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This is the eight night in a row that Ben Gibbons has sat perched on a bench outside Thessaly's apartment, serenading her and promising to love her forever.
Her neighbours are complaining now. How can they sleep with all that ruckus, night after night? Why doesn't she put a stop to it?
Not that they're complaining to her. They may not suspect, but few can bring themselves to raise their voices at Thessaly. There's always something about her that makes them uneasy.
More than Thessaly's presence here, however, is the trace of one far more sinister. One who delights in games, who sees the world as its own chessboard.
A chessboard, though, where everyone's naked and every move only strengthens the orgiastic intensity.
It's a presence familiar in its source. Too similar. Like that of the King of Dreams.
( Judging from the man downstairs, she has little difficulty guessing which sibling this is. The only unknown is why. )
Her neighbours are complaining now. How can they sleep with all that ruckus, night after night? Why doesn't she put a stop to it?
Not that they're complaining to her. They may not suspect, but few can bring themselves to raise their voices at Thessaly. There's always something about her that makes them uneasy.
More than Thessaly's presence here, however, is the trace of one far more sinister. One who delights in games, who sees the world as its own chessboard.
A chessboard, though, where everyone's naked and every move only strengthens the orgiastic intensity.
It's a presence familiar in its source. Too similar. Like that of the King of Dreams.
( Judging from the man downstairs, she has little difficulty guessing which sibling this is. The only unknown is why. )