Lupus In Fabula

[Fiorella de Marco]

She tilted her head slightly, leaning it gently against the wall, her back already in close contact with its surface. A deliberate, unhurried blink swept away the last vestiges of moisture that had clung to her long lashes. With this methodical gesture, any traces of her prior vulnerability dissipated, leaving behind a gaze that was once again sharp and penetrating, albeit softened by her apparently good, even upbeat, mood.

"I perceive a multitude of questions swirling within your eyes. Understandable, yet..."

For several prolonged seconds, she allowed the promise of a conclusive response to linger, stretching the tension between them into an uncomfortable stillness.

He began to feel a peculiar transformation once more, as if she surrounded him, observing from an infinite array of angles, each perspective converging upon him. The sensation was so potent that he almost imagined her presence in his peripheral vision. His eyes retained their awareness of the external world's movements, yet was his own mind linking these flickering sensations to her silhouette - or was it hers doing?

When he endeavored to focus on these sensations, they dispersed like morning mist before the sun, fleeting and evasive, waiting for the next lapse of his attention.

"... I shall withhold those answers from you. Curiosity, like all other emotions, should be savored fully, stretched to its limits. It must be stoked to such intensity that it compels every intellectual fiber of your mind."

She spoke unhurriedly, her deep voice resonating with the moment, each word chosen with care, each syllable articulated deliberately by her lips. Her tranquil, almost soothing tone bore a hint of playful, yet cruel mischief.

"Only then, my dear Damien, do you earn the privilege of receiving an answer."

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Fiorella Arianna de Marco | As Dawn Mayflower
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