I did not wince at the sight of blood flowing, nor scream when he forced himself on me. This man whom I had been forced to marry.
Perhaps he understood otherwise, in secret, and that this unfound aggression upon me was inspired by that knowing.
That my heart,
and this body that trembled in the night both in sorrow and longing
endured only for my brother. Awoke to nor fevered in the throes of passion. For each time I bloomed, in the most effervescent way, by the gaze or embrace of my beloved brother.
Who has really loved me? Who has guarded my innocence, and cared for me in my despair but him... this dark prince of Ene, we are cursed by blood and scripture.
Tonight, I drink until the fire in me rises past restraint. My second husband has left me in our chambers incredulously accusing me of being unchaste. Tears are shed as he storms out, but not from my eyes...
Inside me instead, I weep past the threshold of what eyes can bear. Not for this husband, or the one previous to him.
But for my brother who dreams across the halls vacated from night guards. The whole world sleeps now as I leave my chambers to make my way past the pillars of ivory and gold. Beneath silken sheets where heat radiates off his body. There is a tenderness in this familiarity, in the way his shoulders lift with each breath. How but to the garments that fall effortlessly on the floor. I press my naked body against his back and feel the surge of God run through me.
My brother has stirred and gradual awakens to suddenly, jolting up and away from the stranger who had crawled into his bed.
But I am no stranger and with both desire and confusion he utters, "what in God's name are you doing here?"
Yes, who was this God? That had everything to do with this feeling He planted within the hearts of two lovers bound by blood. To condemn and make sinful a feeling more natural than breathing.
I draw nearer to my brother and watch his expression soften when his eyes focus on mine. Tears fall slowly down my face, an expression that bears a mixture of sorrow and passion.
"Why deny ourselves that for which we already accused?" I whisper, bringing my lips close to his. I feel his mouth hover over mine with heat and hesitancy. He had tasted my lips once, on the eve of my wedding, before finding back restraint and coating himself with it like armor. We both knew for a long time of the intensity in which our passions bore a rampant fire.
And it was this knowing that had made restraint weak.