answered my inquiry as I have yours.” John smiled back.

“I wished to ascertain your view first and so I have. This storm mother of mine, I never gave offerings or ever begged a favor. I simply found myself rejoicing in her works both dangerous but beautiful when they are seen as such. Her rains bring life to the farmer`s field yet can destroy entire fleets. Some might claim it to be a divine cleansing and so I would be assured the many men who knew her were awed and respectful of her will.” Truly it seemed then her friend would be this goddess’s kin ,something unearthly clinging to him with a haunting presence. And both were certainly, for many, misunderstood as people would curse the rain storm even if it brings forth beautiful gardens in its wake. The woman nodded in response at first as she finished collecting her thoughts. Her free hand went to her tea cup and she quickly finished the last few sips of the now-cold tea.

“I myself have enjoyed your mother`s company then, dancing in her storms when I could. I am happy to have met her already before her son so I may gain her blessings in regard to him. Do you bring storms as well?” she asked in jest. John looked at her happily until her last comment when his smile dimmed.

“I may have been gifted such powers, but I fear they control me more than I them.” He looked out the window once more. The woman moved her hand that had been playing with the now empty tea cup back over to her friend.

“ Yet I have never seen a hint of such weather within you. I always see you as a summer storm, just as the seasons start to turn towards fall, bringing the perfect cooling touch to an otherwise hot night.” Ophelia thought wistfully. Or said...She wasn’t sure if she had spoken aloud once more and then heard her friends breath hitch. Her face flushing bright red again she quickly stood up grabbing her cup and saucer and bringing them to the sink unable to bring herself to look at her friend. She heard him getting up as well as the chink of his cup as he walked across the room coming to stand behind her. She spoke without turning,

“But whether or not you are the master of cleansing waters, you need not wash the dishes,” she said with a nervous laugh as she started washing and effectively blocking the small sink from him. She felt him nudge her hand with his dishes which she took and put into the basin. She expected him to move back towards the table after but he did not. In fact, maybe it was her imagination but he seemed to grow closer.

“If I am the summer storm you are the cleaning dawn as sunlight just peeks out over the horizon, the rain having stilled to silence. The fine cool mists that hangs in the air to help with the coming heat of day.” The woman flushed further as she felt his fingers running over her hair, across her upper back.

“Mr. Clare, you never stop astonishing me,” she said breathily as her body stilled at the man’s touch, which was sending rivulets of sensation throughout her entirely. She closed her eyes praying he wouldn’t stop as if a sliver of movement would break the spell. But finally she felt herself lean back into his touch just slightly but as soon as she did his hand disappeared. Her eyes opened to see what looked like him skittering back across the room. Though she never thought a man of his stature would manage to skitter. Her body recovered from the momentary frozen state and Ophelia felt the most base urges rise within her, demanding to swiftly pull John back into her arms...which was entirely unladylike and she could do such thing while she felt this ache within her. She feared any more brass actions until the feeling abated and held back a groan of frustration from the part of her which demanded she move.

“ I hope your astonishment is of a good nature then,” the man said quietly from across the room. The woman laughed, shaking off the desire as best she could for now.

“What other kind could I have?” she responded quietly asking him to come back. He would have to bring the teapot over eventually as it was. She went back to washing his dishes now hoping he would overcome his shyness once more. But he lingered by the windows without response, his hands running over the back of a chair. John’s back was to her again and she washed as quickly as she could. She relented to her feelings with an admission praying it would bring him back.

“My surprise lies in such joyful feelings when you are close , if I may be so bold to say,” she further explained giving in to her desirous thoughts.

“I find it hard to believe such things. But yet, I have never known them. Is such stillness to a man’s touch common among ladies?” he asked cautiously.

“I can speak for no others for my relationship with women has been mainly those loyal to God. But my stillness merely shows the restraint my sex must show else we be called to the street for men’s nightly passions. I have known no other man. Hence, I wish not to scare you with how far my feelings would envelop you,” The woman said scrubbing a dish, feeling herself grow hot as she spoke. She could hardly believe the words forth from her lips, but to hell with it. She looked back to see shock for sure,

“I too can be the storm, damp May blossoms pulled to the wind by my will, if you would believe me.” He seemed to understand her meaning though, his expression thoughtful.

“ Excuse me. I don’t know what I’m saying,” she said after a moment feeling utterly silly and likely further scaring the poor man. Her passions should remain her own else she might damage his already bruised petals, “Could you please bring me the teapot? Or if you desire you could be organizing your things on the shelves, since it’s partly why you came here,” she said as jovially as she could, feeling embarrassed by her outburst.

“Of course,” he said quietly lost in thought, as he did what was requested of him. He seemed as much confused with taking in her emotions as much as she did expressing them.

Ophelia couldn’t help but notice how John wouldn’t meet her gaze as he walked towards her, instead looking down at the floor. He handed the pot to her quickly, his hands barely brushing hers before walking over to his bag. What was wrong? Had he misunderstood her somehow? She watched him bring the bag next to the shelves, carefully pull books out of his bag and organize them. Ophelia put the teapot in the basin deciding to wash it later, dried her hands, and crept over to John with a plan of sorts. She shouldn’t have resisted her previous desire. For heaven’s sake she finally admitted her long reserved love and he had returned her affections; there was no need to hold back so severely considering she had waited months for this day.

The woman stood behind him as he now sat cross-legged on the floor having finished organizing the books onto the shelves and was not putting a few small trinkets on the top level, likely from his days working at the theatre. She looked over the book titles as she leaned down, hovering behind her friend who slowed his movements noticing her but didn’t stop. She saw “Paradise Lost,” “Metamorphosis of Apuleius,” “Hunchback of Notre Dame,” “Count de Monte Cristo,” “The Man who Laughs,” a collection of works by Edgar Allen Poe, a few smaller volumes of collected poetry by both Brownings, Tennyson, Mallory, Arnold and the old masters as well. Certainly an eclectic collection to be sure, she noted before allowing herself to lean close enough to rest her arms on John’s shoulders, her hair falling over his face impeding his work. She felt him turn to stone beneath her as his muscles tensed. She would not relent though, using his shoulders as a support the woman adjusted her position so she could kneel behind her friend, moving her hair out of the way. She draped her arms around him once more, trapping him in her embrace completely saying,

“Earnest will surely be impressed. I assume many books have come and gone over the years from your collection?”

“Ye-yes,” the man muttered in utter confusion.

“Do you still have any books on Norse mythology? You have flooded my interest in the subject.” The man gulped deeply, shifting beneath her. He felt so sturdy, holding her weight as if it were nothing.

“No, not anymore. I am sure you could find one on monmouth street. It is where I often am able to find more affordable titles.” His voice steadied as he spoke. He mind seemed to settle as well from whatever misunderstanding it had.

“You’ll have to show me when we go there tonight then and if not we can ask Earnest when we see him. He does have a fascination with such things himself. And never be afraid to approach me as you did. As I said I do enjoy such things, you know,” she said running her hand through his hair as best as she could. She doubted he had ever had been able to use a brush with his circumstances. She felt him relax with complete understanding beneath her.

“We are going tonight?” he asked, his voice gaining a modicum of confidence back.

“I’m sorry. I was thinking if we visit Earnest soon then tonight would be a good start for some new clothes. We could go after dark of course. I’ll just have to acquire your measurements before we go and that can happen after lunch as well,” she spoke twirling a lock of his hair again thoughtfully, “Maybe they would even have the kind of book I desire. I do enjoy a good book hunt. Is not the smell of books in a crowded shop just intoxicating?” The man made a sound of amused agreement.

“I do admit I have hid between shelves in such a place when reading and have come to enjoy the scent,” he said his hand tentatively reaching back, blindly searching along her shoulder until he found a loose strand of her hair which he lightly stroked, “And thank you for your reassurance.” The woman leaned her head on his, her hands moving to play with the edge of the collar of his shirt.

“Of course, my darling,” she said, the words tasting strange on her tongue, like an exotic fruit in which every bite is to be savored. But as soon as he seemed to grasp what she said, John went slack beneath her likely from disbelief and she felt herself slipping sideways, pulling the man with her ending up with him half sprawled over her on the ground. Lia looked up at the ceiling and then sideways to her friend who looked ridiculous, as much she probably did. What a pair they were. She smiled as the man tried to apologize but simply found herself giggling madly. He gave up and laughed along for a moment.

“Darling eh?” he said looking up at the ceiling too, his words joyfully thoughtful. Lia pulled herself out, not wanting to ruin a perfectly good opportunity and moved so she could put an arm on either side of john’s shoulders while he was still on the ground. No more resisting, she thought as she took a steadying breath, her eyes focusing on the darkened lips she wished to meet with her own. The man was still beneath her, his hair splayed out his hands moving to grip her arms.

Lia got close enough to taste the bitterness of the tea lingering on his breath, her one arm moving to hold herself as she put a hand to his cheek, feeling the ridges of the scars along his face. Their eyes met and she swore the yellow had become a blaze of fire inviting her towards their warmth. For a moment the world grew quiet around them as one of john's hands reached up to mirror Ophelia’s action, his cool fingers moving along from her temple down her cheekbone and touching her lips. he saw him wilt as his hand caressed her cheek his eyes flickering down as his hand moved to pull hers away from his face. He seemed to shrink away.

Ophelia refused to allow him to feel such embarrassment and leaned down kissing his temple instead and moved her lips along the scar down his cheek, her other hand holding his head so he wouldn't pull away. She felt his arms wrap firmly around her pulling her flush against him as she finished, laying her head against his. He gazed at her in wonder as she felt the heavy sensations run through her once more at his all enveloping touch. Seemingly drunk on the happiness she felt at that moment the woman sweetly asked,

“Shall it be forever then, thee and me?”

Description
John and Ophelia sat in silence, the man eventually leaning back evidently taking in everything that had been said. The woman sat back as well giving him time, flipping through the book of Keat’s work and sipping her tea. Of course, he would have known the poem, she thought. It seemed to get through to her friend very clearly at the least. She still felt the touch of his lips to her hand lingering, which kept bringing a flicker of a smile to the corner of her mouth.

Every once and awhile she peeked over to see the John deep in thought, his fingers sliding over the rim of his now empty cup or wringing his hands lightly. His expressions went from peaceful to grieved, tears pricking his eyes once more. But they seemed to finally land on acceptance before he spoke.

“I dare not say the words that, even hinting at their essence, caused someone pain. But I feel the warmth of your feelings and how I wish to be able to give such warmth back,” His voice was still shaky, body and soul recovering from too many hardships, “I can’t lose you if we continue like this. Too long have I been alone, Lia. I dare not become used to the sun’s light only to be thrust back into the dark again.” He was back to wringing his hands together, head downcast. He seemed haunted by memories, the degree of their atrocity she could only imagine. She dare not let him linger though and put down the book and reached over lifting her friend’s chin to make sure he was here with her and not trapped behind the wall of his past as he so often seemed to be.

“You’ll never lose me. The light in the casement burns ever bright, no matter the distance or time. You are that bright torch for me, blazing the brightest in darkness but never snuffed out by sunlight.” The man’s face softened as she spoke, but yet she felt compelled to stand and go next to her friend, loosely wrapping her arms around his neck, her hands dangling over his chest. He leaned his head against her arm and grasped her hands with his.

“ Do you think you’re God will be displeased to know you pray to another?” he said quietly, his breath warm against her arm as he slowly moved his fingers over hers. His tone was light, even sounding a bit droll. She found herself elated to hear his voice lift from its previous despair.

“I think he will understand considering it was his plan. But will you forgive yourself the day you find someone to pray to, even if it is not my God?” The man gleamed with laughter.

“If you mean yourself, I may not keep a sanctuary as you do in my mind. Instead I have a small garden I tend to, with all the flowers that faith brings and scouring for weeds of doubt.

In that place, there is never darkness only a shaded trellis of your compassion which I sometimes lie under when the sky grows cloudy. The rain tastes of conversations in dark places which water the generous blossoms.

But yet it may not be all the fancy a gardener could feign, but it grows healthily all the same.”
The man finished, his eyes closed and mouth pulled into a contented grin as he spoke seeming to be roaming this garden of imagination. She did not recognize his words as any poem she had read and felt a knowing grin creep into her.

“As easy as breathing, as I said before,” she said kissing his head jovially as his eyes opened and he came back to this world. She continued, “I think you’d surprise yourself if you actually start writing such things down. And now you have no excuse.” she released one of her hands from his to pick up the journal and wave it around before he grasped it from her and put it back down again, amused. She released him from her hold as he picked up the pencil and opened the small book to a new page. As he began writing she stood behind him, her hand on his shoulder fingers curling around a loose piece of hair. She hoped he was focused enough to dismiss her actions as she has always desired to caress his long charcoal locks. Once he had written down all he had said to an extent she allowed herself to comment.

“ I do wish I could visit such a place, though I might grow tired of the lack of night. Without it, the day becomes harder to appreciate, does it not?”

“I could never grow tired of it with you, I think,” he said back almost without thinking. Ophelia giggled,

“Such a romantic you are. But I do hope there will be no griping when I pull you from the shadows.” She continued to play with the same lock of hair thoughtfully as the man put down the pencil and closed the journal. He turned his body so he was looking at her as she sadly released the strand of hair she was holding,

“Is it all this simple? Such confessions of one’s deepest feelings? All these unsaid strings of actions built up until the heart bursts with words to explain them… Love I always assumed would brim more heavily with metaphors and rhyme.” He was smiling, finally having to have accepted all that had been said in such a short time. The woman grinned back at him,

“Giving our vulnerability to another, I think is what makes us the most human. Though it may be the hardest action to take, our animal fibers fighting against the very thought,” Lia said, “ Especially when one has likely been shown cruelty for showing such a part of themselves” She spoke, giving further admission to her uncouth behavior in watching him from afar for so long fearfully in the dark afraid of his rejection or worse, anger. She still berated herself for such childish thoughts.

“Whose cruelty do you speak of? Surely you have been spared such indecencies.” The woman shook her head sitting back down again.

“I speak of what I know you have endured...before you ever hinted at such things in our talks. Before I was brave enough to ask you for myself,” the woman began her confession biting her lip and sitting back down. So many things were being revealed already. She continued,
“I do envy Miss Ive’s boldness in her endeavour to speak to you first. I had always been better at keeping to the quiet shadows then approaching someone for conversation. I marveled at her ease and wit and found myself aligning my schedule to hers in hopes I could learn the magic of her ways. I so often caught myself watching her be able to speak the language you know best effortlessly. How jealous I was.” She could not bring herself to look at John, feeling a growing shame for the immodesty of her actions, but yet it brought such a sense of relief. She felt John’s fingers land on her cheek, prompting her to look back up, her finger’s moving to meet his so he could not retract. She so much wanted-needed his hand to remain there. He did not look angered or disgusted by her actions, but surprisingly entertained and showing only a hint of embarrassment.

“To think I wondered if the ward was merely haunted from all the lost souls within. You played a beautiful ghost then for I often felt a angelic presence. As i’m sure you know, I too am dear friends with the shadows which hide me away as I ask them. Speaking with Miss Ive’s always felt like communing with the shadows, my only true companions for so long. And she was like a doting mother to them, moving them at her will. How could I resist?” he looked off into the distance nostalgically. Ophelia nodded in agreement wondering if that too was part of the kinship she felt with the other woman. She felt surprise at him noting on her own feelings of being a ghost wandering through the world sometimes, gloriously detached except to help those that needed it, like the ghost of christmas present from Mr. Dicken’s novel. She even had to hold back a grin at him calling her an angelic presence. If only he knew angels were not always what they seemed.

“I don’t anyone could resist her powers if they tried,” the woman responded ,”Though one day I hope I may be able to run into her again in a more pleasant setting. She looked so...lost when I last saw her but I know naught where she is or what excuse to make to give comfort.”

“Have you ever felt abandoned by your God?” the man asked, his eyes still far away in thought.The woman shook her head. She felt the lord’s presence in ways no one could ever understand in fact like an overbearing father sometimes. In the past she wished release from his sheltering gaze and that of his apparitions. But she had come to accept her fate now, and had been rewarded most gloriously it seemed.

“No,” she replied simply.

“Then I don’t think you would have been able to help her. Miss Ives is the type to figure things out in her own way I would gather, as we all end up doing. But alas we may find her again where hopefully she will have found her peace.”

“I dearly hope so,” said Ophelia wistfully. John seemed to come back to the present looking down at her slightly amused.

“But yet, to think I would meet someone who has such similar habits to my own. Yet I think you should surpass me in ability if only for your height.”

“ Ah yes, I sometimes feel like a mouse sneaking through the city’s streets. I learned very young how to do so. My so-called step-sisters even sometimes called me a spotted rat for being able to evade their wrath. They never were very creative with their taunts to be sure.” The woman scoffed, trying not to think about that particular part of her childhood, “Yet again they were only the children of my father’s mistress, so I tried to not pay them any mind.” John looked concerned,

“Surely your father did not allow such actions to be often taken against you?” The woman shook her head,

“He was too busy being bewitched by their mother to pay any mind to me. Only once that foul woman died, did he start to regain the fullness of his more...protective nature.He still supports her remaining child, I hear, when he can. It’s very noble of him I guess,” she said with an annoyed sigh.

“You so rarely speak about the man. Was there so little between you?” she could feel his curiosity swelling and decided to relent a bit more.

“Oh no, nothing like that. He loves me as much as a father could love a daughter,” she said with a sad smile, “ But after my mother passed, god bless her soul, this witch of a woman took him and his grief using it to her advantage. I was powerless to do anything back then.” John’s hand was over hers again and the calm of watching the first snowfall enveloped her.

“I’m so sorry to hear.” She waved it off with her free hand.

“I was saved from having to be in the house with him and those people by going to the convent. For six years I was well treated and surrounded by a wonderful group of women. I still keep the letters my father sent...when he could send them anyways. I never could bring myself to go back though, I think. We’ve been apart for so long, I can’t imagine it.” She turned her hand over in John’s so she could grasp at his fingers with her own. She ran her index over the edge of his pinky thoughtfully, “What about your father? Is he the family you mentioned?” She felt her friend’s hand grow stiff beneath hers. She tried not to worry about it as she had guessed his family life was a subject of great torment and she would not pry too far.

“My father….left me when I was very young. But he accorded to me, his books to learn from if I should ever claim a glint of thanks for the man. I think he liked the concept of me more, a thing existing in the great works. Instead I only try to understand them from this utterly physical world.” Ophelia laced her fingers more firmly through his hearing a detached dejection in his tone.

“Surely your mother-” she started cautiously but he stopped her,

“I never knew my mother. In the norse mythos, I read of a goddess Rán who controls the seas and storms. Sometimes I feel as if she calls to me as the storm which pulses through me in my darkest hours or her rain like a damp embrace,” he said in a ramble, looking out the window now, “The darkness of her weather never scared me but shrouded me from others peeings eyes, and so she nurtured me through many long nights.” The woman looked down in shock at her and John’s entwined hands. To think of her friend as a poor, book-laden child wandering the streets made her wish to curse such a man who left him. But it was not a power she would dare wish to attain as she already had her own beholden strengths to right wrongs. But what was important now was that he was no longer alone. Perhaps if he had this mythical Rán, he had never truly been alone. She wondered,

“Do you pray to this Rán then?” she asked, still looking out the window as John replied.

“Do you ever speak to your mother as she is then?” he questioned back gently, it seemed, simply for curiosity's sake. Naturally, her mother was in her prayers. Otherwise she would not deign to speak with a spirit.

“When I was still young I did. I was teased relentlessly when those girls who lived in my house found out. The eldest, Hecate, was the cruelest of the mistress’s children. She often said spirits would never find peace in heaven and hence roamed the earth. She even tried to get me to play their hellish games for inviting such things. But I refused. So, my mother has always resided merely in my prayers.” Ophelia looked back at her friend whose yellow eyes were now intently focused on her.

“Is there a difference between a conversation and a prayer then, if the being you are speaking to cannot respond?” he asked, his tone edged with worry. She felt his hand gripping back at hers. The woman pushed back visions of Ouija boards and séances being viewed through slotted openings in doors and smiled back at her friend to relieve his worried gaze.

“All a matter of how one calls it, I suppose then. But you never answered my inquiry as I have yours.” John smiled back.

“I wished to ascertain your view first and so I have. This storm mother of mine, I never gave offerings or ever begged a favor. I simply found myself rejoicing in her works both dangerous but beautiful when they are seen as such. Her rains bring life to the farmer`s field yet can destroy entire fleets. Some might claim it to be a divine cleansing and so I would be assured the many men who knew her were awed and respectful of her will.” Truly it seemed then her friend would be this goddess’s kin ,something unearthly clinging to him with a haunting presence. And both were certainly, for many, misunderstood as people would curse the rain storm even if it brings forth beautiful gardens in its wake. The woman nodded in response at first as she finished collecting her thoughts. Her free hand went to her tea cup and she quickly finished the last few sips of the now-cold tea.

“I myself have enjoyed your mother`s company then, dancing in her storms when I could. I am happy to have met her already before her son so I may gain her blessings in regard to him. Do you bring storms as well?” she asked in jest. John looked at her happily until her last comment when his smile dimmed.

“I may have been gifted such powers, but I fear they control me more than I them.” He looked out the window once more. The woman moved her hand that had been playing with the now empty tea cup back over to her friend.

“ Yet I have never seen a hint of such weather within you. I always see you as a summer storm, just as the seasons start to turn towards fall, bringing the perfect cooling touch to an otherwise hot night.” Ophelia thought wistfully. Or said...She wasn’t sure if she had spoken aloud once more and then heard her friends breath hitch. Her face flushing bright red again she quickly stood up grabbing her cup and saucer and bringing them to the sink unable to bring herself to look at her friend. She heard him getting up as well as the chink of his cup as he walked across the room coming to stand behind her. She spoke without turning,

“But whether or not you are the master of cleansing waters, you need not wash the dishes,” she said with a nervous laugh as she started washing and effectively blocking the small sink from him. She felt him nudge her hand with his dishes which she took and put into the basin. She expected him to move back towards the table after but he did not. In fact, maybe it was her imagination but he seemed to grow closer.

“If I am the summer storm you are the cleaning dawn as sunlight just peeks out over the horizon, the rain having stilled to silence. The fine cool mists that hangs in the air to help with the coming heat of day.” The woman flushed further as she felt his fingers running over her hair, across her upper back.

“Mr. Clare, you never stop astonishing me,” she said breathily as her body stilled at the man’s touch, which was sending rivulets of sensation throughout her entirely. She closed her eyes praying he wouldn’t stop as if a sliver of movement would break the spell. But finally she felt herself lean back into his touch just slightly but as soon as she did his hand disappeared. Her eyes opened to see what looked like him skittering back across the room. Though she never thought a man of his stature would manage to skitter. Her body recovered from the momentary frozen state and Ophelia felt the most base urges rise within her, demanding to swiftly pull John back into her arms...which was entirely unladylike and she could do such thing while she felt this ache within her. She feared any more brass actions until the feeling abated and held back a groan of frustration from the part of her which demanded she move.

“ I hope your astonishment is of a good nature then,” the man said quietly from across the room. The woman laughed, shaking off the desire as best she could for now.

“What other kind could I have?” she responded quietly asking him to come back. He would have to bring the teapot over eventually as it was. She went back to washing his dishes now hoping he would overcome his shyness once more. But he lingered by the windows without response, his hands running over the back of a chair. John’s back was to her again and she washed as quickly as she could. She relented to her feelings with an admission praying it would bring him back.

“My surprise lies in such joyful feelings when you are close , if I may be so bold to say,” she further explained giving in to her desirous thoughts.

“I find it hard to believe such things. But yet, I have never known them. Is such stillness to a man’s touch common among ladies?” he asked cautiously.

“I can speak for no others for my relationship with women has been mainly those loyal to God. But my stillness merely shows the restraint my sex must show else we be called to the street for men’s nightly passions. I have known no other man. Hence, I wish not to scare you with how far my feelings would envelop you,” The woman said scrubbing a dish, feeling herself grow hot as she spoke. She could hardly believe the words forth from her lips, but to hell with it. She looked back to see shock for sure,

“I too can be the storm, damp May blossoms pulled to the wind by my will, if you would believe me.” He seemed to understand her meaning though, his expression thoughtful.

“ Excuse me. I don’t know what I’m saying,” she said after a moment feeling utterly silly and likely further scaring the poor man. Her passions should remain her own else she might damage his already bruised petals, “Could you please bring me the teapot? Or if you desire you could be organizing your things on the shelves, since it’s partly why you came here,” she said as jovially as she could, feeling embarrassed by her outburst.

“Of course,” he said quietly lost in thought, as he did what was requested of him. He seemed as much confused with taking in her emotions as much as she did expressing them.

Ophelia couldn’t help but notice how John wouldn’t meet her gaze as he walked towards her, instead looking down at the floor. He handed the pot to her quickly, his hands barely brushing hers before walking over to his bag. What was wrong? Had he misunderstood her somehow? She watched him bring the bag next to the shelves, carefully pull books out of his bag and organize them. Ophelia put the teapot in the basin deciding to wash it later, dried her hands, and crept over to John with a plan of sorts. She shouldn’t have resisted her previous desire. For heaven’s sake she finally admitted her long reserved love and he had returned her affections; there was no need to hold back so severely considering she had waited months for this day.

The woman stood behind him as he now sat cross-legged on the floor having finished organizing the books onto the shelves and was not putting a few small trinkets on the top level, likely from his days working at the theatre. She looked over the book titles as she leaned down, hovering behind her friend who slowed his movements noticing her but didn’t stop. She saw “Paradise Lost,” “Metamorphosis of Apuleius,” “Hunchback of Notre Dame,” “Count de Monte Cristo,” “The Man who Laughs,” a collection of works by Edgar Allen Poe, a few smaller volumes of collected poetry by both Brownings, Tennyson, Mallory, Arnold and the old masters as well. Certainly an eclectic collection to be sure, she noted before allowing herself to lean close enough to rest her arms on John’s shoulders, her hair falling over his face impeding his work. She felt him turn to stone beneath her as his muscles tensed. She would not relent though, using his shoulders as a support the woman adjusted her position so she could kneel behind her friend, moving her hair out of the way. She draped her arms around him once more, trapping him in her embrace completely saying,

“Earnest will surely be impressed. I assume many books have come and gone over the years from your collection?”

“Ye-yes,” the man muttered in utter confusion.

“Do you still have any books on Norse mythology? You have flooded my interest in the subject.” The man gulped deeply, shifting beneath her. He felt so sturdy, holding her weight as if it were nothing.

“No, not anymore. I am sure you could find one on monmouth street. It is where I often am able to find more affordable titles.” His voice steadied as he spoke. He mind seemed to settle as well from whatever misunderstanding it had.

“You’ll have to show me when we go there tonight then and if not we can ask Earnest when we see him. He does have a fascination with such things himself. And never be afraid to approach me as you did. As I said I do enjoy such things, you know,” she said running her hand through his hair as best as she could. She doubted he had ever had been able to use a brush with his circumstances. She felt him relax with complete understanding beneath her.

“We are going tonight?” he asked, his voice gaining a modicum of confidence back.

“I’m sorry. I was thinking if we visit Earnest soon then tonight would be a good start for some new clothes. We could go after dark of course. I’ll just have to acquire your measurements before we go and that can happen after lunch as well,” she spoke twirling a lock of his hair again thoughtfully, “Maybe they would even have the kind of book I desire. I do enjoy a good book hunt. Is not the smell of books in a crowded shop just intoxicating?” The man made a sound of amused agreement.

“I do admit I have hid between shelves in such a place when reading and have come to enjoy the scent,” he said his hand tentatively reaching back, blindly searching along her shoulder until he found a loose strand of her hair which he lightly stroked, “And thank you for your reassurance.” The woman leaned her head on his, her hands moving to play with the edge of the collar of his shirt.

“Of course, my darling,” she said, the words tasting strange on her tongue, like an exotic fruit in which every bite is to be savored. But as soon as he seemed to grasp what she said, John went slack beneath her likely from disbelief and she felt herself slipping sideways, pulling the man with her ending up with him half sprawled over her on the ground. Lia looked up at the ceiling and then sideways to her friend who looked ridiculous, as much she probably did. What a pair they were. She smiled as the man tried to apologize but simply found herself giggling madly. He gave up and laughed along for a moment.

“Darling eh?” he said looking up at the ceiling too, his words joyfully thoughtful. Lia pulled herself out, not wanting to ruin a perfectly good opportunity and moved so she could put an arm on either side of john’s shoulders while he was still on the ground. No more resisting, she thought as she took a steadying breath, her eyes focusing on the darkened lips she wished to meet with her own. The man was still beneath her, his hair splayed out his hands moving to grip her arms.

Lia got close enough to taste the bitterness of the tea lingering on his breath, her one arm moving to hold herself as she put a hand to his cheek, feeling the ridges of the scars along his face. Their eyes met and she swore the yellow had become a blaze of fire inviting her towards their warmth. For a moment the world grew quiet around them as one of john's hands reached up to mirror Ophelia’s action, his cool fingers moving along from her temple down her cheekbone and touching her lips. he saw him wilt as his hand caressed her cheek his eyes flickering down as his hand moved to pull hers away from his face. He seemed to shrink away.

Ophelia refused to allow him to feel such embarrassment and leaned down kissing his temple instead and moved her lips along the scar down his cheek, her other hand holding his head so he wouldn't pull away. She felt his arms wrap firmly around her pulling her flush against him as she finished, laying her head against his. He gazed at her in wonder as she felt the heavy sensations run through her once more at his all enveloping touch. Seemingly drunk on the happiness she felt at that moment the woman sweetly asked,

“Shall it be forever then, thee and me?”