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Just before he took a fist full of her long hair in his hands to pull her in closer for a soft, lingering kiss or to push her mouth down to serve him further. He could be anyone. From the darkest Lord of the Underworld to the Prince of Beauty’s dreams – His range was incredible. For her he was truly an angel thrown from hell. Tonight, what would she want? What cunning phantom or humble muse will possess her under this moon? Alone, in the dark, she could have any of them that she wanted. The control is all hers. The entire production, from wardrobe to scenery, from plot to casting – for once – it’s all entirely up to her. She silently balks at the notion that she couldn’t immediately decide because perhaps she needed to be told what to do. The heat from with in was too insistent to turn back now. Her fingers had plotted their own course to her satisfaction, and it would soon overtake her. The ‘being told what to do’ idea had sparked some definite interest. It would eventually. I just stared and Maggie started to look embarrassed. “Is this too much?” she said. “I feel very exposed.“You look stunning,” was all I could say, before adding, “you’re wearing the cross.”“I wanted to wear it because it was your gift to me, and you are the most important person in my life. My heart will be with you even though I might be, er, I'm going to…”“Your heart will be with me while your body will be with Simon,” I interrupted to help her complete her sentence. Why did I say that? I immediately felt like kicking myself.“That’s not what I meant at all,” said Maggie, as she started to look upset and tears appeared in her eyes.“Sorry, I know you didn’t. I know what you meant and I’m touched. I really want you to go and enjoy yourself, and I look forward to spending the night with you when you return.”Maggie seemed to feel she had to justify herself all over again.“You wanted me to buy this dress for tonight, you wanted me to go. I can’t do this if you have any doubts.”I went.
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Nearly all of them, actually. I stiffly push myself up to sit on my bedroll and grimace at the knots in my back. Tense dreams again. And, as always, I can’t remember what they were. I feel tight, like my blood pressure’s up, like I’m… angry, or was, like I was in some sort of frustrating argument. When I stretch my jaw, the muscle are like bowstrings. Grinding my teeth again. I’ll wear them all down before I figure out what’s wrong. Still, as the minutes pass, I begin to relax. I breathe and hug my knees, my slender, pale body still lean, though perhaps not as muscular as it used to be. I’m no longer out adventuring and vanquishing foes these days. Now I simply wander, living in the wilds, as I suppose Morrigan has always done. It’s not a bad life. For the most part it’s quiet and boring, sprinkled with periods of intense danger and excitement. Given my increasing age (though I suppose my late forties isn’t terribly geriatric), I probably shouldn’t long for such heroics like I do..

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