Wanton Of The Light
Why do I continue to torture myself? Ever since The Incident my son's second year, when he faced me, blue eyes flashing in anger, drawn to him like a moth to flame.
Would I be caught? I don't dare approach his home any farther, just outside the wards. Careful not to be seen. But one day, I will be unable to resist.
I see him pass the lit window and I feel my breath catch. I wish to smell the curve of his neck, my tongue tasting his skin, hearing him moan my name. To run my hands through his red hair. Is it as soft as it looks?
He stops before the window, glancing out to where I am standing. I think I'm seen, my long blonde hair like a beacon in the darkness of night. I duck behind the nearest tree as the door opens.
"Is anyone there?" I hear him call out. I would love to show myself to him, prostate myself before him. The silence is overwhelming. Just when I would show myself, the silence is broken, saving me from a fate worse than death.
"Arthur, come to bed, darling!" his wife calls out.
The door closes. I am cast out into the darkness. Watching, waiting, wanting... wanton.