Warrick speaks of .. to Alexandra as if she is alive and well, and an integral part of his life. When I was noticed in the doorway, the Necromancer leapt up from where he knelt with his head in the dead woman's lap. I felt like an intruder. Not only because I now stood in the tiny, macabre shrine devoted to Warrick's lost love but with the man himself. I had thought him handsome and my gaze tempted to linger where it should not. And all this time, he was counting the minutes until he could be alone with her.

I back peddled, trying to recover in such a way neither of us would be wallowing in mortification but it was far too late for last ditch efforts. I was in her room for crying out loud, sleeping in her bed wearing one of her lacy night gown confections. And her man had sweetly tucked me in, taking my hand in his with a pleasurably slow knit of fingers before dusting my brow with a good night-sleep tight kiss.

I told Warrick I should sleep somewhere else, not Alexandra's room... and he assumed I meant in his bed! No no no! My own foot tasted foul, I tell you.

I ended up reluctantly sleeping where I had started out but only after requesting Warrick lock the little closet.. and his spouse away. Come morning, the tension between us was off the scales. A confusing swirl of misdirection because despite what I know of the Necromancer, his bright blue eyes upon me are both my joy and suffering. I suffered all day and I refer not to the steady agony of my side which kept equal footing with me on the long walk to Eunomia. I suffer because I want what I cannot have.

The man is married. Forever more.

[0 petals fell]