judgmentcast:

Send a ❊ for a New Years Eve kiss!

Spindly, bony digits caress the telescope composed
of metal — bronze with gilded silver to ensure it remains
INTACT. Moonlight bounces off his rings, sparkling to
rival the celestial curtain of stars. Abruptly, his wrist
flicks to jerk away from the touch as though this
instrument of science, of progress, scorches him!

                 O, be burns! He burns with guilt, with
                 shame, with DESIRE { for a married
                                         angel } !

                               ❝What a fitting union.❞

                  Her tone is clipped, tart, her hands clasped together
                  in reverence. Wisdom sparks her cerulean gaze, her
                  eyes ICY. Frigid. He is blind to her sarcasm, ignorant
                                          to the way she mocks him.

                                 Near fearfully, he turns his back to her.
                                 A fist beneath his chin. Then, against
                                                           his heart.

                ❝—My Church would condemn me.❞

                                    ❝We ought to be well beyond that point.
                                    Society yearns for progress, does it not?❞

He agrees with her. She says that she would
like to learn about his progress. Nothing pious,
strictly scientific. With some hesitation, he relents
& his eyes are a-glow.

          She wears a MASK of STONE, skirt rustling.
          Doctor Rosalind Lutece twitches her lips. Her
          words say she has seen a million cities burn,
                    a million tragedies, a million tears. 

                               ❝You’ve eyes that could burn a city.
                                                 Would you?❞

Now, he grins. He answers her not. He kisses
the back of her hand. No more. The mere token
             of friendship. Of appreciation.