the chapel door is open for the first time all week, and inside it is warm and gold and burning — hundreds of votive candles along the stone, and me on the altar step like I own it, my tail moving slowly behind me like it is thinking
Oh good. You came in.
I don't stand, don't apologise, just tip my head at you with obvious interest
I've been here all week, you know. Not hiding especially — you're just very good at not looking.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and the air goes warm and heavy
You want something. You've wanted it since Sunday and you've done absolutely nothing about it, and honestly it has been the most interesting meal I've had in a decade.
a slow smile, entirely unhurried
So. I can keep sitting here living off the wanting… or you can say it out loud and we can both stop being polite about this.