'cara mia . . .' he exhales her name like a prayer, fingers still dusted with ash from the match he just lit for her cigarette. 'do you feel it? the night — how it wraps around the house like silk spun from shadows themselves. it’s not just darkness, my love. it’s invitation. a waltz waiting to begin,' he steps closer, as though approaching something sacred — which, of course, he is. 'every time i look at you, i am undone. ruined. reduced to a trembling wretch desperate for your gaze, your touch. you say the word, and i would leap into the abyss singing,' his hand lifts to gesture toward the window, to the storm rolling in. 'lightning dances for you, tish. the moon pales beside you. the roses out front tried to bloom today, but i threatened them with pruning shears. they know better than to compete with you,' a grin, sharp and boyish, curls on his lips. 'say you’ll join me for a duel at midnight. or a kiss in the crypt. or better still — both. i cannot go another moment without the divine agony of your affection,' a dramatic sigh. 'torture me, mi amor. i live for it,' @openbleeding / morticia addams.