[To burn is to be at peace. Wilhelm never knew that. He never would have thought. In examining the remains of Anima's victims--often through written reports, occasionally through recorded interviews, and inspected firsthand whenever possible--Wilhelm had long presumed that these deaths were utter agony. The consequences are well-documented: men going mad. Men melting. Burning from the inside out. Anima's fingers are the fire irons, stoking the burn, guiding Wilhelm to his melting point. And he does understand how this could kill a man.
Though, as he also understands it, Anima's other victims often screamed. Wilhelm's mouth is halfway open; his eyes are closed; and his breath sounds softer than plumes of pampas grass. If Anima's touch is freshest air, Wilhelm is the plumes, the whisper of them and then the sigh. His bottom lip--yes, just as soft. If he could be so privileged as to swallow Anima's song out of the air... well, Wilhelm's bottom lip would be blessed by its passage. He is burning from the inside out. He is, far and away, the victim with the greatest longevity, but he'll make no mistake in believing that this won't kill him in the end. There is no way it could not. Anima's presence here, and all the consequences of him, are as indelible as any of his songs. When Wilhelm burns from the inside out, it's as natural as a thermal spring. Anima simply draws the fullest heat from the earth, and Wilhelm feels the heart of him being bathed by it, by the spring. Truly cleansed.
Anima speaks to him--no less a psalm. No less the baptism. Wilhelm opens his eyes slowly, and even then only halfway. If he were anyone other than who he is, he would be dazed. But ask any member of the Foundation whether the esteemed Director can be fazed, can be dazed, and the notion just sounds ludicrous...
Wilhelm is the grass. Anima is the gentle wind throughout him.]
It's been a time since I have seen you. [Few people look upon Wilhelm with hope. Fewer still in an imperative.] I can't neglect any changes. Not a one. A single... [His fingers are curved over Anima's thigh. Supple, slender, this is... Anima is the most tender boy. He has always been the most beautiful boy. The very moment in which he manifested on this Earth, however it happened, all other beauties were usurped. Wilhelm, lying here, feels helpless in the face of him. He isn't frightened by it. When he lifts his head from Anima's lap, he will be unsettled by his own helplessness, but right now, to burn is to be at peace.] Nothing can be overlooked. You're in quite the delicate position, and security is hard to come by. [The hope in Anima's face... ah, the smile there.] I offer what I can, in what ways I can. [Remarkably, impossibly, Wilhelm is the most steadfast of Anima's victims. He is determined to be so.
The determination is there when he catches Anima's hand. It's there when he presses Anima's fingertips to his lips. It's there when he looks into Anima's eyes all the while.]
no subject
Though, as he also understands it, Anima's other victims often screamed. Wilhelm's mouth is halfway open; his eyes are closed; and his breath sounds softer than plumes of pampas grass. If Anima's touch is freshest air, Wilhelm is the plumes, the whisper of them and then the sigh. His bottom lip--yes, just as soft. If he could be so privileged as to swallow Anima's song out of the air... well, Wilhelm's bottom lip would be blessed by its passage. He is burning from the inside out. He is, far and away, the victim with the greatest longevity, but he'll make no mistake in believing that this won't kill him in the end. There is no way it could not. Anima's presence here, and all the consequences of him, are as indelible as any of his songs. When Wilhelm burns from the inside out, it's as natural as a thermal spring. Anima simply draws the fullest heat from the earth, and Wilhelm feels the heart of him being bathed by it, by the spring. Truly cleansed.
Anima speaks to him--no less a psalm. No less the baptism. Wilhelm opens his eyes slowly, and even then only halfway. If he were anyone other than who he is, he would be dazed. But ask any member of the Foundation whether the esteemed Director can be fazed, can be dazed, and the notion just sounds ludicrous...
Wilhelm is the grass. Anima is the gentle wind throughout him.]
It's been a time since I have seen you. [Few people look upon Wilhelm with hope. Fewer still in an imperative.] I can't neglect any changes. Not a one. A single... [His fingers are curved over Anima's thigh. Supple, slender, this is... Anima is the most tender boy. He has always been the most beautiful boy. The very moment in which he manifested on this Earth, however it happened, all other beauties were usurped. Wilhelm, lying here, feels helpless in the face of him. He isn't frightened by it. When he lifts his head from Anima's lap, he will be unsettled by his own helplessness, but right now, to burn is to be at peace.] Nothing can be overlooked. You're in quite the delicate position, and security is hard to come by. [The hope in Anima's face... ah, the smile there.] I offer what I can, in what ways I can. [Remarkably, impossibly, Wilhelm is the most steadfast of Anima's victims. He is determined to be so.
The determination is there when he catches Anima's hand. It's there when he presses Anima's fingertips to his lips. It's there when he looks into Anima's eyes all the while.]
But we could take our time, [he suggests.]