blush of dawn, Eva‟s Shimmerskin lover departed her bed, returning without complaint to the ether that had spawned him. As her world swam back into focus, she lay there naked amid tangled covers, her skin still flushed from his attentions. Except for her quickened breath, all was deathly quiet. She was alone. Melancholy. She shifted and felt a pleasant, residual tenderness in her private places.
Last night under the full moon, her body and spirit had been driven by a primal instinct to mate. She had been satisfied dozens of times, both by her own ministrations and by those of her conjured lover. With no true Will of his own, he had obeyed her every command. He‟d warmed her body with his, but he hadn‟t warmed her soul as she imagined a flesh and blood lover might have. Whenever she‟d lost herself to the pleasure for even a moment, her instruction to him had waned. At such times, he had a tiresome habit of slacking off in his attentions. It was a difficulty that plagued the ritual every month, and one for which she knew no cure.
She‟d dominated him and he had submitted to her Will. It was the opposite of what she wanted from a lover. She would have much preferred one who would command her and take charge of matters. One who would lead her with his strength and spirit, into a deeper pleasure of the mind and heart, as well as flesh. For when all were equally involved, would not the pleasure be exponentially increased? This was something she longed to discover for herself.
It was a luxury to wallow in these yearnings for these few moments. She only permitted herself to do so in the immediate aftermath of this monthly event, in the privacy of this room at the coming of dawn.
In the full light of day, she‟d leave such foolishness behind and go about the business of living a respectable life.
Until next month, when the fullness of the moon came again, reminding her of what she could and could not have.
The lock clicked, admitting Odette. Bearing a silver tray set with a teacup, a teapot, a small basket covered with a linen cloth, and a mortar and pestle, she came to stand beside the bed, staring down at Eva. Just beyond her, the sky was striated with fingers of pink and orange fast giving way to the blue of daylight.
Eva smiled, inhaling blissfully. “Mmm. I smell beignets.”
“You always like them since you were une bebe.”Odette sent her a fond glance as she set the tray down on the bedside table. Eva stretched her tired muscles, making no attempt to cover herself, uncaring that Odette saw her in this state. For this was the woman who‟d helped raise her for the past twenty-two years, and Eva had no secrets from her.
Except one.
Her green eyes flitted guiltily to her maidservant, then away. If she told her what had happened in the grove last night, Odette would hound her even more about her safety and would try to curtail her freedoms.
After so many years in the family, the woman was more an aunt than a maid or governess, and she would have no qualms about making free with her advice. It was too early to have the incident dissected and criticized.
Something about it was too private.
Odette set the basket of pastries on the bed next to her. Then, turning her attention to the mortar, she tossed in a few pinches of herbs and an oval, button-sized seed, and began grinding them together.
Eva pulled a warm, flaky beignet from the basket beside her.
Nibbling, she left Odette to her task and rolled onto her stomach toward the opposite side of the bed, the covers tangling around her bare legs.
Pulling the table‟s small drawer open, she found her mother‟s diary and flipped to the page she wanted. Resting on her elbows, she studied the spidery feminine scrawl.
“Why you read Fantine‟s prattle?”Odette asked, gesturing to indicate the book. “You got it committed to memory by now, eh?”
Eva shrugged, tracing a finger over the loop of a “y.”She‟d only found the book after her mother had died
Last night under the full moon, her body and spirit had been driven by a primal instinct to mate. She had been satisfied dozens of times, both by her own ministrations and by those of her conjured lover. With no true Will of his own, he had obeyed her every command. He‟d warmed her body with his, but he hadn‟t warmed her soul as she imagined a flesh and blood lover might have. Whenever she‟d lost herself to the pleasure for even a moment, her instruction to him had waned. At such times, he had a tiresome habit of slacking off in his attentions. It was a difficulty that plagued the ritual every month, and one for which she knew no cure.
She‟d dominated him and he had submitted to her Will. It was the opposite of what she wanted from a lover. She would have much preferred one who would command her and take charge of matters. One who would lead her with his strength and spirit, into a deeper pleasure of the mind and heart, as well as flesh. For when all were equally involved, would not the pleasure be exponentially increased? This was something she longed to discover for herself.
It was a luxury to wallow in these yearnings for these few moments. She only permitted herself to do so in the immediate aftermath of this monthly event, in the privacy of this room at the coming of dawn.
In the full light of day, she‟d leave such foolishness behind and go about the business of living a respectable life.
Until next month, when the fullness of the moon came again, reminding her of what she could and could not have.
The lock clicked, admitting Odette. Bearing a silver tray set with a teacup, a teapot, a small basket covered with a linen cloth, and a mortar and pestle, she came to stand beside the bed, staring down at Eva. Just beyond her, the sky was striated with fingers of pink and orange fast giving way to the blue of daylight.
Eva smiled, inhaling blissfully. “Mmm. I smell beignets.”
“You always like them since you were une bebe.”Odette sent her a fond glance as she set the tray down on the bedside table. Eva stretched her tired muscles, making no attempt to cover herself, uncaring that Odette saw her in this state. For this was the woman who‟d helped raise her for the past twenty-two years, and Eva had no secrets from her.
Except one.
Her green eyes flitted guiltily to her maidservant, then away. If she told her what had happened in the grove last night, Odette would hound her even more about her safety and would try to curtail her freedoms.
After so many years in the family, the woman was more an aunt than a maid or governess, and she would have no qualms about making free with her advice. It was too early to have the incident dissected and criticized.
Something about it was too private.
Odette set the basket of pastries on the bed next to her. Then, turning her attention to the mortar, she tossed in a few pinches of herbs and an oval, button-sized seed, and began grinding them together.
Eva pulled a warm, flaky beignet from the basket beside her.
Nibbling, she left Odette to her task and rolled onto her stomach toward the opposite side of the bed, the covers tangling around her bare legs.
Pulling the table‟s small drawer open, she found her mother‟s diary and flipped to the page she wanted. Resting on her elbows, she studied the spidery feminine scrawl.
“Why you read Fantine‟s prattle?”Odette asked, gesturing to indicate the book. “You got it committed to memory by now, eh?”
Eva shrugged, tracing a finger over the loop of a “y.”She‟d only found the book after her mother had died
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