Only Cleo and Nefaria knew that the long silences between them were in fact rich with secret pleasures.

Between them, they fill space with the soft rustle of laundry being folded from pile to pile, the low rumbles of footsteps across a thick stone floor, the turn of a page between transfixed thumbs, the brush of fingers barely dusting one's shoulder.

After eternities entombed in lonely castles, they find it a heady indulgence to pay mutual attention to such warm little signs, these indications that others take for granted.

(-Liz ♥)