SLEEPING BEAUTIES EPILOGUE: THE KISS

[yourkeepers]

[For all your kissing needs.]

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[ovidscholar]

He stammers. "Well, angels..."

Now it seems too lofty a task. Facts don't suit his humor.

"They have many eyes. Sometimes." This is insufficient. "They're meant to be powerful and dreadful. In a narrower understanding they appear as beautiful people."

He rocks back and rests his weight on his palms.

"Often they're formed of fire..."

Now he rises; his face is red.

"I meant to say thank you, and not to comment on your appearance, lovely or fearsome."

[wingedapostle]

She listens closely. Is this something he remembers? Does he know this from the books here? She's tempted to ask him. "I understand now, and you are welcome. I hope you can forgive my ignorance. I knew only that I resembled an angel, and that because someone told me..."

As it always does, her curiosity overtakes her. "May I ask how you know these things about angels?" she asks, interested in any potential avenues of knowledge.

[ovidscholar]

He thinks on it, and his brow creases.

"It's what they are," he says. "I knew what they were. Though I think I am-- I was a scholar. Of religion. I think it suits me. Libraries are like temples."

He shrugs, hunching shyly into the bulk of his coat.

"Theology is this wing," he says, pointing at a cliff-like shelf. "If you're ever curious."

[wingedapostle]

"Thank you for telling me," she says, looking up at the shelf he pointed out. "I'll make sure to search it for readable books when I have the chance." She hasn't had much luck in that department during the time she's spent here, but perhaps she's been looking in the wrong place. Theology seems promising.

She turns back to him.

"You said you were a scholar of religion? If you don't mind me asking, does that come from a memory?" She's curious about this as well, partly because it's interesting to learn about her housemates, and party because the memories of others might lead her to more of her own.

[ovidscholar]

"Yes," he says, more curtly than he intended. He feels raw, suddenly. "A scholar and a lecturer. And now I'm a hermit, and this my hermitage."

He straightens his jacket, neatens his cravat, pulls his incongruous scarf over his nose and mouth.

"You know. When thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray."

[wingedapostle]

"Those are fine callings. Despite our situation, I can't imagine that you've lost much of that, if anything; you have a scholarly feeling about you, and your knowledge of things is impressive." This man seems well-versed in things that are completely foreign to her, and, more than anything, it makes her want to learn.

She goes back to contemplate the phrase for a few moments. "I can't say I've ever heard what you said before, but I think I might understand. Would 'thy closet' be one's heart? Entering an actual closet to pray sounds strange to me."

[ovidscholar]

"It's, er," he says, "hm--" and now he can't recall what he meant, or where the words issue from, and he stammers "-- the heart, but also being solitary."

[wingedapostle]

"I see," she says, happy at having partially deciphered the phrase. "Does it come from one of the books in this section?" She looks around at the shelves that surround them. Theology has always been interesting to her, or so she thinks. She'd love to get her hands on a book of phrases, if she can.