I'm staring at his eyes, because they are stars, and I'd somehow missed that before. They mesmerize me with their light.

Shining. Dancing. Full of the fire of eons.

"...Come back. Can you hear me? Attend. Come back." He grabs my chin and holds me fast. "Can you hear me now?"

I flash agreement with my eyes. He's used the language of instruction, so I neither speak nor move.

I can't hear anything but him now, now that he is touching me. My entire being is attuned to him. Nothing outside us exists. His hand on my chin is a promise of ecstasy. I want more. I don't want to let him go. Ever. I feel his being pulsing under his skin, and sense the passions he bottles up so well that he can't even speak them aloud; and a terrible, consuming guilt when he looks at me. I sense the pain of swollen hand joints, reacting badly to the cold, damp weather outside. He never told me his hands hurt him. Why didn't he say anything? I can comfort him; I can take it away. I know this, I know it as surely as I know the air I breathe. I reach for his hands, covering them with mine, and absorb his pain into myself, letting it soak me; then push, flooding the areas of pain with warmth and healing love until they are permanently washed away.

The act arouses me. I want him to touch me more, and harder. I ache to be claimed.

"...Attend!" he shouts. And then he sighs. "Sorry. Did not mean to yell... I think I might have demolished barriers that only needed a door to be cut into them. Your energy is a bit messed up. I am very sorry for this, my ancilla. I doubt it will be permanent, but let's see if we can't help repair the damage and get you back to the land of the living rather earlier."

I let my eyes convey assent. Anything.

"Let's work on grounding and centering. I think more meditation work would be useful now, too. It will help you find enough of yourself to rebuild your walls. They need to come back up; they're as much a part of you as anything else, and they seem to have been built largely of your will, and your will is... out on holiday, much farther than it has gone in the past." Almost inaudibly, he adds, "Part of your soul is wandering. The ancient Egyptians called it the akh. The name doesn't really matter, I suppose."

He hurts. I can't bear his hurt. I take him in my arms and kiss his mouth until the stars shoot up between us and surround us and we entwine and become a column of fire. "Know this. Know me. Know that I love you. Now." I place my forehead gently against his and feel him in his entirety, feel him opening ever so slightly until his emotions flood me and I gulp them down in a torrent.

He gasps as fire and flood consume us. We dance together in stars, now, a sea of stars.

"Take me," I sigh. "Use me. I know you need it. I feel you. I feel your need. It's all right; I'm yours. I'm yours as long as you need me. I'm yours forever." Desire melts me from within. My flesh dissolves like wax. His hands are the only thing holding me together. Beautiful. He is so beautiful; how can he not see it? Melting, I'm melting. He burns. I dissolve.

He is the first one of us to break the contact.

"We have to rebuild your walls," he says sadly. "Awakening without being able to control your energies is a very good way to permanently lose your sanity. This isn't quite you speaking. Come with me. Let's ground the energy, since you'll be useless for anything until we do; and we will work later." He takes my hand, leading me to the bedroom. I follow. Anything.

He is gentle as he undresses me, nudges me down, and arranges me on the bed. "Se agapo," he murmurs, his voice trembling as he takes me. "Se agapo. Se agapo, se philo, s'ero, eromene." With each slow and careful thrust, he whispers into my ear, my flesh. "Se agapo. Anistaso." His mouth finds mine. His hand is on my forehead, soothing me on the painful place just above and between my eyes. "S'ero. O, eromene, se agapo, se philo, s'ero, anistaso. Se agapo, se philo..."

His need transfixes me.

An overwhelming of light.

When he finishes, I am shaking and weak from climaxing. He strokes my hair.

"Enupniazomai, eromene, sleep and heal. Dream of wholeness. Dream of rebuilding. Find yourself again. Gnothi sauton. O eromene se agapo se philo..."

His voice holds me close and entrances me. I sleep.

His arms are around me. I am warm and secure. The room is dark; it is nighttime.

My stomach is an empty cavern.

"Hungry," I whisper.

He kisses me on the forehead and lets me go. I feel him leave me, and soon sounds of food preparation emanate from the kitchen.

In time, he returns with a bowl of something warm and steaming. It smells like chicken broth.

"Eat," he says, and hands me a spoon.

I try to sit up on my own and fail. He helps me up, and I find myself attacking a stew made with rice, a great many large chunks of chicken meat simmered in its own broth, egg drops, and chopped garlic. I taste lemon juice, ginger, onions, and pepper in the broth.

I am too tired to ask for a second helping, despite still being hungry, and I let my head fall onto his chest.

And then I begin to cry.

"Sleep, my eromene," he says, stroking my hair. "Hypnotte."

I sleep.

His repeated murmurs haunt me, dancing ahead of me in my dreams like will-o-the-wisps. Se agapo, se philo, s'ero, s'ero, eromene...

It's still dark when I awaken again. I've had dreams of suffocating, sealed alive in a tomb. It's too dark. I weep uncontrollably. There is so much dark.

His arms tighten around me.

"I can't breathe," I sob.

"Hush. You're breathing right now. You are strong," he tells me. "Anapnei, eromene. Breathe in life."

"The rocks are too sharp..."

"You are strong. You are finding your way."

His hand strokes me back to sleep.

In dreams, I climb. And climb. And climb. My hands are shredded to ribbons.

Surfacing through grey haze. I am missing something. I need to find it. There's only one problem: I don't know what I am looking for. I start to look around me, but something, some winged voice I hear inside me, says, No. What you seek is not there. I open my mouth, and it fills with water, and I am sucked below waves of grey.

I will drown if I do not find the thing I have lost.

Falling down through the waters. Through the cold.

Swim. I must remember how to swim. Frantically, I undulate, and my undulation becomes a speeding flight through waters as I am sucked out and away.

And then I remember. I remember my Self.

I swim toward a circle of light that dances before me, showing me the way.

A pale ray of early morning light falls through the window. My eyes focus. His eyes are already open, and they are watching me. They no longer dazzle me with stars.

They are just his eyes: grey, worried.

I reach for him; it doesn't take long to get him hard. I have to undo and work off his trousers, however, because he is fully clothed. A part of me wonders idly when he put on his regular clothes.

"Eromene..."

"Hush. This is what I want. I'm not just responding to you." I grab his hand and place it between my legs. "Feel me. Feel that? I want you. Now. I want you now. Take me now."

He teases me.

I groan, riding his fingers, and seize him by the shoulders, pinning him to the futon. "No more waiting. Now, dammit."

"Ah. You're getting pushy," he says, and smiles. "A good indication of will. Welcome back."

And then neither of us cares for words.