Yours only.

The wind slammed the door back and forth with a vigor fit to shake the foundation of the house and the rain soon created a puddle on the doorstep. The lake and the trees outside screamed at this assault of nature but he remained still, eerily still.

“It is too cold.” He mumbled to himself but did not get up from his seat to close the door. He was thinking of someone, a storm in his heart not so different from the one that was razing the earth outside. Suddenly, there were footsteps and he knew it was her before Porphyria set her foot inside, shutting the door and the crumbling world behind her. He didn't look up, still in disbelief that she was real. He felt her kneeling beside him and lighting up the fireplace and breathing life through the cold walls.

She got up and removed her drenched belongings, her hat was the last to go, revealing her damp hair. She sat down beside him and said his name. He heard her and her voice uttering his name echoed in his head like a prayer and he was in bliss. When there was no reply she held his hand and draped it around her waist. Removing her damp yellow hair from her bare shoulder, Porphyria held his face, placed his cheek on her shoulder and confessed her love for him. He warmed, no fire could compare to her touch, no music could replace her voice.

“I am here. The world I left behind, the pride I burned to be here look upon us in disbelief. The rain, the wind are witness to my promise, to my confession. I am here, my love. I am yours.” She vowed.

Finally he looked up at her face for the first time since she entered, the turmoil in his heart was put to rest. Spring blessed his body and he smiled at her. He wanted to do something for her, tell her how much her love meant to him. The perfect specimen heaven created, was his. He looked at the long pale hair that draped over her body, the color of wheat stalks in rain and he finally knew what he wanted to do. He knew she worshipped him and now it was his turn to show his love.

He got up and looked down at Porphyria as he gathered all her hair in his hand, resembling a long yellow string and wound it three times around her neck, whispering I love you, until her breath reached the heavens and freed her from every earthly bond. He knew she felt no pain, how could she, it was no death. It was salvation.

He cradled her head in his hand and opened her lids with his fingers. Her blue eyes stared back at him smiling in thanks and pure devotion.

He loosened his grip and unwound the hair around her neck and blood rushed to her cheek painting it red, as glorious a color that once graced the object that lured humanity into this world. He kissed her cheek and sat beside her, this time her head resting on his shoulder. The smile etched on her face now sealed forever, the world she feared far behind her, her existence only existing in his love.

They still sit together, smiling, not moving, the storm still raging outside but never touching them.

---

Retelling of Rober Browning's poem Porphyria's Lover.