The depravity of optimum aura was not confined to the auspices of the exterior, as they now found themselves ensconced in the solemnity of the space. The recessed lighting was warm, like the intimate corridor and its mahogany walls. She smiled, her feet caressed by Louboutin, the heels finding their way into the meticulous weaving of the carpet. Her breathing was vibrant, though patient, as she awaited the wanderer’s ear, as he brought himself into cohesion from the rain.
He dispersed the water from his person, like a saturated dog.
“Just a bit further.”
Benjamin glanced at the Hellenic beauty, who smiled, encouraging him forward.
Through a labyrinth of dusk quilted corridors, his attention was drawn toward the mammoth lengths of Impressionist works, affected by skilled brushes, thoroughly immersed in exalted frames. From Antoine Vollon to Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot, the stories were emblematic and familiar. Familial, even.
His affections were enraptured. Such was their enchantment, that he failed the take note of the explosion of light at the corridor’s end.
His mouth fell agape.
“So what do you think?”
Benjamin stood motionless, without words. Lucy beheld him and smiled. She pivoted toward one side of the arch, allowing him to step into the luminous expanse. It was a personal interior, gracious in its muted splendor of French elegance. The walls and their arbor heritage bore the resplendent works of Albert Marquet, Camille Pissarro, and Claude Monet, all washed in the frosted equinox of effet de neige.
Benjamin stood, mesmerized. And though the scenes of winter were masterfully imbued into the venerable canvases, there was a visible chill on his breath.
He turned to Lucy, speechless. She smiled.
“You said you liked the snow.”
Implode. Part XLV - DK
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