And how was he to understand this war going on inside him? Was this obsession? Addiction? Passion?

It was all those things, most certainly. But there was only one word to describe what he felt for this solemn, silent, and infinitely remote woman, even as his mind brimmed with furious accusation.

Love.

Even as he railed against her in his mind for cheapening herself, for conniving with her husband, he could hear its soft lament:

This woman in his arms. This wondrous gift. She astounded him. He was mad with awe.

The way she drank in his words. The way she’d let her body fall into his arms as they danced. The way she looked at him in silence, like no other woman he had known. In her every gesture, she had remained her own mysterious self.

A flower unfurls. Its colors have never before graced this earth. Its fragrance has no name.