There were times I made just for her. I took her from the bed up at the top of that old house, where she lay each morning in the springtime sun, and brought her down to my room downstairs. She would follow me, eagerly, wanting to see what kind of new world I had made for her down in my workroom.
I would open the door for her and usher her into the gloom of my workroom. It was such a contrast to the high, light room where she spent her days, waiting for moments like this – the times when I summoned her.
In the dark and the flickering of my candles, she would – each time – hesitate before my workbench as I cleared it of papers and books, to give her enough room. Then, she would drop her robe to pool around her feet, before climbing up and kneeling on my bench in front of me.
The shock of my fingers, charged with the possibility of a new world for her, would make her jump, twitch, and shiver as my hand met the flesh of her chin to bring her eyes up to look into mine.
The she would smile back at my smile as I took her into the new world I had made for us to share.
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