How like the thunderheads you are, Professor. You prowl the sky, near enough for me to sense you but far enough away for me to doubt your presence. And like those prowling clouds that never unleash their rains, you never fulfill your promise.

Who shall swallow these horrors with me? Who out there can comprehend the poetry of this half-toppled abattoir land?

Who else might draw equal delight from this endless nightmare of being?

And the storm in my head rumbles its retort:

Who understands this horror?

Nobody.

Nobody…

The Sullied Pane

The Sullied Pane

“If you’re really worried about your parents suspecting us, you might want to wipe that ridiculous grin off your face before we go down to dinner,” Maxine said, giving him a coquettish wink. She looped the straps of her bra back onto her shoulders, then turned her back to Xavier in a wordless request for his fingers to re-clasp what they’d so nimbly unfastened a few moments earlier.

Gently, he pressed his face into the soft nest of her hair, which smelled of sea air and spices. “Give me a moment to come down,” Xavier joked in whisper. “I’ll have my poker face on before the salad’s served, trust me.”

“Oh? Is this the sort of thing you’ve done often?”

While still technically a newlywed, Xavier knew his bride well enough to spy that telltale hitch of the corner of her perfect mouth; the seed of a smile that she was struggling to hide from him. It was a reassuring sign that her question was not an earnest one.

“Hardly,” he replied. “I just know my family. The law of survival is simple: show no emotion, expect none in return. Do that and we’re fine.”

Maxine’s brow furrowed in consternation. “We’re in the home of the grand Whitlocks; it’s a palace. Stop making it sound like we’re entering a war room.”

“There may be war if we don’t get this bed remade exactly as Mother had it when we arrived!”

Together they moved about the mattress, which was still warm and tousled from the frantic, hushed coupling they’d snuck in just after their arrival at the grand house.

Once the bed had been reasonably restored, Maxine dabbed the sheen of sweat from her brow. “How does your mother keep this place so pristine without a housekeeper? Honestly!” she huffed.

“My brothers and I have been asking that question all our lives. My father has hired a dozen cleaners over the years to try and ease the burden, but Mother always lets them go.” Xavier shrugged. “Maybe it’s her way of contributing, who knows?”

“What do you mean?”