Lustful Alchemy

30. CASSANDRA*

The winter twilight seeps through the tall, ancient windows of the cozy sitting room, casting a soft glow that paints long, flickering shadows on the stone walls. I'm lying on the couch, wrapped in Aesop's shirt, the soft white cotton enveloping my bare skin. The sleeves are too long, but I like it that way; the reassuring scent of potions and rare herbs surrounds me, a sweet promise of warmth and intimacy.

I'm reading the book Aesop gave me the day he initially refused my proposal to go to Egypt: now, instead, it's practically only a month until our departure, scheduled for the first week of March. Perhaps because I've been thinking about it for some time, I can't concentrate on the reading, because my attention keeps wandering towards him: Aesop stands at the window, his intense gaze focused as he precisely and passionately draws a Patronus that, behind the window glass, runs through the air, born from the wand of some student playing and practicing what is perhaps the most fascinating spell of all. The ink glides over the parchment like clear water, tracing thin lines that come to life under his expert fingers. Each stroke is a piece of magic, a reflection of his strong and complex soul.

I watch his movements, the determination in his dark eyes, and realize I feel overwhelmed by a love so deep it almost takes my breath away. His presence fills the room with a calm and reassuring energy, a sense of belonging I had never known before him.

The winter outside seems so distant, a world apart from the warmth I feel inside me. The flames in the fireplace dance, casting a flickering light that reflects on the parchment and the determined features of Aesop's face. I lose myself in the sight of him, forgetting the book, forgetting everything except the man I love and the magic he is creating.

At one point, Aesop looks up from his work, and our eyes meet. He smiles at me, a smile that warms more than any fire, and in that moment my entire world shrinks to just the two of us, to our deep and unbreakable connection. The shirt I'm wearing, with his scent and warmth, is a tangible symbol of our bond, a reminder that I am as much his as he is mine.

I lower the book, letting it fall onto the couch beside me, and approach the window. Aesop greets me with a tender look and takes my hand, gently pulling me onto his lap. «Do you like it?» he asks, indicating the nearly complete drawing. The Patronus of a fox, an ethereal and luminous figure, seems to emit its own light, the drawing so realistic that it reflects the beauty and complexity of Aesop's soul. I'm overwhelmed by a wave of emotion, a mix of admiration and love that makes me tremble slightly and hold him tighter.

«It's beautiful», I whisper, as his hands envelop me in a warm embrace, secure and protective on my hips. We remain like this, watching the Patronus frolic in the sky, chased by a second one of a hound dog, wrapped in our bubble of warmth and intimacy, while the winter outside seems a distant and irrelevant memory.

«I've never asked you what yours is», I say at one point, continuing to look out the window.

His face rests with a sigh on my shoulder. «It's been a long time since I've summoned one», he says. «Honestly, I don't even know if I could still do it».

I stiffen: despite feeling overflowing with love, there is always a small part of Aesop that he keeps hidden from me, that he does not yet intend to reveal. He seems comfortable in mystery, moving confidently among its shadows with familiarity, as if he had always waded through the dark and dense waters.

I can't help but think about the heavy meaning of his words, and I wonder if he is truly happy with me. Wouldn't even my presence be enough to bring him good thoughts? What does he feel when I'm by his side? How does he talk about me, think about me? I'm so close to asking him, to stop being in this limbo where we give ourselves to each other but without saying what we feel, without pushing each other to admit what we feel.