My hands were incredibly warm, and beneath them was something so smooth and soft and giving that a part of me didn't believe. It would have been hard for anyone. To believe, I mean. How could another human being possibly see what I was seeing? Feel what I was feeling? The impossible blues, the smooth and gradual shadows, painting a gradient across her cheek. The cold tang of the water and the smooth warmth of her throat. My fingers were leaving beautiful indentations against her windpipe and arteries.
It was as if I were seeing her through a dream, the sensation. I knew it to be wrong, and I knew I would regret it so, but it came through filtered. My eyes had a shroud over them through which everything passed in a fog of vagary. I was briefly aware of the trickle of moonlight in the stream, but my heart beat loudly over it.
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