Post by glamorousgnome on Dec 22, 2007 1:02:19 GMT -8
Sienna tiptoed down the stairs for a glass of water, her hand guiding her gently by the railing, the staircase curving around the side of the Christmas tree. Her vibrant hair, tangling and curling down below her shoulders, caught against the branches of the pine, and several ornaments laughingly clinked together in reply.
In the pocket of her robe, she felt the note she found on the floor outside her bedroom door, addressed to her, and she could no longer stand the temptation of it. When she found it, an excitement filled her heart like a child who discovered her wrapped presents in the closet a week before Christmas. She wanted to wait to open it until the morning, but her love’s handwriting scrawled on the parchment envelope fluttered inside of her, and she tore the seal when she reached the halfway mark of the stairs.
Love of my long life,
Two lips, stained red like wine, like pomegranate, beckoning to taste.
Two eyes, amber in the candle light, beckoning me to gaze.
Two hands, small and tender in my grasp, beckoning me to touch.
Two hearts-
Step by step, her robe fluttered in the motion of her descending of the stairs. The note crumpled safe and sound in her pocket, and she no longer thought of the glass of water. She simply wanted to move, keep moving, wherever her feet led her to-
He stood at the bottom of the staircase, half shrouded in shadow, still in his evening attire. With his mysterious, dark eyes, he waited for her, had waited for her all night, and gently smiled at her face, weary, but not of their love.
“Merry Christmas,” he shrugged charmingly in his own, clumsy way. “I see you’ve read my note-”
Two lips, stained red like wine, interrupted him, tasted him, gazed at him, touched him, loved him. “Merry Christmas,” her expression replied. “Merry Christmas, Adrien.”
She left him at the bottom of the stairs when he insisted that he stay there, that he could not possibly go to sleep tonight. With a soft caress of his hand, she ascended the stairs, laid her fiery hair in flames across her pillow, and when her breath blew a feather from the bedding toward the pocket of her robe, she recalled the note with the fondness of a dream, or a fairy tale, where she’d kissed the poor artist from a faraway foreign land and he’d turned into the love of her long life-
In that state closer to sleep than consciousness, she felt a warm body crawl into their bed beside her, and feeling Adrien’s hair lovingly in her fingers, she drifted into the most romantic, vivid, passionate, dreamful sleep of her life. So peaceful that she never noticed Adrien slipping the note from her pocket and finishing it:
Two hearts-
-forever entwined and so deeply in love, beckoning me to live.
In the pocket of her robe, she felt the note she found on the floor outside her bedroom door, addressed to her, and she could no longer stand the temptation of it. When she found it, an excitement filled her heart like a child who discovered her wrapped presents in the closet a week before Christmas. She wanted to wait to open it until the morning, but her love’s handwriting scrawled on the parchment envelope fluttered inside of her, and she tore the seal when she reached the halfway mark of the stairs.
Love of my long life,
Two lips, stained red like wine, like pomegranate, beckoning to taste.
Two eyes, amber in the candle light, beckoning me to gaze.
Two hands, small and tender in my grasp, beckoning me to touch.
Two hearts-
Step by step, her robe fluttered in the motion of her descending of the stairs. The note crumpled safe and sound in her pocket, and she no longer thought of the glass of water. She simply wanted to move, keep moving, wherever her feet led her to-
He stood at the bottom of the staircase, half shrouded in shadow, still in his evening attire. With his mysterious, dark eyes, he waited for her, had waited for her all night, and gently smiled at her face, weary, but not of their love.
“Merry Christmas,” he shrugged charmingly in his own, clumsy way. “I see you’ve read my note-”
Two lips, stained red like wine, interrupted him, tasted him, gazed at him, touched him, loved him. “Merry Christmas,” her expression replied. “Merry Christmas, Adrien.”
She left him at the bottom of the stairs when he insisted that he stay there, that he could not possibly go to sleep tonight. With a soft caress of his hand, she ascended the stairs, laid her fiery hair in flames across her pillow, and when her breath blew a feather from the bedding toward the pocket of her robe, she recalled the note with the fondness of a dream, or a fairy tale, where she’d kissed the poor artist from a faraway foreign land and he’d turned into the love of her long life-
In that state closer to sleep than consciousness, she felt a warm body crawl into their bed beside her, and feeling Adrien’s hair lovingly in her fingers, she drifted into the most romantic, vivid, passionate, dreamful sleep of her life. So peaceful that she never noticed Adrien slipping the note from her pocket and finishing it:
Two hearts-
-forever entwined and so deeply in love, beckoning me to live.
