Love, and Other Torture Devices

Almira slowly picks her head up, looking around the familiar room.

The fire place is much more dim, but still producing a consistent crackling sound.

Pushing her body up off of the ground, the young woman nurses her right wrist. Her bare feet silently carry her across the room.

For a few moments, she stands over the chair that Edmund is sitting in, unawakened. Her hand gently touches the side of his face.

His cheek gravitates towards her hand after a moment, before the two are conformed.

Almira gently runs her thumb over his cheek, not noticing his eyes flutter open.

She quickly takes her hand back when she notices his eyes are open, and he is looking up at her.

Edmund slowly pulls himself up in the chair, holding his hand out to Almira, palm facing up.

Almira glares at him, making no move to accept the invitation.

"Please."

Slowly lifting her sore wrist, Almira places her trembling hand in Edmund's warm hand.

His grip on her hand is gentle as he pulls her closer.

She does not fight him when he pulls her down onto his lap. Instead, she curls in toward him, burying her face into the thin material of his shirt.

"Almira," he whispers, holding his hands a few inches away from her shoulder and waist.

Her intake of breath is sharp, making Edmund's muscles tense.

She repeats the abnormal breathing, resting the left side of her face against his chest.

"I didn't mean to do this, Almira."

She slowly pulls away, feeling Edmund's hands on her arm and waist. "You didn't mean to do what?"

"I... I didn't intend to hurt you."

She nearly scoffs, tears falling from her eyes again as she stares into Edmund's light, sad eyes. "Everything that you've done lately has hurt me, Edmund."

He shakes his head, "That's not true."

"Yes, it is," she whispers, tucking her head away again.

Silence drapes over the couple, and Almira's breathing calms.

Edmund's right hand gently runs up and down her robe-covered arm.

Staring at Edmund's arm, which is blocking her knees, Almira curls her toes into the wooden detail of the bottom of the arm's chair. "Why did you do it?"

Edmund stops rubbing Almira's arm, slowly looking down at her face.

Her dark eyes are glazed with tears, and slightly swollen -- and staring right into Edmund's.

"I'm not sure you would understand, Almira."

Her lips purse, but her voice is weak. "I am not a child, Edmund."

He frowns, nodding slightly. "You are, though."

"I am not," she shakes her head. "I may be naive, but do not mistake me for a child."

"You're still naïve and innocent," he whispers, gently moving his left hand from her waist to her face. "Do you not wish to hold onto that?"

"I wish to not be left behind."

Slowly rubbing Almira's thin, silk covered arm, Edmund nods slowly. "I did it for you."

As soon as the words pass his lips, Almira rests the side of her face against his chest once again.