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And in the gallery, you slide the window shut, your fingers trembling, your lips dry. You have witnessed these linked creatures of lust and their pleasures in the night, and perhaps you have had some small delight of your own.
But the passion of the three in the library below is consumed between them, and the purpose of the wooden device is done. Catherine gently releases the bonds of the wrists and ankles of her pale skinned niece, and helps her down from the chair. She pulls the red velvet gown around Alexandra, and the two women move to a chaise lounge that is by the fire, and they curl themselves together upon the pillows there.
Octavius, his skin flickering in the fire light, stands behind the lounge, and one hand caresses the head and hair of his mistress, and every now and then he reaches out to touch, just a gentle touch, the dark black hair of the young girl. They are silent (Octavius is always silent in his human form), no words spoken, but no words unspoken either. There has been a bond made between them, and Alexandra is learning the importance of her bloodline.
But she also knows that sometimes that line must be broken.
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