Within Basil's Cellar

"There was only one rule: don't open the door!" Thea laughed at the memory of her room-mates seriousness when she spoke of the cellar door outside Professor Basil's home. Alit with soft, golden candles, his home was inviting, even romantic, not at all something to fear.

Thea opened the swinging iron gate, one she'd passed through many times on her short-cut to St. John's. This twisting lane was cobbled in worn, red brick, cosied by small stone houses draped in ivy. She'd habited this way countless times, from the darkest of nights after pub crawls with fellow students to stealing kisses with Alexander or was it Ezra?

Thea's ashy wool cape greeted autumn's chill; dusk upon her, guilt set in -Ugh, behind in reading. She grimaced, embracing her copy of Dante's Inferno, hurrying along.

The lure, her lust for all things beautiful, pulled her to her tip toes as she peered into the professor's sitting room. There he was. A black cat at his feet dozing, fire crackling, pipe lit, he held a glass of what appeared to be scotch, no doubt the best in his right hand. She tried to make out an unopened, rather thick book on his lap. - Dark Lover?

Well occupied. Shunning her room-mate's girlish notions, she eyed the cellar door. - Very good wine to help me digest his assigned reading.

Pulling the circular metal handle, taking quiet, careful steps, she descended. Making out a gas lamp just in time, as the door slammed behind her. - wind gust?

Spying wine, she grabbed a bottle. Thrilled, she turned to leave.

"Thea? I've longed for you!" Basil's gaze drew her closer.

“Do not be afraid; our fate. Cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.” ― Dante