" Tony rifled through his stack of papers, "... the Devil's Playhouse production of 'A Midsummer's Night Dream' they went back to their hotel room, fucked, well she said 'made love'," he flashed quotes with his fingers, "and when she woke up in the morning he was gone." A hot shiver ran through me, "How old is he?" Tony flipped a papers about again, "Says here he's eighteen."The shiver ran deeper and hotter, this time with a mighty dose of shame. Tony handed the photo back and I did not look at it, instead pushing it back into the envelope."Take a look in there," Tony pointed to the package, "there are a shitload of 'em."I reached in and pulled out the stack of photographs. Each photo featured a young man more physically striking than the next. Ridiculously handsome features, hair flowing free but not unruly, and the eyes. Again, it is embarrassing, the eyes of each young man. Their eyes all felt like I may have known them from a dream, and not a particularly pure dream, if you know. Not wielding my newfound magic like a dissecting knife. I spoke again, and the wind brought her down among the pillows. I made a tearing motion and the silver flame that once had been my breath became three notes of broken song and went to play among the trees. I sat. She reclined. We looked each other over for several long minutes. Her eyes flashed from fear to caution to curiosity. I saw myself reflected in her eyes, naked among the cushions. Then I began to feel a fading. A forgetting. I realized the name of the wind no longer filled my mouth, and when I looked around I saw nothing but empty air. I tried to remain outwardly calm, but as these things left me I felt like a lute whose strings were being cut. My heart clenched with a loss I hadnt felt since my parents died. I could see a slight shimmer in the air around Felurian, some shred of her power returning. I ignored it as I struggled frantically to keep some part of what I had learned. But it was like trying to hold a handful.
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