An Elegy For The Soul

Chapter Twenty

Book of Secrets

The scent of lilac stirred River from his sleep. Soft and sweet, it flowed all around him, as if he were drifting weightlessly in an ocean of Aven's delicate perfume. With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine her beside him, he could almost hear her softly singing a lullaby to her plants.

Would she sway to the melody? Would her dress cling to the curves of her body as she moved her hips slowly, seductively, from side to side—fabric swishing against her long legs, enthralling him with every hypnotic stride.

He dreamt he held her in a moment so fleeting, it could only have been fantasy. Last night's pleasure felt too exquisite to be real, because something so beautiful couldn't possibly exist in a life like his.

But as he opened his eyes, reality came rushing in. River had done more than dream of such enchanting things. He had lived them. No matter how much his mind wanted to convince him otherwise, he couldn't deny where he lay: warm beneath the blankets in Aven's bed.

Coffee-scented air wafted into the room through gaps in the door, an unexpected aroma considering Aven almost exclusively made tea. The rich scent made River's mouth water. He typically preferred tea as well, but there was something so seductive about the smell of roasted coffee on a cool autumn morning. It warmed him in a way other drinks couldn't—in a way Aven always could.

He leaned over from his spot in bed and lifted the curtain back an inch to peer out the window. Bright sunlight illuminated the cold glass pane, hinting that morning had already come and gone.

He rolled out of bed, unaware of the time, feeling the crisp air pricking his skin. Grabbing his coat from her desk chair, he shrugged it on, trying in vain to smooth out the wrinkles in his slept-in clothes. A few dried flower petals clung to his lapel, and River carefully returned them to the waxpaper lining Aven's desk.

For a moment, River stared at the door handle, his hand hovering just above it, not yet ready to face the truth. Beyond the door, he would have to acknowledge everything that had changed. If he stayed right where he was, he could pretend nothing was different, forever in his own little breath of infinity, where things both were and were not.

In this moment, every possible option existed simultaneously until one could be observed: Aven loving him, Aven rejecting him. The pull of the door was the only thing keeping the truth at bay. If he never stepped beyond the threshold, then she would always love him and always let him go.

He squared his shoulders, bracing for both possibilities, and turned the knob.

Two cups of coffee rested on the small table in her common area, lazy wisps of steam rising from their center. River stepped out to find Aven walking toward the table with a platter of bread and cheese.

"You're up," she said, setting the platter down next to the coffees. "I put together some food. Thought you might need something stronger than tea today." A soft smile played at the edges of her mouth as she stood there in her thin silk dressing gown, her white hair plaited into a loose braid over one shoulder.

There was no evidence that Aven had slept on the sofa last night—no blankets or pillows strewn about. Heat poured from the radiator, countering the chill brought by the cold front that had swept through overnight. Frost collected in the corners of the windows, while a thin layer of condensation formed between the panes.

Outside, the trees had turned, painting the campus in a fiery palette of red and orange. The Willows, with their crimson branches and ember-like leaves, set the courtyard ablaze.