Candles are lit in his bathroom-- thick amber pillars that glow with the diaphanous light of the setting sun. The bath is perfumed with violet and blackberry, the purple water shimmering with silver cellophane stars. His skin presses against mine, and I flush pink with warmth.

We are talking about archetypes-- Jungian, Tarot, those of ageless mythos from before the dawn of civilization. Ancient. Primal. The Trickster, the High Priestess, the Warrior, the Fool-- symbols all; personifications and roles that we all have the potential to play.

"Which am I?" he asks. ( The question feels like a test.Collapse )