Chapter 47: Lingering questions
"Poems...,"
Arabella had muttered under her breath, but the word did not escape Silas' ears, "Yes, I'd like to hear some poems as I carve the wood tonight," he glanced at her, "Would that be a problem?"
"No! No! Of course not!" she shook her head extensively, "Do you have any preference for particular poems?" she asked after simmering down.
Silas took a deep breath and looked back at the canvas facing him, "I'd say poems written by humans should do. The topics don't matter,"
Arabella's grip around the fabric of her gown had relaxed a tad as she pushed a sigh of relief.
The vampire's reassurance that he wouldn't be drinking her blood that night had just begun to sink in, ushering a wave of solace that soothed her heart and, in her eyes, the world revolved right again.
Though before reciting her first poem, the young woman still felt the need for something the room was greatly missing in her opinion, "May I open the window, please?"
"You may," Silas wiped the tool in his hand as he spoke.
Without any hesitation, a bright smile on her, Arabella sprung up and rushed towards the window in order to invite the fresh air she so immensely yearned for.