"You belong to me."
His presence impresses on the air when in close proximity. The point wherein heat and chill converge, til effect commences. He relays it into the crook of her neck. His alignment entirely apt for a bird of prey, perched upon a desiccated tree limb. Lofty, lording over. Appearing, for all the world, a dark winged thing, counseling the Queen’s ear…talons curling in intangible claiming. It would be unseemly, if there were anything to be seen outright, other than this. Witnesses therefore, remained wanting for something worthier to wring their hands over. She plays at pretense, gaze far past the peering onlookers - pinned to a laugh with a lover’s vitality, launched from across the hall - to the man who spurts the sound across some voluptuous vixen’s daring decolletage. Full cup rises to ready mouth, response regulated to the depths and his ears only. “In what way mean you, Master Secretary?” The answer is alarming in it’s outcome: in no way that can be divulged without danger.
