it was her.

she that struck the air, that coiled heat which preyed upon every sense. she touched this realm and left for him bread crumbs to follow. her steps guided his, though they'd not known it. it was her, and upon the end of his orientation of the caverns, he'd caught it.

rooted it out — her, her perfume, where footfalls had stirred dusty floors and empty halls.

he rushed towards it, drunk on the chance it wasn't a dream.

(i’ve crossed oceans of wine, to find you.)

his heart thumped against his chest, bemused and bewildered at such grandiose acts of fate, of destiny. forgetting all else, he moved deeper into the sanctum of the obsidian hollows; willing to blaspheme any and all divinity, just to know, just to be certain. a chuff was sent, and it echoed against the abyss as he fell still.

ma vipère, ma narcisse? the leviathan crooned.

The Hollows are more quiet now. Some days, it's almost eerie -- the dark caverns do not always have a face around the corner, a friend nearby. It's almost tempting to head to the Lagoon, where the rest of their friends and family are, but this has become home, and they continue to encourage their children's individuality. If they encroach, the yearlings will learn little by being smothered by their parents.

And so they remain.

She still has the faces most familiar to her, the faces she wants to see each morning when she wakes and each evening when she sleeps. And for now, that is enough. Narcissa often throws herself into her work, busying herself during the day with the duties that have been bestowed upon her before Nadia's departure. The spotted woman is following the trail of potential prey when she hears it --

-- a call that stops her in her tracks.

Her breath hitches and her ears twitch, whiskers quivering with disbelief. Surely, she is imagining things. The fumes of the heated caverns getting to her head -- perhaps they should evacuate. But she turns all the same, afraid she will see some mirage, or worse yet -- nothing at all.

Instead, she is met with him, the first man who had ever captured her heart, the man who has crossed oceans and traveled worlds to find her. Again. Baphomè, she breathes in disbelief, at first frozen to the spot, afraid that if she draws nearer, he will disappear.

I am undeserving of you. He knew -- of course he knew, that in the chaos of their home flooding, her children had to come first. But still, she had been wrenched apart by guilt at not having found him, at not having time to find him when they had to flee. Eventually, she had accepted that their paths would likely not cross again -- surely, she couldn't get so lucky a third time.

And yet, she has. She finally surges forth, eating the space between them and hoping against hope that when she reaches him, he will be solid -- he will be real. Narcissa all but bull-rushes into him, throwing her forepaws around his nape and burrowing her face into the hollow of his neck, breathing in the scent that she had nearly forgotten. You're here, she whispers, and while she has so many questions, she finds that none of them matter, because the answer is that he is here. He is real. He is alive.

@Baphomèwhat will we do?
— ❖ —

_UNSPLASH

How vain the devil must be — he swept the words into the fervor of her embrace; meld to the fiery satin that was her. each inch could not be near enough, every breath cherished and treasured. every fiber of his being was in want, swelling in ardent avarice and greed. hungered, hungered as much as always in her company. thirsting not for all the rivers in the world, but her flesh, her words, her touch. could the devil weep, it would be for the perfection of her lips! could his heartache, it had in the absence of her. he felt rejoice and rapture in the only way his heathenous heart knew.

he thought not of the destruction that parted them; thought not of anything, nor anyone. simply, @Narcissa.

Baphomè sank into her hold, and as she pushed against him, he braced and pulled her closer. his breath traveled against the supple curve of her neck, tracing what he could with the heat of his teeth and silk of his lips. he draped her in an embrace of his own; steeling her against him. a rumble of a laugh — a jubilant sigh, a rollicking crow — rolled from him, disbelief rocking each inflection of the Gaul's voice as he spoke: for him to think another apocalypse could keep us apart? madness. he must truly be insane.

Falling into his embrace feels like coming home -- something she hadn't known she was missing. Something she hadn't dared allow herself to miss, for feeding the ache would only make it worse. She has been starved of him, and now that he is here, she is ravenous, greedy, demanding of every part of him. Narcissa is a woman of many facets, capable of love on so many levels, and her love for @Baphomè is one that burns, fierce and uncontained whenever she is in his presence.

What a fool he is, she whispers into the blanket of his mane, a shiver rippling up her spine at his heated touch. Narcissa is needy, her claws needling at his nape -- she has no intention of letting go anytime soon. She fears that if she does, he may disappear again. By no fault of his own, but the world always seems to crumble at their feet, dropping out from under them just when they have found bliss.

This time, she will not let it slip free of her grasp. She is greed and glutton, pulling against him with insistent force, demanding him down to the stone flooring on top of her. He dare not deny her. When it comes to Baphomè, Narcissa always gets what she wants.what will we do?
— ❖ —

_UNSPLASH

And what a fool I am, He murmured into the throes of their reunion. The cacophonous gluttony filled him, in every sense. It filled the air and billowed at his senses. He had flown too close to the sun before, and he had no fear of it a second time. Fate had fooled them more than once, and damn the devil and his lies—Baphomè would triumph in tempting fate. For taking so long to find you, Narcissa.

And so he gave, he gave in the way he’s always had, to her whim, to her needs. Without hesitation, without prudence. For in his heart there came a sickening warmth, an ill thump of desire that lay too far from adulteration. It was moving, a bliss too different than the carnal appetites. There were words for such an emotion; but, what need did he have for words when he had her? Finally, after countless moons, he’d had @Narcissa in his arms again.

[ fade ]

There is nothing she has ever needed so much as she needs Baphomè -- in this moment, and every moment that follows. There had been an ache in his absence, forced down for the sake of saving face. She is brave, but sometimes she wishes she didn't have to be, and with him -- she doesn't. "But you did," she breathes into the hollow of his neck, "-- find me." More than once, he has walked through fire and flood to find her, and she thinks: there is nothing that would keep them apart, not now.

She is greed and love and lust all at once, taking with every inch of his give, and her heart thumps an erratic tempo against the cage of her breast. And with Baphomè, there is euphoria -- each time somehow new and different, fueling her fire at every turn.

Fade to blackwhat will we do?
— ❖ —

_UNSPLASH