The Temptress

  The night was cool, the breeze blew in through open balcony doors situated on the fiftieth floor. The gauzy semi-transparent curtains fluttered in the breeze, and Selene seemed to glide past them onto the terrace. Selene, pale in the moonlight, her robes floating around her like clouds of fabric, dancing and swaying; she was a vision of perfection, goddess of the moon. Footsteps sounded on the tiles behind her, heavier than her own, telling her of the weight borne upon them, and the stature of the person approaching her, “Selene?” She turned at the sound of her name, and smiled at the man who stood there, reaching her hand out to him. He grasped her hand and pulled her closer to him, “I missed you,” he whispered. Selene smiled up at him, “we have only been apart for the few seconds that have passed since I left our bed and ventured out here.” She kissed his cheek softly, and walked back to the banister, leaning against it, “Isn’t the night glorious, my darling?” she asked while pulling him closer, sealing the gaps between their bodies, her back against his chest. “Can you feel the softness of the breeze caressing our skin? Can you see how gently the moonlight falls around us, so much prettier than the sun’s harsh rays? I feel like diving off of this high plinth and swooping down among the creatures who live beneath us. I feel so … alive. Can you feel it?” he rested his head on her shoulder, tilting his head to kiss her tenderly on her neck, “always the poet,” he said, squeezing her waist gently, “but you are right, there is something almost magical about this night.” “It reminds me of something, like a memory that is tugging at the corners of my consciousness, almost coming into full view before shying away and cloaking itself in mist and fog,” she mused, pausing as she peered into her mind. He was silent, listening intently, waiting for her next words. “Do you ever get the feeling that you are more than flesh, blood and bone? That you are some kind of wild spirit housed in a small, fragile shell? Do you ever feel that every nerve ending is alive, that your eyes are wide and you are seeing so much more than colours and objects? That you can look right into the very core of a human being and see their spirit and feel their secrets?” “I don’t think I have,” he murmured, half-wishing he knew what she was talking about, half-envious of her words and what she was describing. He felt her soften in his arms, and realized how tense she had been before, she sighed, “it was just a moment, my love. Just a moment when I thought I knew something. But I don’t. I am only a woman.” He held her tighter, not liking the tone of sadness that weighed down her words, not understanding how she could go from the almost delirious state of wonder to the hollow echo of disappointment in her own humanity, and in retrospect, her own mortality, but determined to make her smile, “we may be mortal, but leave that thought for a darker night. I have plans to remind you what it is to feel alive, and reawaken all your nerve endings.” He said against the pulse in her neck, feeling it quicken. She turned to face him, a smile playing on her lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck, “… and what exactly do you have planned?” she teased. He picked her up, forcing a giggle out of her, and he kissed her, “instead of telling you … let me show you…”   ********