Maybe, but I'm the only one who passed out. My ardeur was always mixed with other desires, but not today. How many hours it may have been, how many days or even years, they never told me. The sootypatina covering the flesh, much like that left when a moth has been crushed, the powdery fine ash of itswings imprinting the surface on which the death had occurred.
He sat back down on the edge of the bed. I was sitting Indian fashion, still nude, and it didn't seem to matter. That's not necessarily a bad thing. He just knelt there, face shocked, as if he'd finally heard his words, finally realized what he might have done.
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