Gothicana

A bottle of water appeared in her line of vision as he made her take small sips, before letting her fall on the pillow again, resuming his soft caresses, gentling her in a way she’d never been taken care of before.

“Forcing you to have this conversation right now was a mistake,” he said, his fingers stroking the side of her face lightly. “You’re not ready.”

“You already know,” she whispered, keeping her eyes on his neck.

“Just the facts,” he told her. “I want your story. But later.”

“How do you know?” she gulped in a lungful of air. “It’s confidential information.”

His thumb caressed her cheek. “I have my ways.”

So cryptic.

With that, he got up and picked up the paper that had been in his hand from the floor. He must have thrown it when he got to her. He placed the paper beside the lamp and pressed a soft kiss to her piercing.

“I found that on the roof.”

Without another word, he took off his jacket and draped it over the chair, opening a cupboard by the bookshelves and taking out a small bag, swinging it over his shoulder.

“I’m going to work out for a while,” he told her, heading to the door. “Rest. Don’t try to leave. We’ll talk after I’m back.”

Corvina watched as he clicked a switch on the wall, leaving only the lamp on in the room. He pushed the heavy door open and went out, pulling it shut behind him, leaving Corvina all alone in his space, surrounded by his things and his scent.

Digging her head back into the pillow, a wave of tiredness washed over her. She turned to the table on the side before her eyes could close, taking the folded paper in her hand. Hesitating, wondering why it had been on the roof, she unfolded it, and read the two words written in block letters and blue ink.

Danse Macabre. 

What the hell?