The Cobra of Smoke - The Burden of Sight

Chapter 9

"Yes," she said, before he'd even finished speaking. "Yes, absolutely yes."

The ring slid onto her finger with the same sense of rightness she'd felt when the cobra's visions had finally made sense. Not prophecy demanding fulfillment, but possibility embracing choice.

As they kissed in the front seat of his Honda, Shantali felt the last threads of obsession dissolve completely. Whatever mysteries the museum held, whatever other supernatural encounters awaited future night shift workers, she would face them with David beside her—not as someone seeking answers in smoke, but as someone who had learned to find meaning in love.

The serpent had kept its ancient promise, guiding her away from the path of those who came before. Tomorrow she would return the books, delete her research notes, and begin the beautifully ordinary work of building a life with the man who had chosen to stand with her in the shadows.

As they made their way up to their apartment as they closed the door, David pulled her into his arms, “Your so beautiful,” he whispered against her ear, as he began to plant kisses along her neck making her moan at his touch of his warm soft lips against her neck.

Shantali arched against him, the warmth of his mouth against her skin dissolving any remaining thoughts of ancient prophecies. David's hands found her waist, drawing her closer as their kisses deepened with an urgency that made her head spin.

"I've missed you," he murmured against her lips, "even when you were standing right in front of me."

She understood exactly what he meant. For days she'd been physically present but mentally adrift, chasing smoke and shadows while the substance of her life—this man, this love—had waited patiently for her return.

They moved together toward the bedroom, shedding layers of clothing like the remnants of her obsession. The ring on her finger caught the light as she unbuttoned his shirt, the diamond scattering tiny rainbows across his chest.

"I was thinking," David said, his voice husky as he helped her out of her dress, "we should frame that screenshot you took—the thermal image of the smoke cobra."

Shantali paused, surprised. "You want a reminder of my brief descent into madness hanging on our wall?"

His laugh vibrated against her collarbone. "I want a reminder that sometimes the universe has to hit us over the head to make us see what's already in front of us."

As they fell onto the bed together, Shantali felt herself fully present in a way she hadn't been since that first night in the Egyptian wing. The cobra's visions had shown her glimpses of possible futures, but this moment—David's hands tracing patterns on her skin, his heartbeat strong beneath her palm—was infinitely more real than any prophetic smoke.

Later, wrapped in tangled sheets and each other's arms, Shantali watched moonlight filter through the blinds. David slept beside her, his breathing deep and even, one arm still draped protectively across her waist.

She thought about the books waiting in her apartment, the research she'd abandoned, the obsession she'd nearly surrendered to. Part of her still wanted answers—the methodical security officer who needed to understand every anomaly, catalog every incident.

But the larger part, the part that had chosen this life and this love, recognized that some mysteries weren't meant to be solved. They were meant to be experienced, to transform you, and then to be released back into the universe with gratitude.

Tomorrow she would pack the first box for their new life together. She would call her brother and tell him about her engagement. She would return to work at the museum, walk past those canopic jars with respect rather than desperation.

And if the jasmine scent ever drifted through the Egyptian wing again, if another security officer ever stood transfixed before ancient artifacts as smoke curled into impossible shapes—well, she hoped they would choose as wisely as she had.

Shantali closed her eyes, no longer afraid of what dreams might come. Whatever the future held—wedding days or hospital corridors, Sunday newspapers or autumn funerals—she would face it fully present in the real world with those she loved.

The first raze of sunlight hit their bedroom window, David had woken first watching her as she stirred softly in his arms. “Morning,” he said his voice soft, as he brushed her hair.

“Morning, why are you looking at me like that?” Shantali asked.

“One because the most beautiful woman is right next to me, two I couldn’t happier if I tried, and three I was thinking maybe you could write a fictional story about the smoke cobra one to help you finish processing what you saw but as a thank you the cobra its self for sending you on to the correct path.” David said, his eyes thoughtful.

Shantali smiled, the idea taking root immediately. "You mean like a modern fairy tale?"

"Exactly. Something that captures the essence without revealing too much." David traced the outline of her face with his fingertip. "Turn it into something beautiful rather than something to fear."

The concept resonated with her—transforming her experience into art rather than obsession. "I could call it 'The Serpent's Gift.'"

"Perfect." He kissed her forehead. "And who knows? Maybe it will find its way to someone else standing at their own crossroads someday."

Shantali nestled closer, imagining the story taking shape, a security guard, a mysterious artifact, ancient magic manifesting in modern life. Not as research or warning, but as a testament to the choices that define us.

"I think I'll start it today," she murmured against his chest.

Later that morning, as David made coffee and sunlight spilled across their future together, Shantali opened her laptop and typed the first words:

*Imogen Molly Cross had been working security at the Metropolitan Museum of Ancient Arts for eight months when her life fractured along lines she never saw coming...*

The words flowed easily, not as desperate documentation but as celebration. Each paragraph released another thread of the mystery's hold on her, transforming obsession into creation. She had decided to change her name to a name of a character so that it sounded more like fiction rather than her documenting the experience, and less likely to have to answer questions that she had no wish to answer.