The only thing that he has known to beat back the darkness, even a little, stands before him—as brilliant and as beautiful as ever. She reaches for him and no matter the depth of his uncertainty and the rootless existence that he now leads, he cannot help but feel the stir of stability in her embrace. He returns it eagerly, easily, pulling her toward him and then breathing in the sweet scent that is her and her alone.
The shadows still swirl, that sadness, but it eases.
The vice around his chest loosens, his vision clears—if only a little.
He pulls back and touches his weathered lips to the gold on her face, tracing the beautiful new lines that crawl down it; he can’t help but wonder how many times he will be blessed to relearn something new about her. Will she always be like this? Recreating herself in some new vision? He has always been such a simple man that it’s difficult to imagine what it would be like to be made anew again and again.
But then again, he doesn’t think the world has often seen someone quite like her.
At her next words, he brightens, ears perking a little. “Is the good news what has adorned you this time?” His lips curve, genial and charming, nutmeg eyes warming. But before he can inquire further, and before he can even guess as to what would be the good news, he feels the air sucked from his lungs.
For a second, he just stares, face going slightly slack.
A father?
Again?
Then he bursts into laughter, a joyful, booming sound as he rushes to her again, pulling her close and peppering her face with kisses. “Agetta,” he says her name between breathes, his lips finding the velvet of her again and again. “I can’t imagine better news,” his heart thunders in his chest. “I can’t imagine.”
PLUME
but my heart, it don’t beat, it don’t beat the way it used to