homesick

archebold Fear is the price of imagination Archebold would slip his fingers around her hand, his touch cold but gentle as the swung and stabbed into the ground rather theatrically as to free his hand to rest over her hip. Dark, hollow eyes fell over her fingers as he initiated the lead. "You never really forget..." Archebold would reach and turn Rexanna gracefully, catching her with little effort with his slender fingers. "Locked away, in every fiber..." He would turn Rexanna to rest her back against him, slipping her arm back around his neck as he slid his hand around her waist and gently strummed her side, his other gently caressing her outstretched arm. His voice soft, lecturing, amused. "Are memories, repressed...longing to be awoken. All it needs is a little inspiration." As his fingers slid along her abdomen, Rexanna would be turned again to face him, he couldn't help but grin at her question. "That depends...consider it much like you would sip wine. The moment it touches your tongue you know whether it is a taste worth savoring, or just another vintage to along a steady line of intoxication. Those who appeal to my pallet, there is enough to wake the next day until I have need of them again. Those who are simply there to exist as a means..." Again he smiled, ending their dance with a bow and glance up. "You certainly don't lack the grace..." As his posture straightened, walking stick freed. "Tell me Anna, what sort of monster are you? To be called one by others is an accusation not given without just cause..."