Silver / clay

⊱ 8 ⊰

An urge took Caleb over and he felt for his neck. The rivet unclasped easily, far more easily than he'd imagined. He placed the leather necklace on the table, away from the cup of steaming coffee on the far side. It seemed disrespectful to wear it for a meeting like this.

The cafe was busy, filled with mothers on a morning break from their children, mothers who drove SUVs far larger than they needed, always wanting more for themselves.

She arrived.

His eyes couldn't break from her entrance, but in the periphery of his vision he noticed a distinct lack of change, a lack of fresh engagement. He didn't understand how they weren't all staring at her. Perhaps it was the plain jeans, the loose top, the understated perfection that lulled them into dismissing her eminence. It was immaterial, however, as her inner beauty was what he lusted for and craved a connection with.

When she sat, he nudged the coffee closer, for her benefit.

Amala didn't break eye contact with him. "Do you seek credit?"

"No!" said Caleb, holding his breath. "I just...I ordered what you asked for. I hope you like it."

The delicate movement of muscles accentuated her revealed neckline as she took a sip, without sharing her evaluation. "You're undergoing a transformational process, my sweet," she susurrated, delicately. "You're learning to love me passionately and deeply. That means you must fully set aside your own ego."

She made it seem like the most important task he'd ever performed.

Caleb nodded, eagerly, but it didn't seem enough. His acknowledgement, the coffee, there was so much more of himself that remained within, none of which he was handing over as tribute. "What do you want me to do?" he said.

"You don't have to do anything at all, my sweet." Her calm smile filled his heart. "Right now you can sit back, relax, listen to my voice...and look at my neck."

Caleb self-consciously shied away.

"Yes, I saw you stare," continued Amala. "It's OK. I understand."

And it was OK. She was the revealed source of confirmed prophesy -- whatever she affirmed came true.

"If you do this," said Amala, "I promise you something wonderful in return."

Caleb's heart swelled and he found it hard to control his breathing.

She blew against the surface of the coffee and took another sip, spilling none on her lip. She lowered the mug discreetly, placing it gently on the table, where it pressed the discarded necklace flat. It wasn't performed with malice or anger, but from the same stolid reservoir as any of her movements.

His attention flickered from the squashed necklace to Amala's eyes. She held his gaze snugly, and in those emerald jewels he beheld dominion from the highest authority. Her providence bestowed more exultation than any diadem.

"It was a good choice," said Caleb, clearing his throat. "This place."

It had taken him almost an hour to get there, and he only wished it'd been longer.

"Why do you like it so much, my sweet?" said Amala.

He couldn't look away from her just yet, and had to use his memory to piece together the airy feel of the converted factory, the purely aesthetic sconces, the tables made from reclaimed timber, the quality of the beverages -- at least based off the price -- but none of that mattered, since there was only one reason he praised it:

"It was your choice," he said.

She nodded approvingly. "You feel it, don't you, my sweet? A longing you never knew existed has suddenly come to life. Those small tingles down the wall of your back and under the souls of your feet will slowly consume you until every cell of your body is aching for me."