“Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. The man pulled up. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. When I awoke I followed my instinct to Athena’s temple. The Storm VII. She pulled his shirt from its tucked belted state and snaked her hands around his waist. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. His hand traveled below her loose neckline, and he cupped her round breast in his hand.
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