Dark Wings
Description
DESTINED TO LOVE
DOOMED TO FORGET
Foreword
Prologue
Busan (Korea) September 1854
At the of midnight over to shape the eyes. They had a feline look, between bold and confusing, disconcerting. Yes, those were her eyes, crowned by a fine and elegant forehead, inches from a cascade of dark hair.
He backed away the paper to assess his progress. It was difficult to draw her without having her in front, but on the other hand, he never could have done it in her presence, because since arriving from Seoul, (not since the first time he saw her) he had always tried to keep the distance.
But every day she approached him again, every day he found it more difficult to resist. So he was leaving in the morning, to France, to Spain, he did not know or care, because anywhere else would make things easier that there.
He leaned back on the drawing and sighed as he blurred the charcoal with his thumb to refine the full lower lip pouting. That piece of paper was merely a cruel impostor , but also the only way to take her with him.
Then sitting up in the leather-upholstered chair in the library, he felt warm and familiar touch on his neck.
It was her.
Her mere proximity gave him an extraordinary sensation, like heat from a log when cracks in the chimney and is reduced to ashes. He knew without turning : she was there. He hid the picture among the sheaf of papers in his lap, from her, however, he would not be able to hide so easily.
He looked ivory couch at the back of the room, where just hours before she with a pink silk dress and somewhat behind the other guests, had risen suddenly to applaud the eldest daughter of the host, who had just to interpret the harpsichord piece masterfully. He looked across the room at the same place where the previous day he had crept with a bouquet of wild peonies in her hands. She still believed that the attraction she felt for him was innocent, that the fact that so often found him under the pergola was just ... a happy coincidence.Shee had been so naive! Despite this, he never would remove her error: he alone should bear the burden of secrecy.
He got up, left the sketches in the leather chair and turned around. And there she was, leaning against the crimson velvet curtain with a simple white dress. Her hair was unbraided, and her eyes were the same that he had outlined many times, but her cheeks seemed to burn. Was she angry? Embarrassed??
He longed to know but could not ask.
"What are you doing here?"
He caught the hope unintentionally in his own voice and regretted that she would never understand what it was.
"No ... I could not sleep," she stammered, as she headed to the fireplace and the chair. "I saw that there was light in your room and then ..." She hesitated before finishing the sentence and looked down at her hands "your trunk at the door. Are you going somewhere? "
"I was going to tell you ..." he interrupted.
He should not lie. He had never pretended that she knew his plans. Tell her only make things worse, and he had let go too far with the hope that this time was different.
She moved a little closer and noticed the sketchbook.
"Are you drawing me?"
The surprised tone reminded him living in worlds separated by an abyss. Despite all the time they had spent together in recent weeks, she still had not come to see why, really they are attracted to each other.
During the last few days, since he decided to leave, he had tried to distance himself from her, but the effort tired him so much that when he was alone, he had to surrender to the repressed desire to draw her. He had filled the pages of notebook with sketches of her neck arched, her marble collarbone, the black abyss of her eyes.
He turned to look again at the picture, not because he was ashamed that she had caught him drawing it, but for some reason worse. He felt a chill run all over to see that she had discovered what he really felt, it would kill her. He should have been more careful: always started like that.
"Warm milk with a teaspoon of honey," he murmured, still facing away from her. Then he added with a touch of sadness "will help you sleep."
"How do you know? Wow, that's just what my mother used to ... "
"I know," he said, turning to face her.
Her astonishment was not surprising, but he could not tell how he knew, nor confess how many times he had given that brew to her, when the shadows were coming to them, and then he had embraced her as up feeling like she slept in his arms.
When her hand touched his shoulder, he had the impression that burned through his shirt and he gasped. Never before they had touched in this life, and the first contact always left him breathless.
"Answer me," she whispered, "Are you going to leave?"
"Yes"
"Then take me with you," she snapped.
Just then she realized he was holding his breath and she regretted what she had just said. He felt as progression of her emotions manifested in the wrinkle to be formed between the eyes she would feel impulsive, confused and embarrassed after her own daring. Always she did the same, and too many times he had made the mistake of comfort her.
"No" he whispered, because he remembered ... always remembered ... "My ship sails tomorrow. If you really care about me, do not say a word".
"That if I care ..." she repeated. "I ..."
"Do not say it"
"I have to. I ... I love you, of that I have no doubt, and if you go ... "
"If I go, your life will be safe"
He said slowly, trying to get somewhere of her can remember something. Or perhaps she do not keep any of those memories, perhaps these remained buried somewhere in her?
"There are more important than love. You would not understand, but you have to trust me. "
Her eyes stared at him. She stepped back and crossed her arms. That also was his fault: he always spoke with condescension, caused that her more rebellious side emerge.
"You're saying that there are things more important than this?" she asked defiantly, while held his hands and took them to her heart.
Oh, how he wanted to be her and not know what was coming next! Or, at least, be stronger than he was and not let her go one step further. If he do not stopped her, she would never learn and the past would be repeated, again and again torturing them.
That heat known from the skin under his hands made him tilt his head back and moan: trying to ignore how close she was, how compelling was the feeling that gave him the brush of her lips, how painful it was that everything had to end ... But she caressed his fingers so softly ... Even he could feel her heart beating through the thin cotton dress.
Yes, she was right: there was nothing more important than that. It had never been. He was about to give up and hug her when suddenly, he noticed that she looked as if she were seeing a ghost.
He pushed himself away from her and put his hand to his forehead.
"What a curious feeling" she sighed.
Oh no ... Was it too late?
Her eyes narrowed to take the form of which he had drawn. Then she came back with his hands over her chest and lips parted expectantly.
"You'll think I'm crazy, but I swear I've lived this before ..."
Yes, it really was too late. He looked up, trembling, and began to perceive as darkness descended. He took the last chance to hold her, to hold her close tightly, and how he had wanted to do that for weeks.
The instant their lips melted, there was nothing to do: they could not resist. The taste of cherries from caused in him a feeling of dizziness. The more he shook her against him, the more his stomach turn with excitement and agony of the moment. Their tongues touched and fire erupted between them, glowing with every touch, with every new discovery ... although, in reality, none of it was new.
The room shook and around both began to form an aura.
She noted nothing, nothing existed beyond the kiss.
Only he knew what was going to happen, what obscure companies were about to interrupt their veiled. Although once again he was unable to alter the course of their lives, He knew what was going to happen. The shadows began to swirl overhead, so close he could have touched them, so close that he wondered if he would reach heard it whispering. He watched as the cloud passed in front of her face: for a momentin her eyes saw a flash of recognition.
Then there was nothing, nothing at all.
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