Chapter One: An Attention

It has been four years since the happenings. The sordid misdeeds that ripped my life apart, turning it into something that would be more suited to the rags this city deems appropriate to infiltrate its newspapers with. She stays by me still, and as each day passes on, I see her lose whatever resemblance to her previous life that she once held dear to her. But for three things; her eyes still squint through residence windows, her fingers still twitch in the direction of the locks in the dining hall cabinet, and her head turns at the mention of the past. Her past. My past.

Our past.

I sigh, and return my pen to its holder, watching the navy ink drip onto the dark wood stand. Dark from the dozens of ink drops that have fallen upon it, staining it the colour of the night sky. Staring blankly at my empty parchment, I pull my fingers through my hair, drawing it back from my face. I stand from my seat, tired, and yawn widely. I glance at the rows of books surrounding me, and glimpse a faint flashback of an old man sat in what is now my seat, dictating the words of sordid scholars from centuries past.

The books have moved on, as have we. Instead of inhabiting that soulless house in the country, too cold and unfeeling to be acknowledged as a home, we have taken up residence in a small townhouse apartment in the centre of aristocratic London. It is the usual fashionable type with a bedroom, richly decorated with the usual four poster, and intricate wallpaper of Chinese design, a sitting room, containing a dominating dresser and a parlour lounge chair, and various other little used rooms, such as an extensive library, barely touched kitchen, and an outdoor area, where Susan occasionally potters about, taking care of a flourishing flower, the type of which I am not yet certain.

Walking through the hallway, I can see Sue seated in the sitting room, a book on one knee, and a notebook balanced precariously on the other. She is writing something, and as I get closer, I can see her indecipherably attempting to write my name upon her paper. She still struggles with the idea of writing; I think this may stem from my past, but I can never be sure with her. She frowns as she scrawls out a barely recognisable 'm', and I kneel beside her, taking the book in my hands, and replacing it upon the low table in the centre of the room.

Taking her hands in mine, I sigh, stroking her fingers with my own, marvelling at the course, rough quality of them in comparison to my own navy stained but soft skinned digits. She leans forward and kisses my forehead, and I look to the books.

"I am sorry that you struggle so hard." I mutter, and she shrugs despondently, her hair bouncing forwards in front of her nose as it escapes from behind her ears.

"It's not that bad, really. Look at this." She reaches to the notebook, showing me the scribbles that presumably are my own name. She smiles proudly as she fingers the indentation of the lines, and I snort softly, taking the book away once more.

"There are more important things you could be expending your energy on, you know." I murmur, moving to kiss her neck softly, as I brush her hair back behind her ear once more. She tuts, and pushed me away, standing abruptly.

"I think I will go and tend to my lilies." She tells me, smiling to herself mischievously as she wanders in the direction of the yard. Scowling, I pick absentmindedly at a tear in the rug, before standing once more, and following her into the sheltered garden.

I see her standing before her flowers, their delicate white heads bobbing lazily in the light breeze that blows through the evening air. She looks so intent that I say nothing, merely moving slowly closer to her until I can loosely wrap my arm around her slender waist. She turns to me, fingers clasping one of the delicate flowers in her hand. Reaching up, she tucks the lily into my hair, and strokes my jaw line, almost reminiscent, in her eyes.

"Does it still seem strange to you?" She mutters, and I nod, before leaning in to kiss her. My lips touch hers, and I am reminded once more of how they seem to have copied the properties of velvet so serenely. She draws away, her lips parted, hovering over mine, and I nudge forward, kissing her again, and again until I draw her tongue out of hiding.

She sighs against me, and pulls me closer to her, her hands wrapped around me waist. I smile into her lips, and press mine against her once more, before swiftly moving to her neck, brushing them against her soft skin. I feel her heart hammering beside mine, and I press my hand against it, feeling it beat to the rhythm of her breathing. I entwine my hands in her fair hair, and she stiffens slightly, moving away from me.

"No, not now. Later." She mutters, and pulls away, moving once more to the nodding, mocking heads of the white lilies.