And he rises, arm slipping around her waist. "Maybe you can change my religion." And he grins at himself.

     Shh. This way. Step. Foyer. Living room. Stairs. Dieu. You'll have to deal with the stairs. Okay, I can do this. I can do this. You can do this, Meurelle. Just one foot at a time. Dieu, you haven't been this fucked in ages. Sheer ages.

     "You must make this happen, Edward of Blois. He listens to you. You request a meeting, one will be called. The rest of us do not always have this luxury. I have spoken with Girault. I have met with Lorenzo."

     Using a thousand masks, Beloved One, I have gained the secrets that shetan has used, your Adversary, and I have gained it at the cost of my soul. But I deliver it to You, Allah, You Whom I Love above all things, and with my blood...

     "What will El-Adar mean for you? What do you think it means for Edouard?"

      You know how he is spending his, you can smell it. Oils and balms, hands softened -- the petals of roses were never as tender -- his skin has a golden glow where the tending of servants' fingers have massaged honey and saffron into his skin. You know the routine of The Favored. You yourself have been there.

     The large tome of Alhambra rests upon a table, there beside it a glass that has been used intermittently and throughout the day. And another book beside it, the Story of Pi and another Zero.

     I am heading into the Caliph's Land. Or to quote the Unnamed Poet of the tome at my feet, that sun-kissed land, rich in dark-eyed girls, and water that springs silver from the golden ground. I have never been to this part of Espana. Only the vineyards of Castile, the exclusive villas of Madrid, the discos of Barcelona.

     "Have you," he grins, looking down between you, "...wondered of my own instruction and whether you...could take lessons from the Old Ones?"

     This is not our place, Eduard...

     The amber hue owed to the lights of Chenonceau, lit as they are every night. But this night, they burn for new residents. And the lights echo across the quick moving waters of the Cher, ripples highlighted.

     "Holy --" Edward doesn't finish the rest. "Um," he suddenly stands, eyes wide open, "...no..." already, he's tumbling past your legs and the table, moving towards the foyer. "No, no, I got it...just..." he twists to see you, hands out, "...just stay there. No," he blinks, turning to look in the mirror above the table in the foyer, "...stand. That's better," he nods, running a hand over his hair.

     Show me...
     You who know so much, show me what this life is like...