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witchqueenofthemoon · 6 years ago

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BODY AND SOUL Part 32 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: Apologies for the lateness; this has been one of the longest stretches of days of my life. I’ll elaborate more at the end, I think, but suffice it to say this fic has quite literally changed my life; changed ME, forever. It reopened parts of me I thought had been consigned to the abyss and opened new doors entirely in my soul. It truly has fucking changed me body and soul, as cheesy as that fucking is. So when you read it, know that it comes from the depths of me. Marguerite Foley is based on Mary Beard. Kenzie’s starburst necklace looks like this. Kenzie suggesting FRANKENSTEIN to Anchaly is for a couple reasons; firstly, that I love it as much as she does, and secondly, a gothic horror is my next project, and it’s my nod to myself (haha). Kenzie being astounded at her own writing is how I feel sometimes when I read over any of this fic; “I wrote this???” is usually what I’m thinking. When the muse hits you, she’s no joke. This is Kenzie’s Marchesa dress, this is Duncan’s Alexander McQueen shirt. Crocus looks like this; I’ve been crazy about palominos since I was a child (and horses in general, let’s get real) and knew one of the horses Duncan got for Kenzie was always going to be a palomino. This is the dress Kenzie is wearing on his back, her earpieces are like this. This is the jacket Duncan is wearing in that shot. Kenzie’s birthday dress. Her lingerie. Duncan’s jacket and his shirt. Here are the pomegranate cufflinks (I had to, y’all). Here’s Hannah’s dress. Claire’s dress. Someone put on Hozier’s self-titled album while they’re getting ready because I’ve been listening to it a lot over the past week or so; the songs mentioned are FROM EDEN and IN A WEEK. A reminder that ARIADNE looks like this. There are only two more chapters left after this one; one of which I’ve written; I’ll write the epilogue after I upload Part 33. To those of you who have come so far with me on this incredible journey; thank you.

THREE WEEKS LATER

Kenzie ran out the penthouse door to the elevator, half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich clutched in her left hand, the moonstone glimmering on her finger as she shoved a pair of ballet flats on her feet. It was late afternoon--fuck, already--Anchaly had just rang on the intercom to tell her a special package had arrived. She’d been just about to go back to the study with her sandwich when he’d called; she’d been in the middle of writing a passage she’d been puzzling over. The strange thing about language, she thought, is it’s always trying to explain the inexplicable. And when you’re writing about love, you’re always trying to grasp the intangible.

She wore washed denim overall shorts and a white embroidered crop top--Kenzie noticed one of the strap sleeves had slipped off her shoulder as she skidded into the elevator, hurriedly pressing the foyer button; then she pushed it back up. At her neck was a long golden chain with a gold-and-diamond starburst hanging from it past her breasts--another gift from Duncan a few nights ago. I couldn’t help it, he’d said, his lips against the bottom of her ear as he clasped it around her neck, his breath sweet and heavy, his smell like cedarwood. I saw it and knew it was for you, and everything’s been going so well, the solar is going up without a hitch, the rooftop garden is almost done, the garden house is getting started, Annette’s like a different person, and after our meeting with Claire Underwood last week; and how much she loved you, loved our ideas...it’s my joy to give you things, it’s celebrating all of this, everything, us. Please let me continue to bestow gifts on you, sweet Princess. Kenzie peered at it in the elevator’s mirror, running it through her fingers; squinted at herself, her honey-colored hair falling around her face. Then she took another massive bite of her sandwich.

In addition to everything else, the new board was coming together nicely, too, she knew; Duncan had bought back shares owned by previous members of the board, and they had started from scratch, choosing only women as he’d promised; Momby and Annette were now something akin to friends, which Duncan and Kenzie constantly marveled over, watching them laugh and touch each other’s shoulders affectionately, going on brunch dates and to happy hours; the rest of the team Kenzie and Momby had carefully considered, eventually lighting on several women in prominent scientific fields, especially those with a focus on climate change action, Marguerite Foley, who had won a National Book Award for her new history of Ancient Rome, and two renowned socialist activists, both women of color, one of whom had gained nationwide attention for personally lassoing a confederate statue down from a public square in South Carolina and organizing major white-supremacist opposition protests. When Kenzie had first sat among this group of women in the newly-painted board room (a pleasing cerulean blue with gold borders that reminded her of a deep ocean with a golden shoreline), she had felt her heart swell beyond all words; I felt the Goddess there, she knew. As clearly as if She sat with us. And I knew it was good in Her eyes.

Kenzie had been doing her best to split time between the new board of directors and her book, which seemed to be flowing out of her like it was a river with a strong current. I think staring at the Youth of Bacchus all day doesn’t hurt when it comes to inspiration. Neither does wanting to share what’s in my heart so very, very much. The study had been transformed from Duncan’s work desk to Kenzie’s writing desk; they’d recently had two high-quality photos framed to put on it. One was the Vanity Fair shot of them together, the other, the two of them looking at each other at the Gala; glancing at them throughout the day, Kenzie felt constantly awash in a haze of golden affection, gratitude and deep emotion, and every time she read back on what she’d written, she felt lost in its loveliness, stunned at her own words. I wrote this, she knew, astounded. This came from my own heart, and now everyone will know. They’ll know what this feels like. They’ll feel the love I’ve felt; not just now, but in all the ages past, and the ones to come.

The elevator reached the ground floor and she stepped out, swallowing the rest of her sandwich, licking peanut butter off her finger. She turned to see Anchaly’s feet propped against the counter, his nose buried deep in Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey. There was a thick package in brown shipping paper on the countertop beside where his pristine Balmains were crossed over each other; Kenzie smiled.

“Nice shoes, Anchaly, those look really smart on you. And I love that one. Everyone always talks about Jane Austen writing good romance, but they always leave out how fucking funny and observant she was.”

“Hey, Princess.” A few weeks ago, Anchaly had started to call her this; Kenzie knew somehow, innately, that his doing so lacked all pretense. It felt right; natural. Even if he didn’t know, he knew. It was in the air. “Bought them with my first new paycheck. I think they really suit me.” Duncan had promptly raised the salaries of every person employed by Shepherd Unlimited a few days after assuming his role as CEO, as well as extending vacation time and enacting full benefits for every position. Anchaly continued. “And I agree about Ms. Austen. Delightful. Though I will say, this one’s making me want to read a serious gothic novel next, rather than a facetious one.”

“Frankenstein,” Kenzie breathed, eagerly. “It has to be Frankenstein. One of the best books ever written. I love it so much. It’s so heartbreakingly melancholy and so beautiful. Did you know Mary Shelley wrote it when she was only 18?”

“Goodness, no. That’s extraordinary. I’ll make it a point to get a copy, Miss Mackenzie.”

Kenzie nodded at him, grinning approvingly. Anchaly hitched his feet down, handing her the long brown package. She gripped it tightly, fingers white, knowing full well what it was. She couldn’t wait any longer. With the nails of her right hand she ripped along the seam, exposing the object within; it was the new issue of W magazine, and on its cover, she saw, her heart bursting into her mouth with bittersweet savor: us.

On the cover was a stunning photograph of her and Duncan. In it, she wore a beautifully embroidered Marchesa dress; the top had a high collar and embellished black etchings and flowers with cut-out mesh; in the photo the full skirt’s waist was just visible, it’s blooming golden roses peeking towards the bottom of the shot. She was flush to Duncan’s arms; her face dipping up towards the camera, strands of golden hair across her cheek, her lips parted just so, dark plum. Her eyes seemed impossibly deep gold, framed by her lashes, seeming impossibly long; like the photo on the study desk, but even brighter--even greater. She wondered again vaguely if it was a trick of the camera; knew innately that it wasn’t. You can truly see us here. Who we really are. The cascade of her honey-colored hair dipped back, a waterfall of smooth, waving silk, and a crown of yellow begonias rested on the top of her head. Duncan’s face was also turned to the camera; her forehead rested against the dip of his chin, his full lips open too, just enough to evoke a deep longing in the onlooker, and his russety curls were across his forehead, falling down in artfully tossed, dark waves--akin to the deep gold of her own eyes, his seemed to glow with ethereal blue flame. Sword of the Evening Star, Kenzie thought, pressing her fingers against her mouth. Duncan wore a form-fitting Alexander McQueen black Oxford with a cascading embroidery of white roses along either side of his torso; one of his hands was visible at the top of her arm, his beautiful long fingers, holding her with aching tenderness. The light was sweet and low in the shot; the photocall had been on the White House’s back green with Claire Underwood’s permission, the sunlight falling in the late afternoon to dapple behind them; somehow the photographers had been able to preserve the sense of natural light, and Kenzie was reminded of their two sweet summer evenings at the cabin several weeks ago, could almost smell the drifting, low verdence of the grass that day.

She bit into her lip, breath stolen; the photo evoked a deep sense of romance, a dramatic and stirring sense of tenderness, bordering on gothicism. AT THE ALTAR OF DUCKENZIE, the headline read, printed in swirling script below them, and then, smaller: the breathtaking young gods and their plan to change the world. Kenzie heart thumped against the roof of her mouth now, her senses flooding with the blood the pumped from it fiercely. Fuck. It’s so much more beautiful than I could have imagined. She opened to the editorial inside; there was a five-page-long spread, the inner article with another subtitle; WHEN THE GOD OF WEALTH MET THE GODDESS OF SPRING, THE WORLD SHIFTED…: The new Hades and Persephone sit together in the fading light of the White House lawn, the editorial began, and Duncan Shepherd leans down to kiss her rosy cheek, her, Mackenzie Stone, who took the internet by storm when she abruptly stole his heart only a few short months ago…, the article went on, and Kenzie stopped. Oh god, I can’t possibly read this right now, she thought, feeling the heat rising in her face immediately. Kenz, you’re in the middle of writing. You have to wait.

In one of the photos of the inner spread, the photographers had enlisted the help of a breathtaking creamy palomino stallion; Kenzie sat astride him in a flowing white McQueen dress in delicate lace suns, moons and tiny flower-bursts, tiny white jewels threaded through her hair, huge crescent moon pendants earpieces on either side of her head. Duncan, in a striking long black blazer with cascades of glittering gold embroidery, also McQueen, held firmly to a gold-and-black-leather bridle the horse wore; there was a circlet with dark obsidian stones across his forehead. The horse’s mane was twisted into elegant braids that fell over his large, liquid-dark eyes, and a wreath of dark roses around his neck. Kenzie had loved this horse utterly; immediately, with a fierce adoration that threatened to shatter her into pieces.

“What’s his name,” she’d asked, tearing, touching the sides of his long face later, back on the ground--the horse had stared down at her, lashes blinking languidly. He dipped his head up, fluid, curious, and let out a quiet, curious neigh. His huge eyes fluttered again in some secret language.

“Crocus,” the trainer said, smiling at her, a big, burly man with coppery skin and a dark black beard. “He’s as sweet as honey butter. I’ve never met a stallion so mild. Like he came down from heaven, the holy mount of some lofty angel. Though it seems he’ll soon belong to another angel, from what I’ve been told.”

Kenzie had turned to Duncan, her mouth open. Crocus. Like the yellow flowers in my hair.

“Dunny.”

Duncan had grinned at her, his eyes sparkling, hand coming against his lips. Yes, my angel.

“Dunny.”

“I know your birthday is still a few weeks away, but--Kenzie. He’s yours. And we’ll find him companions, I promise. But I knew he had to be yours. He’s your jewel. I could see it right away. Meant to be, clear as crystal. Like the Mirror, or the flowers, or--oh, Kenz--don’t--”

For Kenzie, of course, had begun to cry, and as her tears poured forth like rain, she’d thrown herself into his arms.

-----

“Everything’s ready for the celebration tonight, Miss Mackenzie. If you are missing anything once the party gets underway, you know you need only call me for assistance. I hope it is truly a wonderful night.”

“Anchaly, honestly, lately--everything is wonderful. I’ve been infinitely blessed.”

“Miss Mackenzie, I beg to say--it is you who are the blessing. Since you came into our lives, it’s like the world was set aflame with the kindest, softest gold. Like…” Anchaly trailed off here, lost in thought, and his fingers came around his chin.

“Miss Stone...it’s like...like coming home.”

Kenzie had come around the desk and hugged the small man; she couldn’t help it, and Anchaly didn’t mind; she could feel his ease, his sense of comfort at her embrace. Thank you, Anchaly, she thought, pushing blushing waves down on him from the top of her head. She felt the man’s shoulders shake against her, and knew that he had been deeply moved, had felt what she had done acutely. Truly a wonderful night, she thought, his words echoing in her mind. Truly a wonderful night, and she knew he was right, knew it was on its way.

As she went back up to the penthouse, the magazine tucked safely under her arm, she thought of the articles they’d done in the Post two weeks before. Ben had been very satisfied to finally publish his piece with Duncan; as Duncan had promised, he had made an immediate donation to GLAAD in the name of the newly organized Shepherd Foundation of Arts and Sciences--in the amount of 2 million dollars, which had caused a ripple amongst the press that was now gaining a serious momentum. The W interview was the first they’d agreed to since Bill’s passing, but several more were lined up in the weeks to come, and they’d had so many press requests, Kenzie had requested that River (now Kenzie’s personal assistant) simply stop answering the phone for a few days. The Post article had been the most extensive regarding Duncan’s initial goals; and in Kenzie’s full-page piece, she’d elucidated on the company’s long-term goals, their hopes for a green future with the implementation of their solar energy and rooftop greenhouse blueprints, and their plans for legislation with Claire Underwood to pass laws enacting green policies in all areas of government. The plans were being met with resounding positivity by the public; Shepherd Unlimited’s stock had closed out at the top of the market for weeks now, and though Kenzie knew it would take time, she also knew eventually their goals would come to pass. And, then, hopefully, no more stock market anyway, she thought. If our goals prevail, Goddess willing, the new world will truly arrive. Not only will I have saved Duncan in this life, we will have saved this world from its own destruction. In the eyes of the Goddess, under Her bright kindness and the strong threads of Fate, all things are possible. I can’t disbelieve; not in light of everything that’s happened. Not in the face of this transcendent reality. When I’m with him, I know--every good thing is possible.

She thought of their garden house, far in the future still, but now taking shape; my garden house, I know, for he’s designing it for me--he’s worked tirelessly with the architect and the builders to make the design perfect, he’s already been going out there every day he can. They’d been told the house, greenhouse and horse barn would take two years from start to finish, all-told, at this juncture; but something electric surrounded the property. When she’d visited it for the first time a week ago, it had felt to Kenzie like the quiet serenity of the black oak circle, but compounded and expanded and made greater, a Thin Place stretched to an extraordinary distance. Like its own little world. Duncan had texted her that day from Westminster, about an hour and a half drive from DC, where the land was, with several accompanying pictures.

Duncan: Kenzie, baby, just look at it. The builders are ahead of schedule already. This won’t take two years. I can feel it. It’s this place. She’s EVERYWHERE here, Kenzie. I love you so much. I can’t wait to see you tonight. I’ll kiss you a thousand times, my sweet Princess of Heaven.

The accompanying pictures showed the structure of the house already well in place, the plotting of the greenhouse and the barn distinct. Crocus was being kept in a private stable several miles away until the barn was erected; that can’t come soon enough, Kenzie thought, for Duncan had promised they’d find him two companions when the garden house came closer to completion. And I miss him terribly, Kenzie thought. She’d only been able to visit the palomino once since Duncan had purchased him, and she’d burst into tears again, burying her face against his soft haunches. Crocus had made tiny horsey sounds; dipping his long face back and forth, but Kenzie could have sworn he was trying to comfort her. Do you remember me too, beauty? She thought. Did we know each other long ago? But she didn’t need to ask. She knew they had, with a golden certainty. Like Duncan, you’ve always been mine, honey-sweet, nectar wine, my Crocus, mild as the sunflower-colored dawn.

The moonstone ring caught the light in her reflection before she exited the elevator, back on the penthouse floor; Kenzie had relished her day alone, writing through the morning, but now she longed for Duncan; as I always do this time of day, she thought. The ring was like a kiss from his mouth against her finger; this thought pressed against her again and again, a mantra on her heart. A kiss. A kiss forever. A devotion. A promise to me. A symbol of love, as constant as the moon, changing and yet the same, turning against the earth until it too dissolves into something else, and yet even then, somewhere, never gone, just in some other place, some other time. When I look at it, I see the poetry of his mind; the fall of his thoughts, the way they hold me, the way they inspired me, kindled my heart to do the thing I was meant to do, write something truly beautiful, something that would give a piece of this love--as infinite as it is, as ever-growing, ever-expanding--to everyone who touches it. When he conceived this ring from the artistry of his own mind, he was thinking of the love between us, and he was thinking of me; the aspect of my soul. I know it. Every time I see it, I feel it.

The moonstone seemed to swirl, creamy-dark, and the diamonds glittered as she shifted her wrist up to tuck her hair back, slipping her keycard back into the door. She was frustrated to realize how close to the party her writing had skirted; she only had about an hour more to finish the part she was working on, and she’d be cutting it close. Soon the caterers would be arriving, soon Hannah and Georgio would be here for their styling, photographers, Morgan to fit her into her dress, and soon Duncan would be home. Back to work, Kenzie Lou. You know you won’t be able to even think about it once he gets home.

Kenzie went back to the study that had once been Duncan’s--and was now unmistakably hers. The Youth of Bacchus stretched along the entire wall, colossal, endless, staggeringly moving; she moved up to it, as she often did, comparing herself to the life-size figures. Kenzie toed for a moment, the magazine still tucked against her, in the fourth position. Old ballet habits die hard. She pretended to dance with them for a moment; turning her head up like the revelers depicted therein. In life, there is such joy. To be alive at all, and then to find him endlessly. I know now that her benevolence extends over everything. I see Her in every flower, in the shape of his face, in the facets of the moon, one of thousands, one of millions in the structure of her Time. I am Ariadne, thrown into the stars; Mother, I feel you everywhere. I know I’m your beloved.

Kenzie ceased her silent dance, giggling at herself, her own abandon; she switched on the Tiffany lamp beside Duncan’s smooth turntable and returned to the desk, gently setting the magazine down on it beside her Macbook, her Google doc open on the screen. Above where she’d placed the magazine were the two framed photos; the one from Vanity Fair (that day my heart was so heavy, but he held me with so much love and tenderness, his love a healing balm) and the one from the Gala, their faces full of such splendid happiness she often caught herself staring at it, lost in its emotion, its pure joy. There was another photo framed there now, smaller than the other two; the photo of Momby in bell sleeves, grinning in her youth out onto her unseen future. There was a slender velvet box on the other side of her laptop, one Kenzie had tied a satin, burgundy-colored ribbon around. She’d left it there as a reminder to herself to give it to him as soon as he got home; the first part of Duncan’s birthday present was something for him to wear that night. The second part, well--those are for me to wear, she thought. And I’ll make him fucking weak.

She glanced at the magazine cover one more time. I can’t wait to show this to him, she thought. At the altar of Duckenzie...Kenzie thought of that first night, the christening of their true altar; our bed, she thought, over which a dozen bouquets now hang, each of his adornments for me, yellow crocus after he found my beautiful Crocus, begonias after I loved the ones on my crown for the photoshoot so much, but mostly roses, roses in every shade, and these I’ve been gathering as though I would weave the colors of his love with them. Our bedroom, where stands our Mirror, unstuck from time, where we’ve fucked in passionate abandon almost every night since we met, and yet never tire of each other’s delights, never tire of the closeness or the need or the ecstatic connection of us, and never will. She’d worn the black and white lace lingeries on several nights over the past few weeks, let him tie her up half a dozen times, pulled him insistently into the shower for the last three mornings, demanding; they’d fucked on every surface of the penthouse at least twice more since returning from the cabin a few weeks ago, but her favorite place remained their bed; in the dark, in the shadows, with the moon on us, and your eyes made of blue flames, and the greatness of you, Evening Star, my sweet Hades.

Kenzie went back to writing.

-------

Erik was at the door promptly at five-thirty, in a blouse with voluminous iridescent magenta sleeves; Hannah and Georgio were behind him, carrying their styling chairs, bags slung over their shoulders. Morgan arrived right after, in a swirling black cape, long, dark green gloves on her hands.

“Darling,” she cooed, “you will truly look the part of a cosmic Princess tonight, my sweet. One of my favorite works I’ve done to date, bar none. One of my masterpieces.”

“Morgan, everything you make is a masterpiece,” Kenzie said, hopping excitedly at the long clothing rack that was being wheeled in behind the eccentric designer, leaning to kiss Morgan’s cheek.

“As I said, my love. One of.” Morgan kissed her in turn, and floated past her.

Kenzie wondered for a moment where Claire was, then knew; with Harris, of course. She’ll probably show up when he does. Oh my sweet Clairebear. Several caterers slipped in behind Morgan, heading towards the kitchen island with a wheel cart that carried, rather than a cake, Duncan and Kenzie’s alternative choice: two hundred organic, vegan, edible-gold crescent moon cinnamon cupcakes. On the lower shelves of the cart Kenzie could see case after case of delicate hors d'oeuvres, chilly tins of caviar, and ramekins of creme brulee and chocolate mousse. Kenzie peered anxiously into the hallway, which was empty now. Where’s Duncan, she frowned, turning back inside.

“Kenzie, get over here, let’s get started,” Hannah beckoned to her, grinning. Her lipstick was pale lavender today, her hair still the same striking purplish-gray. Her dress was a dusty periwinkle chiffon midi with floral embroidery, long silvery chains with flowers and bird charms hanging from her neck. She looked beautiful; like a fairy lady-in-waiting, come to adorn Kenzie’s hair with flowers again. But not flowers tonight, Kenzie thought. Tonight, I will be the radiance of the night sky.

“Where’s Duncan?” Kenzie said, more to herself than to her hairdresser. Hannah shrugged, patting her on the shoulders, turning her towards the mirrors Erik was setting up in front of them.

“Did he say he’d be back yet?”

“Well, no, not necessarily--” Kenzie fell into the chair which Hannah had placed on the wide living room carpet, the same spot it had been in for the Gala. “But he knew what time you’d be arriving and he texted me hours ago from the garden house, so he’s probably back in the city by now. One of his birthday presents is something for him to wear, so I wanted to give it to him soon.”

“I’m sure he’ll be along soon, Princess,” Hannah murmured, already working a thin comb through Kenzie’s golden hair, parting it carefully. Kenzie wrinkled her nose at Hannah in the mirror; you too huh. Hannah stopped, squealing; “Oh my god, the ring, Kenzie, holy shit!”

Kenzie had made an Instagram post the day after Duncan had given it to her on Momby’s deck, her hand elegantly poised up to the sunlight over their bed, moonstone and diamonds glittering, the flowers she’d pinned along the headboard visible in the backdrop. Three weeks later, the picture had garnered over 10 million likes, which simply seemed impossible to Kenzie. The paps had started calling them Prince Duncan and Princess Mackenzie in articles; as if we really are royalty. Well--as if they know.

“Duncan designed it himself,” Kenzie smiled, her mind once again drifting to Duncan’s other presents she had for tonight. Oh baby. Gonna make you howl for me. Hannah continued to fawn over the ring, tsking as she clutched Kenzie’s fingers, staring down at it. “Lovely, fuck, wow, the most beautiful ring I have ever seen, like a full moon surrounded by stars.”

“I think that’s what he was thinking of, honestly,” and Kenzie’s smile widened, her teeth peeking free from her lips, turning her head up. “He calls me moonbeam sometimes.”

“Oh, Princess.” Hannah straightened her head back to stare into the mirror, shaking her own lavender tresses. “I can’t wait to style your pretty head for that wedding. God, I might just faint from the loveliness of all of it. I might just fucking scream.” Morgan was fussing to their left over the cloth bag that held Kenzie’s dress; she glanced up at the Bouguereau prints along the wall, forgetting the dress for a moment to coo softly at them.

“Oh, how divine, Bouguereau. The academic painters are highly underrated if you ask me. Our Duncan is quite the romantic at heart, isn’t he?”

“He really is, Morgan. Deep in his soul.” Kenzie’s heart clenched as she spoke. My Hades, serious, sensitive, sweet as evening.

“I doubt you would have given him another glance if he wasn’t,” Hannah added, using a curling iron to twist Kenzie’s hair into even waves. “You can see into people’s hearts, I knew it the moment I saw you.” On the fold-out drawer beside her Kenzie could see beautiful golden headband with starburst embellishments from end to end, a particularly large one in the middle made of blue sapphires with gold trim. Me and Duncan. My gold surrounding his blue.

“Oh Hannah, I love that,” Kenzie murmured, gesturing to it without moving her head this time, trying not to annoy her hairdresser too much.

“It made me think of you and Duncan immediately,” Hannah said in a quiet voice, and Kenzie could feel her emotion--feel the quavering adoration there. She sent golden energy out from her body over Hannah. Sweet lavender-tinted soul.

Someone had put music on; a soothing guitar line and lilting chorus drifted through the room, and Kenzie felt her own energy, her own desire for the evening, fill the cracks in the space, between the sound;

Honey, you’re familiar, like my mirror, long ago

Kenzie heard the front door open a little later amid the bustle now shaking the penthouse; she turned and saw the beloved, familiar crown of Duncan’s autumnal curls, the striking outline of his profile, and yelped, slipping deftly out of Hannah’s grip, running in several quick bounds into his arms--his blueness fell over her, sucking her breath away. Duncan laughed into her hair and Kenzie’s heart soared up to the ceiling with the sound, her body suddenly afire with him; home, home, home, you’re home and so I’m home now, too, the respite of him flowing, instantly, utterly, into her veins. Through the halo of her arms at his neck and the sweet, musky smell of him, Kenzie noticed two men behind him carrying a very large, rectangular object covered in packing paper; Duncan turned to them with her still clutched against him, and nodded to them.

“In the bedroom, please, thanks guys--” and then he buried his face against her again as they moved past, and Kenzie sighed, everything else, everyone melting away into nothing with the feel of him.

“Fuck, baby, I missed you today--”

“I fucking missed you--”

He kissed her with a fierce hunger that stopped all entreaty--she felt his fingers (loveliest of all to me, beloved) drift against the back of her head, holding her achingly against his mouth, his arm tucking her tightly to him, her face hovering over his. His thoughts were an endless plea: kiss me, kiss me Kenzie, please just kiss me--

“Baby,” she broke away, hovering so her whisper fell on the wetness she’d left on his mouth, “what was in that package?”

Duncan grinned; the smile of the gods. Like the sun. More beautiful to me than any star.

“Come on. Open it now. I want you to see. I want us to look at it alone--just me and you. Angel baby.” He lowered her to earth (would that I’d never have to come down from the height of your arms, Prince), and his fingers came again, the desperation to touch her seeping from him into her, to press to each side of her face, his forehead leaning down to her in an adoring embrace that left her breathless. Kenzie stared up into his sapphiric eyes; she could feel her mouth hovering open at his beauty, felt lost in the delicate cock of his chin; they marveled at one another in silence for a quiet, extended moment. Your delight to me is endless, Duncan, your beauty to me above all other beauties.

I’ll never tire of your face, Kenzie, which I would know, even in death, even in the void, as the face of the other half of my Soul.

He gently let go of her, and Kenzie finally noticed everyone in the room gaping at them openly; both she and Duncan looked away from the collective stares, shyly. Many people openly gazed at them this way these days; it seemed it simply couldn’t be helped. Duncan had started to call it their sheen; it was as if with their union they had opened a kind of doorway, one through which the tiniest sliver of their divine light poured forth. Like Claire had said: the light a moth flies into. Kenzie often felt frozen under the power of it over the past few weeks; the fell swoop of stunned amazement they caused together was endlessly strange, and it charged her body again and again with a frantic glow that often threatened to overwhelm her, as if a battery within her was being recharged with immense power. At these times, after the moments where their sheen was witnessed, their powers were super-charged for awhile; she could hear every tiny nuance of Duncan’s thoughts, which both thrilled her and stole her breath away. It was beyond words; it was more like the tiny cadence of a melody, too fragile to explain even to herself. She found, in this charged state, that she could transmutate across further and further distances, conjure fires with an ease that astounded her. The sway she could hold now over the paps constantly outside the high-rise now was extraordinary; Harris and her entourage were scarcely needed, as the paps would remain calm and Kenzie unaccosted as she held them under her powers. Duncan could do the same--the sheen both astounded the world to them, and protected them.

In that state, I see everything; the shades of him, the brightness and the darkness too. The throng of every thread She wove into him, when she created him, the perfect other half of me. Without him, I would cease. Without me, he would disappear. She wove it that way--I see that I’ve been blessed beyond all others in this way. We were the first; the very first time she melded two souls, and her work was majesty. It was us. We were the first of all true love.

Duncan led her past the people in the penthouse--out of the noisy quiet of their stares, the bleeding music (we lay here for years or for hours, your hand in my hand...), and into the soothing cocoon of their bedroom, closing the door behind her, still holding her hand. The men had set the long object wrapped in paper against the far wall--the empty wall, Kenzie realized. The blank wall where we vowed to put something beautiful.

“Kenzie.”

He turned to her, reaching for her other hand, blue eyes burning like low coals.

“Baby--I’m so happy. It’s yours forever now. It’s so beautiful, it’s--please, Kenzie--know that to me, it’s always you. I will always see your face in it. Whenever I look at it, I’ll only see you.”

“Dunny, what is it?”

He only smiled again, leading her to the papered object. She watched his deep breath, her fingers coming up to press to her lips.

“Open it, Duncan. Open it for me.”

Duncan’s eyes flashed at her; summer lightning in a storm. Then he gave her a little nod, a heart-stopping, teasing smile, then he turned, a long, black-clad shadow (as ever) leaning to the corner of the paper where it lifted free of its glue, and with his long fingers grasped and tore it--as he did, Kenzie glimpsed a swath of wine-red and lilac, the shape of a pair of bent knees on a raised dais. Duncan threw the swath of paper aside and grasped her under her arms; led her close to the painting (for that’s what it is--it’s a painting) and brought her hands down to the dip of the paper that remained. Rip it away, baby, look at it, look at how perfect it is. More perfect than I could have imagined. Use your power to reveal it.

Kenzie did as he said; gestured softly, her fingers curving; the paper ripped up in a swift movement that exposed, suddenly, the sweet, upturned face of a maiden in repose, one of her breasts free, her body clad in wine-red silk painted on canvas. Kenzie’s body tingled, her senses flush with emotion, suddenly--she tore the rest of the paper away from the painting, widening her fingers, shifting the space--and then, overcome with its reveal, kneeled in front of it, holding her breath, eyes wide.

“Baby.”

“It’s called Ariadne. She was the wife of Dionysus; Bacchus, like--you know--”

“Like The Youth of Bacchus.”

She lifted her face up to where he stood, hands in her lap, her body hunched towards the loveliness of it; Duncan came down to her, kneeling beside her, reaching for her hands.

“He loved her. She was his wife--he gave her a crown made of stars. When she died, he threw it into the sky, so she would always be remembered.”

“Like Star of Heaven.” Kenzie felt the tears on her cheeks.

“Yes, Kenzie. You. My star of heaven.”

“Duncan. It’s--” And she lifted her fingers to his cheeks, cupping his face, running her thumbs along the stubble with a deep, abiding relief. He turned his mouth into her palm; closed his eyes, kissed her long and longingly.

“I knew as soon as I saw that it was going up for auction. I knew. Kenz, you’ll see soon, the garden house, it’s--it’s coming to life. She’s speeding it along. I can feel her there. She’s in every shadow and every corner. The Veil there, it’s so thin, sometimes I think I can see colors from that other place, that heavenly place--all the builders feel it too, I can tell, they work tirelessly, and never seem to get weary, and they sing as they work, as if they know it’s a holy place, and to me it sounds like hymns to you, it all reminds me of you--it’s going to be our safe haven, baby, our secret place away from all of this. It’s going to be what you’ve dreamed about. I can see the dream being pulled out of our minds and into the world.”

I could see your dream, and I’ve made it real. Just as you are the dream I’d hoped for, on the other side of time.

Kenzie turned back to Ariadne, a trembling finger reaching out to it to trace, hovering, along the cascade of her red robe, the printed fur of the leopard that lounged at her feet, the dusky sky behind her. A crown made of stars. Like the one I’ll wear tonight, in your honor, my Prince. In our honor.

She buried herself in his arms, sighing, his shape immediately overwhelming her. Even when Hannah knocked impatiently a few minutes later, the clock marching on to when the party was set to begin, they still hovered against each other, gazing at each other in a repose they ached not to break, Kenzie’s eyes roving over Ariadne, which she knew she would study carefully in time. The long day was over--even in the center of this party, she knew, they’d only see and feel each other, thank blessed Fate.

For it’s us, together--the greatest of all Her majesties.

----------

Duncan was in the chair across from her, pouring over the W magazine spread, his hand on his chin, a dancing light behind his eyes. Hannah was working product through his hair, but Duncan didn’t seem to register her administration at all; he was staring intently at the photo of Kenzie atop Crocus with a concentration that bordered on obsession, and Kenzie could feel his thoughts, ardently reaching towards her. Only a few months until our wedding, beloved, but I want to marry you right now, I want everyone to know you are my greatest joy. His hand reached across to her from the chair, eyes glancing to her. He had changed from the clothing he’d worn out to the garden house and to retrieve the painting from Stapleton Antiques, a black short-sleeved button down and comfortable chinos; now he wore an elegant, long-cut Givenchy blazer that reached his knees, an embroidered Oxford underneath. Something glimmered at the wrists of his sleeves; the first of Kenzie’s gifts.

“To Hades, from your Persephone,” she’d whispered as she’d passed him the velvet box a little while ago in the study. Inside were a pair of cufflinks shaped like two halves of a ripe pomegranate, with dark red garnets representing the inner seeds, sterling silver for the skins. “I’ve eaten the seeds and I’ve chosen to stay with you forever, my sweet Duncan. Happy birthday.”

“Oh, Kenz,” and his smile was melting her heart again, dripping down her ribs. “Put them on me, please? Fuck, they’re lovely.” Kenzie had gently lifted them one at the time from the box, attaching them to the cuffs of his Givenchy coat as he drifted his fingers through her hair. “I have something else for you,” Kenzie whispered up to him in their last moment of solitude. “But it’s something I’m wearing for you. For later. When we’re alone.”

“Kenzie.” His mouth crushed against hers as she finished attaching the second cufflink; his tongue fell against her and she gasped against him, his longing palpable, a heady taste from him. His long fingers came to her throat, thumb pressing up towards her chin. “I’m ready to call this whole thing off. I want you right now.”

Kenzie had pulled away from him; she felt the reluctance in his fingers as he let go of her. You want me right there, I know, right up against your hand, your mouth. Just wait a little longer, you know the wait makes it sweeter, you know it does…

“Nothing could make you sweeter, Mackenzie Shepherd,” he’d whispered, the burning in his eyes threatening to set her aflame. “I want you alone.”

“Behave, Mr. Shepherd, or you won’t get your other presents.” Kenzie drifted a hand down from her neck, between her breasts and against the mound between her legs. She watched Duncan throw his head back, his adam’s apple bobbing; saw the wetness in his gaze for her, felt in his thoughts his desire to press his mouth to where her hand rested.

“I have to get dressed now,” she’d whispered, and Duncan had bitten into his lip, his fingers now toying with the cufflinks. “Time for your Ariadne to wear her stars.”

The dress Morgan had created for her was delicately intricate. It had a bodice of embroidered gold that dipped low over her breasts, and open sleeves made of black, sheer tulle with golden starbursts woven across their surface, concentrations of them at the crooks of her elbows and along the edges. A full, sheer black tulle skirt fell beyond the bodice; embroidered into it were dozens of golden constellations from the night sky, and her legs were visible through the transparent fabric behind them, a black bodysuit built into lower part of the gold bodice to cover her groin. Kenzie loved how marvelously comfortable it was in its beauty; she stood from the styling chair now as Duncan watched her, finished with her preparations, and twirled in a wide circle under his gaze, grinning to him as people rushed around them. Kenzie knew a hundred more would be arriving soon; she leaned down to his ear, whispering as his hand came against her waist. “Next year, we’re doing our birthday party alone, baby. Just the two of us.” Duncan moaned a little against her cheek; his curls brushed her lips as he nodded. Yes, Kenzie. Yes. Just me and you. I grow so tired of these parties. When the garden house is built and we’ve set everything in motion, then we’ll rest alone, in each other’s arms.

Momby and Annette arrived soon after, both wearing striking black; Annette in custom-tailored Diane von Furstenberg that fell to the floor, Momby in a black pantsuit with the medusa earrings Annette had gifted her; she’d been really warming to her role on the Shepherd Unlimited board, and it made Kenzie smile to see the deepening bond that seemed to be growing between their mothers after all the strife of years gone by. Claire and Harris came just as a slew of other guests were beginning to stream into the penthouse; Harris in a striking velvet blazer that Kenzie knew immediately must have been Claire’s doing. Claire wore a beautiful, flowing mauve v-neck gown, with a banded waist and a heavenly cascading skirt to her feet. Kenzie crushed her friend in her arms, breathing in her soft smell, sensing her happiness.

Kenzie and Duncan were keeping the bedroom door locked for this party, having agreed it was too sacred a space to them to let the prying eyes of the guests and photographers into it. Every tidbit of information about their lives was now being unearthed to the public, it seemed--or at least mine, Kenzie thought. Duncan’s used to all the scrutiny, but I’m not used to my old high school photos spreading like wildfire on Instagram, which had happened several times recently. A mountain of gold-wrapped gifts had begun to accumulate on the cherrywood dining table in the far room; Kenzie watched Duncan move elegantly among their guests, politician and celebrity alike, with an ease that made her feel weak. He was always meant to be this person; wonderfully gentle, staggering in his beauty now because it shines out from within. I watched Claire Underwood’s face this time, when we met with her together; she saw the sheen of us too, and her heart was changed towards him. Now he can will things into this world, can sway the hearts of people like I can, can calm them, can heal them. He’s doing it now, I can see it.

She clutched him with nervous elation as the guests had gathered around them to toast to their mutual birthdays--Duncan had dipped a hand down around the bottom of her waist, holding her close as he raised his champagne flute into the air; the raised voices of a hundred people around them singing out happy birthday were drowned in the rushing of her ears, the fervor of her thoughts for him, and as he had longed for her in the study, anxious for the time to pass, now she was longing for him, for their own private celebration. Throughout the rest of the night, Kenzie found her thoughts constantly drifting onto Ariadne, wishing she could steal away to the bedroom to study it, memorize its strokes. Goddess, I can’t believe it’s mine. I’ll always see your face in it, he said. I’ll only see you. She knew it would look down on them through many passionate nights to come; knew it would bless them, her soft face turned to the sky, full of contentment, in the nimbus of evening. She’ll watch over us tonight, won’t she, when I finally have him in my arms.

Kenzie realized, as the night wore slowly on, that her power, her sheen, was slowly working on the guests; they drifted, as if in a dream, back out into the night. The penthouse had begun to empty in a quiet, unassuming way, the chatter of small-talk dissipating, the music quieting supernaturally. The moon was back to a waxing gibbous as the weeks had worn on; back to almost being full, reminding her of the Gala and its strangeness, the full moon staring down on them. The ring of protection she’d felt from it that night also seemed present on this evening, kindling her powers up. In the dress she felt closer to her true self than ever; as close as she had ever been to this High Princess she now knew resided in her, even more than the gold dress she’d worn for the Gala. She could see Duncan recognizing it in her too, could see him registering the way she had begun to silently, soothingly end the party. He stared at her from where Nike rested by the picture window, a glass of red wine dangling from between the crook of his fingers, a small smile playing around his mouth. Just watching you work, my love. I love to watch you use your powers. How easy it all comes to you. Your destiny so clearly in motion. His position reminded her of the first time she’d seen him, gazing out with longing and boredom into the night, another long-gone wine glass held in his hand on the balcony, another long-gone smile having played on the corners of his mouth.

But not gone, not really, Kenzie knew. Alive forever in my heart and my memory, and alive in the part of time that never ends. Alive forever because there is no time, not really, not for us. She made us that way; so we’d live beyond time, and in every time we would endure.

She watched Claire lean up to kiss Harris’ mouth as they slipped out the door--Claire glanced at her and blew a kiss then, seeming to either not know or not care at the impulse to leave so fast, and Kenzie smiled at her. Deep in her heart, Claire has always known who I was. That’s what drew her to me so long ago, she was the moth, I was the flame that would always warm her. And in return she’s given me such light from her soul. I don’t know why I deserved her, but to see her infinite joy lately has been a joy to me. She deserves every good thing. Madeline and Annette slid away next, talking with each other animatedly, Annette bursting into laughter over something Madeline said (they are always laughing together now--Annette, who didn’t laugh for so long, and my sweet and silly Momby, my Momby who is so strong and so beautiful); Kenzie didn’t mind that they didn’t even look up to her and Duncan. She could feel the strength of her own spell, like a strong wave, a tide that was inexplicable in its mighty demand. She could feel the intensity of Duncan’s gaze mounting, the wonderment in it.

This is the strongest thing like it I’ve ever felt from you, Kenzie, he thought. This is magnificent.

I want you. I want everyone to leave.

Erik was the last to leave; he had champagne flutes in either hand, and he raised them together, throwing his head back.

“To the new world, my exalted darlings!” he crowed, then drank both off in succession; and then in a whirl of magenta sleeve, the big black penthouse door snapped shut behind him, and they were finally alone.

Duncan paused, setting his glass beside Nike carefully. You give me honey, give me honey, honey, honey, honey...Kenzie heard the entreaty of his prayer, the lilt of it, drifting like autumn leaves in the swathe of his thoughts. I will toil for her throughout every age, give myself to her in agonizing piousness, if she would but touch me again, I would suffer any pain, for her touch soothes any ill away like healing rain...my Princess of Stars. My Queen of Roses.

“Come to me,” she whispered. Duncan did--he closed the space between them with a weary swiftness that broke over her like a gust of jasmine-scented wind. His hands came down her neck, immediate, needy; he towered over her, but she knew, as I knew that first night at the first touch from him, the touch he begged to give me, and I consented, that he was hers utterly, hers to command, and he would obey anything she asked, obey her with complete devotion, kiss the bottoms of her feet if she asked him to, kiss every inch of her until the sun rose after the long night.

“Kiss me, beloved,” and she felt his fingers pulling the starry headband gently from her scented hair, the better to bury himself against her--he dropped it to the floor, its sapphires winking up, forgotten by them both; the press of his darkness was so luxuriant to Kenzie in this moment she wanted to wail. His mouth stopped any sound, though; stopped the furious pounding of her heart, the nerves she suddenly felt, knowing she could command him despite all his marvelous beauty, her perception of his power. You are more powerful than I, he told her. I worship you above myself, above all others, above everything, even above the Goddess Herself, and She has forgiven me, She has accepted my perfect love for you as a tribute to Her, and in Her eyes, it is good. She is not a jealous being; from her heart is benevolence, the recognition of all that is well and lovely. She’s deemed us the best of these things, Princess Exultant. So fuck me; tell me to fuck you. I’m yours to command in all worship.

“Undress me,” she breathed into him, and Duncan’s hands found the crevices of her dress, the delicate zipper at her back; he yanked it down with hands that seemed to burn, and as it fell away his eyes rolled back to behold what she wore beneath it; it was another exquisite lingerie, this one rose-gold and so fragile it seemed to be made of the gossamer strands of a spider’s silk--there were tiny white bows on either strap and in the center of the bra between Kenzie’s breasts, and more on the panties. The top of the suspender at her waist were dipped into unique panels, the panties entirely sheer but for a small swath of fabric over the lips of her sex. The white straps of the suspender dipped over her thighs to sheer stockings. The starry dress fell to the floor (falling stars, us falling to earth so long ago) and Duncan’s hand pressed up, roughly, to the space between her legs, lifted her into his mouth again as he did.

“I have one more thing for you,” she hummed against him, and he moaned into her; she could feel the hardness between his legs through his dark ensemble as she brought her fingers against him, could see the flushing in his beautiful cheeks. “Let’s go in our bedroom, Dunny. Let’s look in our Mirror and fuck. I’m gonna tie you up again. But in the bed this time.”

“Baby,” he cried against her, and she stepped back, making him come to her, stepping out of the dress in the same golden strapped heels she’d worn the night they met, knowing he would notice them again. She turned, her hair falling down her back to the top of her ass, and knew he’d see the back of the panties, too; totally sheer. For him.

“Come on, Prince Duncan, I’m gonna rip your fucking clothes off,” she said, and then Kenzie laughed; she thought of her Ariadne in repose as it came into view, thought of Bacchus in the next room, its figures in rapture. Come to me, come to me, she weaved her spell, and he was pressing against her, the warmth at his crotch making her eyes flutter closed as his lips fell on her ear, and he sucked.

She turned into him, her body folding so small against him, and she insistently began to undress him; the Givenchy coat fluttered to the floor, the snap of his belt rang out, and he was gasping against her, astounded at her need, fixated by it. Soon he was utterly naked, and Kenzie pushed him roughly onto the bed, staring openly at the strain of his thick erection.

“Don’t you dare fucking move, baby. You’re not allowed.”

“Uh huh, Kenzie. I won’t.”

She went to the closet where she’s carefully hid his last present; grasped it in her fingers, the hardness and largeness of it making warmth pool in her belly. She grasped the velvet rope, too; and when she brought them out she eagerly watched Duncan’s cock jump with anticipation.

“Happy birthday, baby,” she whispered. “I’m gonna tie you up now. And then I’m gonna use my new plug on myself. It’s a lot bigger than the other one...look at how big it is. I’m gonna push this big plug into my tiny little ass and then you’re gonna eat my little cunt--and then I’m gonna ride you hard, and fuck you senseless.”

She held it up to him and a tiny, strangled sound escaped from Duncan’s throat; oh fuck me, he thought. Kenzie, angel, fucking fuck me.

She came to the edge of the bed, setting both objects down on it gently; Duncan’s fingers curled at her toes as she lifted one of her feet to undo the straps at her ankle, then the other. Then she climbed on top of him, straddling him, gripping him under his chin harshly for a moment, hissing as he tried to put his arms up around her; Duncan stopped and lowered them, swallowing; she could feel that he knew what she wanted. His submission. I want you to be mine only in this moment. Watch me tie you up in the Mirror, baby. Watch.

As Kenzie lifted his well-formed arms up to the slats of the headboard, the blooming flowers stretched above them, throwing down clouds of deep scent. Duncan’s aching blue eyes drifted to their reflection; she heard him groan again at the shape of her in the rosy-sheened lingerie, and felt his wonder at their loveliness together as she began to twist the ribbon around his wrists, anchoring him to the bed.

As she finished, reaching for the coconut oil they always kept on the nightstand now, Duncan strained against the ropes, dipping his thighs up to try to keep the pressure of her against him, desperate to touch her.

“Shhh, baby, be calm. Don’t get too excited yet,” Kenzie whispered, letting her face fall close to him and her breath drift over him. Duncan leaned up, trying to kiss her; she leaned away, eliciting another sound of terrible frustration from him. She dipped her hand into the oil, and first she leaned behind where she was sitting on his belly, to the aching length of his cock--she slathered the oil over it, tightening her grip, and Duncan let out a cry that stirred wild warmth through her body. Then she let go of him, lifting off him, pulling the sheer panties away, and turned on him so her back was facing him from her newly-straddled position, her sex pressing gently against the length of his cock. She watched his face over her shoulder as his eyes went hazy on her; as they gazed at her sliding the wetness of the oil over the pucker of her ass, then gripping the larger plug in two fingers, wetting it too.

“You want me to fuck myself with this, huh, baby?”

Duncan groaned, his head falling back on the pillow, his eyes fluttering wildly, neck bobbing as if in terrible thirst. “Fucking god, Kenzie, yes, holy fuck, I can’t--”

“Duncan, breathe.”

Duncan sucked in a shuddering breath; let it out. His cock strained; Kenzie didn’t touch it, only let her hand hover near.

“Dunny, ask me. You have to ask me.” Kenzie tossed her hair and grinned at him.

“Kenzie, please, will you fuck yourself with that plug? Fucking please, oh fuck, please, angel--”

Kenzie moaned in anticipation as she pressed the tip of the head against her ass; then, in a harsh determination, forced the large plug inside the wetness she’d made there; she cried up into the ceiling, her head falling back immediately with the immensity of its pressure, and then she slid up to him, her ass still facing him, until she knew she’d reached his chin.

“Tell me to sit on your face, baby,” she whispered now, staring at him through their reflection in the mirror.

“Kenzie, holy--sit on my fucking face, baby--” His eyes were wild with need, his mouth shivering; Kenzie lifted her hips and fell on him, and his tongue immediately pressed to her sweetest, most sensitive spot.

“Love for all time,” Kenzie murmured, “look into my eyes, most beloved,” and Duncan’s eyes (every storm, every sky, every piece of heaven, every notion of god) were in hers as her body hovered against his mouth, through the iridescent surface of the Mirror, which Kenzie knew glowed with the hints of that golden Sphere which once was hers, a Sphere she couldn’t imagine the shape of, but knew as innately as she knew her own heart, her own skin. The plug was so heavy and so harsh against her she couldn’t stop herself from crying out again and again; she leaned down, gripping the base of Duncan’s cock, keeping him terribly hard as he sucked on her; then she lifted away from him and he gasped. “No, Kenzie, come back to me--”

“Shhh. It’s time for us to fuck, baby. When we fuck, it’s fucking holy.”

Kenzie slid down, letting the wetness between her legs leave a trail on Duncan’s torso, down his belly--then, staring at him, his achingly beautiful mouth damp with her cunt, she ground down onto his cock, as hard as she had ever felt, and bucked her hips, her ass still facing him so he could see the plug, this one with a jewel of dark blue, deep inside her.

“As you are mine,” she cried softly, “I am yours, and heaven sees it, and knows it, and we are holy to her, beloved, fuck--” Kenzie felt her hair falling against her back, shivering-soft, felt the heat of his skin as she gripped his thighs, bearing down on him--their eyes met again in the Mirror, his mouth stretched open in silent adoration of her, and Kenzie knew, with a fervent and absolute knowledge, that they were bright in the eyes of heaven; that their divinity was absolute, and all their work would be good unto this world from here on.

“Kenzie, how I love you, have loved you, how I worship you--”

But the truth of him was in his mind, the fall of his thoughts inside his worship of her, and she knew that, had always known, had always felt that the truth of his beauty was there, within, wordless, a language that could never be spoken aloud, and oh Goddess, what a blessing that I can see it--his fairness in the sight of heaven is the beauty of his soul, as quiet, as profound, as infinite as an evening star. And so you called him that; and as I saw him in that aspect, he was mine.

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