“You have the most enchanting eyes, my lovely little pet...” Diogenes Pendergast’s voice trailed off, straining to see the color in her wide eyes. His hand was entangled with hers, running his long fingers over the thick rings on her hand. She could see the want in his eyes, and she felt the electricity rolling off him in waves. The air was still, as it is before a lightning storm, and with one look, she reassured his heavy heart.

When he looked away, she cast her eyes downward upon the table. Her filet was half-eaten, it was too rare for her tastes, but she had sat through the meal as Diogenes ate every morsel of juicy steak. The wine washed down her throat in slow, fermented trickles.

He pulled her hand close now, speaking to her, but delighting in the expensive manicure he had bought for her. To her, it was the same as always, but with every new dress, with every new manicure, with every new ring, it was the same boundless enthusiasm from dear Diogenes. After so many years, she understood so little about him.

It seemed from the moment they met, that he knew everything about her. They were meant...   read more »

Lucretia Pendergast sipped her tea calmly. Her eldest son stood before her, waiting for her to finish. Next to her, Cornelia set down an empty cup on a saucer.

The urge in young Aloysius’ eyes was persistent. She set her cup down prematurely, leaving the tea leaves drifting gently in her unfinished drink. “You wish to speak to me, Aloysius?”

“Yes, mother. May I leave the house and take a walk in the forest tonight?”

Cornelia Pendergast smiled slowly, “I have heard the sky will be clear tonight, Aloysius.”

“Yes, ma’am, I am looking forward seeing the stars, if my mother will allow me.”

“Have you spoken to your father about this?” Lucretia Pendergast seemed undecided.

“No, mother. I cannot find him.”

“I see. Then I suppose you may, but be back by dawn.”

“Thank you. Good night, mother. Good night, ma’am,” he bowed slightly to his great-aunt and left.

“He is such a good boy, Lucretia. You are a lucky woman to have a son like Aloysius,” Cornelia Pendergast refilled both cups of tea.

“Lucky for a boy like Aloysius? I suppose he keeps his manners right, and does well enough in school, but he is so different from sensitive Diogenes. My son Diogenes, he dines with me, and...   read more »

She wondered if she was anything more to him than part of the house. If he, as vigilantly observant as he was, noticed her. When she thought about how long it took him to become aware of her presence in the house, even after she started appearing on the main floors, she thought he would never really see her.

Sometimes, right after Father had gone, she would wonder if she was a ghost. If she wasn’t real. He wasn’t even the one who noticed her first, it was Proctor. Dear, old Proctor. Her only friend beyond Aloysius, and she doubted very much if Proctor thought of her as a friend.

“Good evening, Constance.”

Her heart leaped, and she spun around to watch Aloysius glide into the den. She smoothed her modest green dress, and walked over to his side. He leaned over and kissed her. She tried to keep a prim face as she felt her pulse quicken.

She could never put her finger on what it was that made him so beautiful. She wanted to say he was smooth, but she knew that had the wrong connotation. She wanted to say he was smooth like wine and smooth like music and smooth...   read more »