He sits lounging in the ancient chair. Well oiled leather creaks as he shifts his weight and turns a page in the equally ancient book, the candle set nearby flickers from the air stirred by the heavy page. He smiles as he reads a particular passage, dragging his hand over it, as if touching the words will add to his memories. His mind wanders, languishing in another time. The smell of leather from his chair mingles with the acrid scent of blood, sweat, and the sulfurous smoke of burning timbers. He could even hear the ring of steel on steel when he was brought sharply back from his reverie.

He could sense her warmth on his back, her presence blocked the air flow of the room and he knew precisely where she was without her having made a sound. "Ah you came back", he marveled. He took in her perfume, his nostrils flaring slightly, jasmine and oranges, like Andalusia.

"I did," she said, her voice soft and dark as a velvet caress.

He didn't turn to look at the woman, rather, he waited, keenly aware of her every movement.

"You knew I would," she said so quietly, it was barely audible.

"Of course, . . or maybe not, I'm not sure. . . the years run together. I thought that perhaps this time, you would leave me alone. . . again. . . forever"

She sighed heavily.

He felt her move closer, her warmth reaching across the space that separated them.

"Forever is a very long time... " Again, her voice was a whisper in the room.

He breathes in deep her scent, and with it comes visions of olive orchards, orange trees overhanging cobbled streets. Stores pressed so close together that there are no alleys.

"I thought you were lost to me." He turned to look at her then, his eyes meeting hers. She held his gaze until color rose in her pale cheeks. He longed to push the stray, raven tendril from her face and tuck it behind her ear.

"I've lost track of how many times I've brushed my own demise. It never brought me fear nor angst. But . . . "

"But...?" she pressed, her voice still little more than a whisper. She came to him then and knelt before him in the chair. The air moved enough that he was enveloped in her scent.

"Do I need to say more? What would you have of me? Shall I show you the scars that are cut so deep in my heart, or the corner of Hell that I resided in when you were lost to me?" He searched her face, looking for some sign of emotion, acknowledgment of his pain and loss. She stared back at him, eyes unblinking and wide, and he reached to touch her cheek, to brush the stray tendril away, to better see her dark eyes.

In that single moment, when he should have touched her silken skin, she vanished-disappeared into motes of dust that drifted slowly on the air in the still room.

In that moment many things that he accepted as absolutes were proven wrong. First, that he could not be surprised. Second, that his sanity was unshakable. Lastly, that he could not weep. He sighed heavily and the entire room breathed with him. Her scent still hung in the air, fainter now, escaping like the setting sun.

"...lost..." The single word hung in the air, a husky whisper in a voice he wasn't sure was his own.