Give yourself to me

I want to ask Michelle when she fell in love with Drinks of Waterfall and if she knew, or really could have known her own heart before he gave her his. Instead, I lean back in the chair and let the wind blow in from the window, hoping that it would whisper to me the answers he never says.

I sip more of my wine, my dizzy spell intensifying. I want to ask all the characters in the books I've read if the hero ever got bored of his lover once evil vanquished and rode off into the sunset alone, without looking back. I want to ask him why he has any right to scale the perimeters of the steps I took while locked up in my tower

when it was he, himself who put me there. I want to ask him why he has any right to make me feel this way when he was the one that trapped me with his kind smile and gentle touch.

I want to ask him if the wine has the power to reveal the hearts of boys and men and if it could tell me as much as the scars on his back or the look in his eyes when he speaks so gloriously