//CLARA//
I sat naked at my desk, Eleanor's diary tucked back into its hiding place.
Behind me, Casimir slept soundly.
I glanced over my shoulder at him, tangled in my sheets, one arm thrown over his head, the other outstretched toward the empty space where I should have been. His chest rose and fell steadily. The moonlight caught the dark hair trailing down his stomach.
We'd barely made it through the corridors.
His coat had been slung over my shoulders, my dress bunched under his arm, his shirt half-buttoned. We'd stumbled through the servant's entrance, giggling like teenagers, shushing each other between kisses.
The moment the door to my room clicked shut, the restraint snapped. We didn't make it to the bed the first time. Or the second. We were tearing at each other again. Making love again and again until our limbs felt like lead and the moon began to fade.
I climbed in beside him, moving carefully so as not to wake him. It was useless.
