The Acolyte & The Alchemist Part IV
To Quill, first love was like first snow—gradual, then all at once.
Quill was mystified by the force of it. For the first time, he thirsted for something other than knowledge. At least knowledge had an end—in theory.
He knew he was doomed when love and knowledge became one and the same.
He and Hamra spent their afternoons nestled in the stacks of the library, unraveling ideas, twisting them like thread between their fingers.
When the light faded, they moved to their dormitories, spilling ink and coffee as they poured their thoughts onto the page.
Their minds intertwined, distinct yet inseparable.
And when they disagreed, they set their pens down and took the argument to bed.
“Do you ever wonder where it comes from?” Hamra asked one night, her voice a murmur against the hush of their room.
Quill twirled one of her curls between his fingers. “Hmm?” he hummed, kissing the bare slope of her shoulder.
“Power.”
Quill furrowed his brows. “That’s why I came here—to determine how knowledge transmutes to power. It’s a form of alchemy, in my mind. The Advisors have perfected it. They draw it from books and apply it.”
“Not all power comes from books.” Hamra traced a slow line from his chin down to his throat, resting her fingertip over his breastbone. “Some of it comes from here.”
Her eyes met his. He was already smiling.
“If that’s true, then call me power-hungry.”
Quill flipped her onto the mattress, pressing her into the sheets. He kissed down the column of her neck, then lower, where her pulse thrummed against his lips. The sound of it stuttered through his own chest, a rhythm he wanted to memorize.
She laughed, and at once, he thought of a sound to rival the beating of her heart.
“I never want to lose this,” he murmured, his mouth finding hers again.
But as soon as the words left him, he remembered how cruel Fate could be.