Elizabeth VIII

Fero hadn’t known there were so many shades of green. Or blue. Just looking at her hair, that dark silk, shining in the moonlight, he could see so many colors, and she had given him that.

The garden, the lake, the sky, the birds and even the ground itself. She had made him see the world again in an entirely different light.

Touch. He had never allowed anyone to touch him unless he planned to use them for sustenance, or he planned to kill them. Elizabeth showed him that touch could be something different, something warm and gentle. Tender even. Touch could mean so many things other than the precursor of death.

Then, there was the feel of her skin, like the finest satin. Her hair, like silk. In a very short amount of time he had learned the beauty of touching.

Sound. Her voice was like music to him. Soft. Intimate. Pouring over him like a gentle summer breeze. When she spoke, her voice was pleasing, moving through him, equally as effective as the touch of her fingers on his skin. That