Never knew how much...

El aventurero fuma frente al fuego, la vista fija en la trucha que se asa sobre la piedra. Pero no la ve. La trucha que hay ante sus ojos no es la misma que hay en su mente. Esa otra trucha sucedió muchos océanos y continentes antes. Cuando eran cuatro los que hollaban caminos inexistentes. Una noche en la que la pesca se dio mal y la caza peor. Una trucha para cuatro. Pero la petaca de Merry y los recursos herbolarios de Penthesilea alegraron la cena. Fue una de esas noches. Sin rabia. Sin dolor. Sólo fiebre. Fiebre. Manos ásperas, caricias suaves. Penthesilea se abría como una Dama de Noche, fragante en su exhuberancia. Juegos gentiles. El aventurero se recuerda suspirando "Pemmm" con total abandono. Merry ardía a fuego lento. Disfrutaba quemándose. Los gemidos auyentaron a las bestias hasta el amanecer.
El aventurero maldice ante la trucha quemada. Otra noche sin cenar. No importa.
Se alimenta de amor.
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Wavering like it's glittering

She couldn't forget it. She had thought she was becoming a ghost. She had panicked. The fear, so deep, cracking her bones and withering her soul.
Sure. Rupert was there. Shoulder to shoulder. But she had shivered alone for weeks. Something had to be done. She had to do something.
At dusk, Lucy sat under the trees in the back garden, crossed her legs and rested her hands in her knees. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on the air, her breathing, the warmth of the falling sun. She traveled to her white panic room, where her white luggage was over the white sofa.
But it wasn't white anymore. It was... it seemed stained. Dark spots on the walls. Dark drops on the floor, as if the furniture had cried darkness.
Lucy smiled. Time for painting.
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It's the woman in you

Sometimes he smiles like the devil. Sometimes he is a saint with horns.
Lucy doesn't like that smile. It's not a common one. Fortunately.
Once, Lucy was cursed. She was cursed so deeply that it followed her into F. Land. Some days it makes its way up to the surface. Then, Lucy bitches. And she can do it really well.
It's not usual, though when it happens everything seems possessed by an unnatural rage. Lucy gives out waves of heat. A furious red aura surrounding her. She is totally pissed off.
And then more.
Because Rupert smiles.
That smile.
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Knockin' on Bubble's Door

"I'm so glad you came!"
"I didn't leave, love"
"But I didn't know"
"I love your pouty mouth"
"Kiss me, baby"
The fever, the noises. Arms and legs twisted. The wetness, the tongues.
"Is that a make-up fuck, my love?"
"No, it's a welcome back fuck"
"But I didn't leave!"
"Stop talking, Rupe"
He didn't stop, but the new words were sweet and hot and she didn't complain. Instead, she moaned. That wise tongue... Lucy felt all her blood rushing, flowing wildly, boiling.
"I love when you blush" said Rupert.
Though he wasn't looking precisely at her face.
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Wanderlust

Lucy was sitting on the grass, her hands cupping her knees. She felt so small. Rupert was gone. Gone! Or was it her who had disapeared? The sky was still grey, the afternoon lazy and the summer tempting. But Rupert had taken a plane to wherever and she hadn’t. Or maybe he had never been in F. Land and all was a monsterous error of her runaway imagination.
Travelling is a dangerous hobby. And not all the trips are in the open world. There are always dark continents to walk, adventures to live. But that uncertainty was killing her. Not knowing if she was dead or alive, even alive or in love.
The mirror didn't shown her image. She began to think Rupert had taken her with him, leaving just a footprint behind. A ghost. Sick with love.
.

Apocalypse then

Noches, semanas, soñando con ello. El fin del mundo. El apocalipsis. Imágenes desesperadas poblaban sus sueños. Era un mundo caótico y cruel que sucumbía ante una plaga oscura. Personajes siniestros al acecho, cazando hombres, mujeres y niños. Angustia, desesperación. Hasta que aparecían ellos. De espaldas delante de él. Dispuestos a enfrentarse a los monstruos del abismo sin dejar de hacer bromas entre ellos. Pero no eran más que hombres y el día del Juicio Final los hallaba cubiertos de sangre seca y podredumbre. Llevaban semanas muertos.

Meses después sus vagabundeos le dejaron a un tiro de piedra de Babilonia. Otra vez. Como preso de un embrujo, acudió al baile que se celebraba en el Bosque de los Cedros. El Dr. Amor lo recibió con un beso, Pem y Merry con sendos abrazos. Bailaron hasta el amanecer. Se despidieron ebrios.
-Te quiero, tío.
-¿Y eso?
-Por si llega el fin del mundo. Para que lo sepas.

El aventurero durmió a la intemperie, varias millas al oeste de Babilonia. Bailes decadentes en la ciudad del vicio. Los remedios para las pesadillas son muchos y variados.
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