[Holding the back of her hand, he puts two fingertips to her wrist, as if feeling the warm pulse of her blood. The delicate scales are more readily felt with a fingertip than seen. When he takes his hand back, they come away with a fine glittering powder.]
Like a butterfly’s wing.
[He lets go, drawing back across the table, not lingering in her space.]
Ideas are not less real than the body. You understand change. You know that you will remain you.
[And that makes all the difference. It’s a transformation that is not like being twisted into a demon or an abomination that cannot reconcile itself – it’s healthy, creative, so long as the spirit remembers its purpose, strengthens its will.]
no subject
Like a butterfly’s wing.
[He lets go, drawing back across the table, not lingering in her space.]
Ideas are not less real than the body. You understand change. You know that you will remain you.
[And that makes all the difference. It’s a transformation that is not like being twisted into a demon or an abomination that cannot reconcile itself – it’s healthy, creative, so long as the spirit remembers its purpose, strengthens its will.]