A Love Story Tom stared at the flames rising out of his metal garbage can. With a satisfied smirk, he grabbed a handful of papers and tossed them in. Horrible screams filled his ears. He tried another batch of papers, only to be bludgeoned with even more ear–splitting shrieks of pain and despair. “There has to be another way,” he muttered. — — — — — — — — — — The sumptuousness of the silk curtains billowed out into every windswept corner of the old house. Burnished nineteenth-century wood reflected the sun's incensed rays and focused them on the figure that appeared atop the intricate staircase. It was as if a symphony of golden trumpets were erupting on every facet of her beautiful face. Lila Van Dorino glided over to the banister and tossed her head, letting angelic feathers of hair ripple gently across her ivory skin. The world blinked in bewilderment at her beauty, and outside, birds sang her praises in melodious pitches. Seemingly untouched by the garish sun, her snow white throat undulated ever so slightly in a tenuous tremble. Her mountainous bosoms struggled against her unyielding corset and with each step the soft flesh spilled over its constrictive restraints, wobbling like the sweetest apple jelly. Her Ionian eyes flickered upwards and, with nary a sound, stepped onto the landing at the foot of the stairs. A folded Japanese fan appeared in her dainty hand, and she began to waft currents of perfumed air at her powdered face. Three small beads of sweat fought to appear on her flaxen upper lip, but the gusty ravages of the wind pushed them away, conserving her moisture for more important activities. “Dear, are you there? I'm ready for my morning massage!” Lila, returning the fan to its original hiding place amidst the numerous folds, ruffles, and pleats of her voluminous gown, dropped with a swift sigh into a chair of the most impressive cushioning. Carved out of a single piece of polished mahogany by Jorges Beoughies himself the century before, this chair was perhaps the only item in the world worthy to cradle the lush and supple buttocks of Lila Van Dorino. The swinging doors to the dining quarters blasted open with a flourish as Reginald Mont Seurat strode purposefully towards his love. The doors seemed to defy the laws of physics, holding themselves open on their well–oiled hinges until he removed himself from their carpeted threshold. All of garrulous Nature inhaled simultaneously as his carefully flexed legs rippled and shimmered like Caribbean waves under his tunic and tights. The birds quieted, the trees ceased rustling, and even the babbling brook momentarily forgot whereof it spoke. A large lion decorated the tunic of Reginald Mont Seurat—a lion of blood red framed with elaborate golden threading, made all the more impressive by the chest that it barely contained. It was said that fourteen oranges could be laid end to end, and still they could not cover the massive girth of his silken torso. The lion swayed seductively yet ferociously as Reginald's hungry strides consumed the distance between himself and his beautiful mistress. “Oh!” gasped Lila as she observed the mountain of quivering manhood rushing towards her. She reached a pallid hand up to her temples and pulled the solid silver clip from her hair, allowing gorgeousness to spill down her neck and across her ample beauty. As she ran ten fingers through her golden tresses, a single lacy strap fell, exposing the intense splendor of her fair shoulder. Reginald's greedy eyes flashed with envy as the sun raced to gently caress the curvature of her body. The last few feet were covered with lightning quickness, and Reginald's Apollonian hands were on Lila, touching her everywhere at once. The sun fought to get past his mammoth paws. “Oh!” gasped Lila again. In a single swift movement, Reginald placed one hand under each strap of her dress and flexed his mighty arms, snapping the threads like lace twigs. Drawing in simultaneous sharp breaths, the pair gazed passionately as Lila's dress, now free of her marble shoulders, slid promptly to the floor. She stood in all her glory, breasts heaving gently, lapping against their corset containment. Reginald stood erect, his hands at his sides, and stared at the beauty of his past and soon–to–be–present lover. “Take me now,” moaned Lila, as her hands sought to caress every bit of flesh in the room. “Indeed,” rejoined Reginald, as he crossed his arms to remove his gargantuan tunic. He pulled it expertly over his head without ruffling one hair of his perfectly coiffed moustache or disturbing a single aspect of his flowing golden–brown mane. His chest rivaled Lila's in its precociousness, heaving aggressively like twin nippled cannons. His barrel–chested musculature was pearled in sweat as he stepped toward Lila to take her to the floor and let his purple warrior ravage her split countryside. “OH!” gasped Lila yet again as his colossal arms encircled her nearly non–existent waist, and she collapsed against him ready to be taken. She was his. Her life had been spent waiting for a man worthy to traipse across her ivory flesh, and she had found him. Reginald was everything—the scandal, the strength, the beauty, and most of all, the love. She loved him, yes, she loved him, and they would never be apart again—never ever ever ever—the moans rose in ardor and volume as Reginald stood to remove his tights. Tom Johnson walked through the door. “Whoa. Sorry to interrupt. Look, I'm gonna need you to go ahead and evict. I accidentally destroyed your neighbors without letting them know first, so...here I am.” He gave a slight grin, and muttered to himself, “At least it'll keep the screaming down.” “Destroyed?” yelled Reginald as he pulled his tights back up with a resounding snap. “The Chesterfields? Destroyed? I shall have thy head for this, thou villainous cad!” Reginald took a menacing step towards Tom. His chest glinted angrily in the sunlight. “Calm down. Just wanted to warn you. I'll pass back by here in five minutes to make sure you're gone before I burn everything. Thanks.” Tom slammed the door as he left. Lila and Reginald gazed in horror at the gilded and tiled gateway. “What…?” whimpered Lila with a slight backward tilt of her head. Her hand found her brow, and she became the very model of despair. “The Chesterfields? Gone? Oh!” She collapsed sobbing onto the burgundy velvet beneath her. “It can't be! After all these years! Oh! They were my very dearest and best friends! Things shall never be the same again! Oh!” “Quiet, woman,” grumbled Reginald Mont Seurat. “Methinks we have more pressing problems than our wealthy and now deceased neighbors the Chesterfields. This villain hath threatened our very livelihood, my love, our very existence. Forsooth, we must devise a plan.” “Yes, yes,” sobbed Lila. “A plan—you have to do it, Reginald. I am so weak I can barely stand. Please, please, save us from this cruel...this cruel...villain!!” Lila spat the last word with such vehemence that all the silver metalwork resting above the ancient central fireplace rattled and then tarnished considerably. Reginald's chest flexed mightily. “We are not yet conquered, my love. Indeed, we have barely begun to fight.” The birds sang a little louder, striking a major chord in support of his voice. “This is our home, our space, and I will duel to the death any man or beast who attempts to hurt thee, who attempts to sadden thee, or even who attempts to momentarily disquiet thee. I will fight for thee to the death, Lila Van Dorino, with all my heart and all my soul.” The birds warbled to a fever pitch. “Verily, I will lay down my life to save thine and not ever question that that very decision was the noblest and most righteous of my humble existence! I—” The door opened again and Tom walked in with a stack of pages in his hand. “All right, guys. I really got other things to do today. I can burn these now if you want, I just thought you might want some warning. You know... to get dressed…” Tom looked at Reginald's tights and broke off in a snicker. Reginald cast his god–like visage down to determine the object of mockery. His curves ran like the gentlest river, while still holding back the flood and rapids contained beneath. Muscles flexed dangerously beneath the skin–tight covering. His eyes darkened like a blown light bulb as he glowered at this insolent intruder. “Dost thou find something amusing here?” he rumbled mightily. The very floorboards shook with his potent wrath. Tom cut off his laughter. “Sorry, you're right. It's not your fault. Look, I just need to clear out my apartment and, thanks to my dickhead brother, these papers are everywhere, so you're gonna have to go somewhere else or get ready to bite the big one. Ok?” Lila sobbed gently on the floor, half–heartedly attempting to cover her near–nakedness with bough-like arms. Reginald's rage increased at the sight of his love in such an abject state. “Sir, I know not whence thou came, nor why thou hast chosen to invade our less than humble abode, nor what 'big one' thou wouldst have us devour.” He drew himself up to his full, towering height and glowered mightily. “But I strongly suggest that thou leavest. Immediately!” The wind blew the silken curtains fiercely and punctually. “Are you speaking Middle English or what?” asked Tom. “Jesus. This is the worst shit I've ever seen.” He started to look around the house. He looked disgusted. “Middle English? How dare thee! I speak the Queen's English, and am a proud follower of her Majesty.” “Too bad we're in Boston, huh?” said Tom without looking up. He was intrigued by a big carving on one of the wooden walls. It looked pretty. Reginald's prodigious brow wrinkled in confusion. “What is this...Boston that thou speakest of?” “Ohhhhhh!” sobbed Lila. “Shhhh,” said Reginald. Tom turned around. “Look, I do appreciate your predicament, but I got thousands of pages of pure shit to burn, so if you don't mind, I should get back to that. Consider yourself warned.” He tightened his fist around the pages in his hand. “Wait!” boomed Reginald. His attitude softened, and for the first time, Lila was able to see the gentle lamb that hid sheathed in the muscular wolf's outfit. “What are these pages? I only seek the freedom to pursue life with the woman of my dreams.” His buttocks flexed gently, accentuating the heartfelt truth of his speech. “Oh, Reginald,” exclaimed Lila as she rose effortlessly from the ground and threw herself into his tree–trunk arms. He squeezed her tightly as she buried her tender face into his turgid neck, and she felt the muscles flex up and down his body. She pressed her moist lips against his skin and let her tongue caress the saltiness of his excretions. She pulled him even closer, wanting to be one with him, wanting to share her pliant body intimately and completely. Her hands traced the contours of his muscular frame and her mouth gnawed hungrily at his neck and shoulder. He grunted in the most masculine of ways and lifted her off of the ground. She wrapped her extensive legs around his slender waist. “My brother was a pervert. Later, guys.” Tom turned to go. Reginald dropped Lila onto the ground with a melodious thump. She started sobbing again softly. “Halt sir! Do not leave. Speak to me of these...pages to which thou refer.” Tom sighed and straightened his green shirt. “Look, Billy's the one responsible for you. Not me, all right? I don’t claim any of this shit. I feel bad enough already.” “Responsible? For us?” “For you, for her, for this,” Tom gestured largely around him. “Thousands of pages of this...stuff, and I'm the one who gets stuck with it when he dies. Great deal, huh?” Storm clouds appeared behind the pelagic thrust of Reginald’s eyes. “Thou liest! No one is responsible for us! We are the creators of our own destiny! We live our own lives!” Reginald raged on, stomping up and down the length of the room while Tom bent over a desk with the pages in his hand. A few seconds later, Lila's hair disappeared. Her hands shot up to touch her flaxen curls and, as they encountered her bald nakedness, she screamed. The echo shot out into the morning sky and the whole of creation mourned for the beauty that was lost. Lila fainted dead away and Reginald bent to cradle her in his arms. Tom stood grinning, putting the pages into his back pocket. He had a pencil in one hand and an eraser in the other. “Yeah?” he said. “Believe me now?” “Forsooth,” cried Reginald. “Thy must be a great sorcerer, thy must—” “Okay, stop right there,” said Tom. “This is what I'm talking about. You can't believe in sorcerers. Lila is a late 1800's character at the earliest. Right? She speaks normal English, and I bet she's supposed to be 20th century—you could never tell what my brother was trying to do. You don't even fit this story, Reggie—you're wearing tights for fuck's sake. Look at yourself. And you're speaking a language that's been dead for nearly two hundred years. And you're on the wrong continent from what I can tell! Doesn't any of this bother you?” Reginald slowly tilted his cragged, manly visage to gaze at his tights. “What–what is wrong with my body? Is it not beautiful?” “Jesus. Sure, I mean, I guess it's attractive in that pre–Raphaelite sorta way, but you don't even fit in here. You guys have to go. Sorry.” “Forsooth?” “Yes, for fucking sooth. And would you stop talking like that? You're really killing me.” Lila moaned softly and her petal–like eyelids fluttered gracefully. “My love!” cried Reginald as he bent down and scooped her gracefully into his arms. He looked up at Tom as he cradled Lila's dead weight. “Is there nothing we can do? Is our very existence in question from thou, mighty sorcerer?” “I'm not a—oh forget it. I just want the screaming to stop, okay? I can't take it. What am I supposed to do, y'know?” He mumbled to himself, “Screaming's better than dealing with this frickin...” He trailed off and his eyes widened as he caught his first glance of Lila's milk trucks. Reginald thought harder than he'd ever thought. His golden–brown mane heated with the effort and beautiful trails of smoke started to rise from his overwrought cranium. “Sir magician, if it is within thy power to grant us eternal happiness—all we want is to be left alone to live—we are happy with each other. We have found what we need to survive, and that is all we ask. Destroy our burnished wooden floorboards, destroy our goblets of silver, destroy our silken four–poster bed, destroy my—actually sire, if thou could spare our clothing? And maybe return my love's hair? It really is the most—” “Go on,” said Tom, yawning widely. “Yes, yes,” said Reginald Mont Seurat, the barest hint of a grovel coming into his posture. “I mean to say sir, I mean sire, I mean, thy honor–” “I'll write a sequence about how flabby chested you are if you don't get to the point, Reggie.” The glorious color drained out of Reginald's face. He trembled like the slightest branch at the top of the highest oak. “F-flabby chested, sire?” His knees started to give out and Lila's gorgeous body dipped slightly. Her twin love slabs rocked like watery cushions. Reginald's eyes were drawn to the motion of her flesh. He dropped to one knee, eyes alight. His hands ran up the sides of her body and he drank it in eagerly with his glowing orbs of sight. Lila slowly opened her eyes. “Ohhh,” she moaned as her hands found the pert nipples of her lover. Reginald shook his hair out in a wave, leaned his head towards the growing pool of love juice, and– “All right. I'm done. Anybody else nauseous?” Tom started towards the door. “I'm just gonna get some frickin earplugs and burn this shit. I got at least four hundred identical couples to burn before I can even find my bed. Fuckin writers. Fuckin brothers.” Tom turned toward the door, still muttering to himself. Lila, on her back with her legs askance, looked in desperation at her love, her man, her desired future. Her gaze infused him with the strength of a thousand, and gave him the ability to shoot upright. “Halt, sir!” he cried. The door closed with a soft click, and Tom was gone. “Run after him, my darling!” was the plea that escaped Lila Van Dorino's firm lips. And run he did. Reginald leapt like a jungle cat upon the gilded, polished wooden door and flung it open. He saw Tom's retreating figure glimmering as if about to fade away into the morning dew, and yelled as he ran. “Sir! I request one last word! Please sir! Upon everything thou findest holy and good in this wide, wide world, if thy would grant me but one more audience, I swear on my dear love's life that I will not give thou any reason to doubt again!” A perfectly formed tear dropped out of Reginald's eye and splattered onto his bulging tights. With a sigh, Tom caved in and turned around. “Yes?” A gulping sob half escaped Reginald's lips as he covered the remaining few feet to Tom's side like a repentant gazelle. “What can we do to convince thee of our worth? It is my humblest beseechment that thou informest me—please, sire.” Reginald bowed his mighty head. “Please,” he whispered, and clutched Tom's hand tightly. Tom sighed. “Oh, man. Look...no, all right? I'm sorry.” Reginald dropped to one knee and kissed Tom's hand, dropping a tear onto his Rolex watch. Tom thought he heard a whimper as he watched the bowed head tremble. “Why are you crying? Stop...please–hey. Hey!” Reginald looked up, teary eyed and with shaking lips. Tom sighed. “You guys... all right. All right, fine. Look, you give me one good reason why your existence is more important to me than my living space, and I'll spare your pages, get some earplugs, and just move on to the other reams of shit. Fair enough? Will you leave me alone then?” Tom pulled his hand back and casually wiped his Rolex clean. “Yes, yes, I thank thee, sir. Sire. I thank thee. If I may have a moment to converse with my mistress?” “Mis–you're not even married to that woman?” Confusion flew across Reginald’s wind–swept good looks. “Married, sir? But our love life...” “Never mind,” sighed Tom. “You have three minutes. Go ahead.” Tom put the pencil in his mouth and began to nibble the tip as he walked off to examine the clean grounds and the pretty architecture of the house. He looked carefully at hedges, the grass, a number of trees, and stopped at the nearby river. It was blue. Reginald sprinted back into the house, his chest bouncing like the rising and setting of the sun. He found his love curled on the floor weeping ever so gently into her statuesque arm. Her bald head glistened with the barest hints of perspiration and quivered lightly as she wept. His ardor grew as he saw her body lying there, ready to be taken. He stepped towards her, shuddering as his passion stick filled with excitement. “NO!” he cried in a burst of enlightenment. “I will not be subject to my bodily needs. My love's life is at stake! I will fight for us both, my darling!” He gazed into her watery eyes with nothing but the purest burning love. “Oh,” sighed Lila. “My love, we must needs justify our very existence to this cruel sorcerer who waits to destroy us. Our eternal happiness depends on the next few moments. Please–let us converse.” “Yes, yes, my dear, anything for you,” came the husky reply. Her fleshy chest bounced with the verbal exhortation. Reginald tore his gleaming eyes away from her heaving goodness and focused his mind with a striking intensity. “Why are we alive?” “What?” She licked her lips hungrily. “Lila, my love, what do we live for? We must prove and explain our existence to this sorcerer, this all–powerful creator–our time is running out!” “Truly?” “Indeed.” Lila thought for a moment. She caressed her downy cheek. “I live only to love you, Reginald. For that and for no other reason.” She slumped back as if that confession of her innermost soul had drained her of all bodily power. Reginald Mont Seurat leaned forward, nearly touching his lips to hers and whispered softly, “And I thee, my love. And I thee.” “Oh,” sighed Lila. “Ohhh.” Their hearts seemed to reach out and unite through Lila's bustier, passing the boundaries of the constrictive clothing to join in a rapturous eruption. Reginald stiffened. “Oh,” said Reginald. The door swung open and Tom walked in. “Ok, Reggie. Talk to me, my man.” Reginald stood and pulled his tunic back on, covering his rippled stomach. Lila sighed. The two men met in the center of the room. “We deserve to live, for we are worthy people, and our cause is worthy, oh great sorcerer.” “Reggie, I'm an accountant. Gimme a break.” Reginald stared with a complex seriousness and extended his empty ridged hands. “Sire, if I had a break, it would be for thee, along with everything I own.” Tom sighed. “What's your answer? Why is your existence more important than my living space?” His eyes were starting to twinkle at the game that was going on. This was turning into the most fun he'd had all month. Reginald glanced down at his bald love. Her eyes infused him with all the vitality he would ever need. “We deserve to live because we love. We love with a passion more pure and more elemental than fire itself. We love straight to the core of each other's being. All we are is love, and it is all we will ever be. If that is not the noblest aspect of life, indeed, if we do not represent everything that is good about the world, and about thee thyself, then I know not why the world itself should continue. If we do not live, then nothing in thou livest. If we do not live, then the world itself is an illusion. Our passion is the fire that lights thy sun every morning–the illumination to all thy dreary days–the heat that warms thy bones at night. Our love is the food and the water that sustains thy corporeal body from day to day. Indeed, if we are eradicated, then thy very existence becomes meaningless and vapid. And if thy 'sleeping space' is more important than thy immortal soul, then so be it.” Reginald finished with a flourish, collapsing down onto his knees, spent. Lila sobbed softly behind him and caressed his finely sculpted back with her long ruby fingernails. Tom stood above the pair, staring down at them. His hands rested gently in his khaki pants. “Hmmm. So you're telling me that you're in love.” Reginald peered up as if from the very depths of Hell itself. “Aye, sir. If we are not in love, then I know not what may be meant by the term.” Tom thought hard and clicked his heels on the floor as he paced. “What if I were to tell you that I don't think love exists?” A grin started to break out on his face as he continued. “What if I were to tell you that love is a biological illusion designed encourage procreation? What if I were to tell you that most love evaporates from anything remotely resembling its original condition within an average of seven years? That 'love' is a word like witchcraft, a word like God, a word like goblins–a word made up to account for something we couldn't explain at the time, but now can?” Lila lifted her shining head towards the heavens. She whispered faintly, “A word like... pain?” She collapsed back down towards the floor. Tom stopped pacing. “Not so much pain, my dear. After all, you really feel pain. You only think you feel love.” He was smiling broadly. “Aha! Sir Sorcerer, thou wrongest thyself. Thou canst not accuse this world of having only bad with no good. Thou cannot not accuse this world of having pain with no love. Sadness with no happiness. Valleys with no peaks–” “I'm with ya, big Reg. I see where you’re going, but I don't think it's quite the same thing.” “Is our love any less real than thy pain? Forsooth?” Tom looked uncomfortable. “Well yeah, it is. Because you aren't real. And neither is love. I'm just waiting to burn Billy's shitty books so I can have room to do my work.” “Oh,” cried Lila. “Hush, my love. I have thee here in my arms,” whispered Reginald. He looked back to the intruder. His eyes glinted like platinum ball bearings. “By what definition dost thou claim reality?” “By the fact that I can destroy you and you can't destroy me.” Reginald rose up to his impressive full height and stood between Tom and the gilded front door. “Art thou positive about that?” “Yes?” said Tom. “If a man hath a weapon, or physical power, dost that make him more correct, more real, than his weaker compatriots? What we have, sir magician, is a power greater than any thou canst fathom. A power that can overthrow the mightiest army. A power that can drain the deepest sea. A power–” “Okay, okay, for fuck's sake, Reggie. Chill out, man.” Tom glanced around casually for another exit from the house. “Yes! For fuck's sake!” boomed Reginald. Lila, exerting every ounce of strength in her body, pushed herself onto her ravishing knees and made one last effort. “Do you believe in ghosts?” Tom raised an eyebrow. “Nope.” She rose even higher, pulled by angelic strings. “Because I swear on all that is holy that if our love is destroyed, if my Reginald is taken from me, my spirit will rouse itself to find and haunt you for the rest of your life.” Her dove–like cheeks swelled to a vibrant rose with her vocal exhortations. “Our love will never die! It will live on, and through it, I will as well. I will find you, sir magician and I will haunt youuuuu!” With this last cry, Lila was back on the floor again in a dead faint. Reginald wiped his glistening eyes with an embroidered handkerchief as his love spilled out through every pore in his body. Tom fidgeted. A flash of enlightenment pierced the air, landing somewhere in the maned head of Reginald Mont Seurat. “A test! Yea. Thou must test us!” “Test you?” “Aye sir, verily! Give us a test of love, and if we fail, we are thine to condemn to the very depths of whatever accounting hell thou choosest. And if we pass, thou leavest us to an eternity of lovemaking and passionate embraces.” “That's a long time there, Reggie. Sure you got the stamina?” Tom grinned nervously. Reginald flexed one side of his chest, making it dance like a water nymph. “Dost thou question my virility, sire?” “Not at all, Reggie. That's the one thing about you I don't question.” He thought for a second, judging the distance between himself and the door. “Okay, fair enough. A test. Winner takes all.” Reginald carried Lila's flaccid body over to the ornate and complexly cushioned couch at the far corner of the room before turning to face Tom. “Now,” he growled, “the test. It must be of thy choosing, for thou art the sorcerer.” “Huh. All right. The test. Here it is.” Tom thought for a moment, chewing his pencil. He was used to thinking about numbers. This was more fun. He thought hard and scrunched up his eyes. Finally, a burst of inspiration brightened his pale face, and he turned to Reginald with a triumphant glare. “The test is this, Reggie. You have to prove that your love for Lila Van Dorito is real by restoring her hair.” He smiled and sat on the highly–padded Beoughies original by the front door. “Cad!” cried Reginald. “Thou knowest that I have no magic worthy to combat thy enchanted stick! It is an unfair task to pit love against magic–it cannot be!” Muscles flexed, and anguish wracked his impressive frame. “See, Reggie my man, I think it is a fair test. My dead brother's writing against your love for Lila...both are imaginary, so why can't one be stronger?” Reginald's brow furrowed like the heartiest field as Tom continued. “You just fed me all this bullshit about love being the most important thing in the world and the strongest, blah blah, whatever—why can't it be as strong as a dead man's imagination?” Tom looked very pleased with himself as the lush cotton of the chair enveloped his bottom. “But...I...yes...yes,” concluded Reginald softly. “It is as thou sayest. If my love were true, I should be able to combat even the strongest magician's simple imagination. If verily there hast been no magic here, then my love's hair should return if the strength of my love wills it so.” He paused and inhaled half of the available air in the room into his massive chest. “I will endeavor to restore the former beauty of my one and only true love. I know it is within love's power. It has to be.” Stepping as if on eggshell–covered lily pads over to Lila, Reginald bent down and took her limp hand in his rigid one. His eyes narrowed and his brain began to focus. Nature silenced itself to watch the outcome of this internal battle. Tom smiled and leaned back into his chair. Accountants could be clever sometimes. Reginald stared at his love and concentrated harder than he ever had in his long life. The magician was right. If imagination was the driving force behind Lila's rapid hair loss, love had to prevail. He knew that love was the strongest force in the world—it was something he felt deep inside his puissant bones. He stared. Tom sat. An eternity passed, and yet it was seconds. Forever and a moment. Alpha and Omega. A life span and a conception. Distance and– The lavish panels of the front door erupted with a tremendous stentorian bang. Tom sprang to his feet. The figure that trod through the wooden portal was beyond all comprehension in his supreme decadence. Walking forward on shoes made of two uncut pieces of silk, the intruder flexed the taut musculature that lay underneath the most impressive of tights. They were covered by highly explicit scenes from the annals of Greek mythology, stitched in the blackest taffeta. Veins of gold lacing traced the contours of the calf, the thigh, and ran swiftly up to the magnificent codpiece that almost seemed to pulsate with treasures. An outsized tunic embroidered with a golden saber–tooth tiger clung desperately above the codpiece as the figure strode to the center of the room. Indeed, every article of clothing seemed a bit too small, as if they had been designed to cover a being of lesser magnificence. Somehow, beyond the decadence and beauty of the costuming, beyond the glowing aura of light that flooded the outlines of the fabric, beyond the extreme multitudinosity of wealth implied by the extravagance of the clothing, the pliable chiseled rock that lay underneath all the gorgeous accoutrement managed to shine through, like a hundred burning torches lit in a very dark cave. Muscles bulged from every section of the body, and supple blue veins infused the tanned rocky mountains and curvaceous valleys, providing a colored counterpoint to the serpentine gold threading. The Parnassian masterpiece that was the torso and legs all seemed merely a support, an opening act, an arrow directing the attention upwards to the magnificent head that sat atop this glorific mountain. A thin moustache crept and curled its way around the upper lip and cheek, fading out gradually near the earlobes. Piercing eyes capable of cutting through even the deepest smog twinkled magically above a cragged and sculpted nose. The white hair was curled daintily, falling perfectly coiffed over the massive brow, and yet still adding to the overall exuberance, the overall scent, the overall appearance of supreme masculinity. “Greetings, Thomas!” boomed the figure as he trod gracefully over to the particularly padded chair. Lions roared in the distance. Tom whitened. “But–oh no, oh no, oh no– it can't be. No.” “Ah, but it is!” came the blazing retort. Tom's mouth opened and closed like a dying fish, before finally finding the vocal support that it needed. “How are you here? No–who are you? And what the hell are you wearing? You're–” “Dead?” the figure smiled, finding his cue as a brass fanfare sounded. “Well, yes, in thy plebian manner of thinking I am, verily, but I wrote myself into such a plethora of my stories...” The figure broke off and looked down, giving a rueful grin. “Well, more or less wrote myself in, that I may roam about to my desire's innermost content. It is indeed magnificent here! I grow more beautiful every day. I'm beginning to surprise even myself.” He looked over to Reginald and Lila, slumped together in a close embrace. Narrowing his eyes a bit at Lila's unexpected appearance, he concentrated for a second and relaxed with a smile when Lila's hair reappeared in all its former glory. Tom’s eyes widened and he stumbled against the fireplace. “Oh!" cried Reginald as the gold ringlets fell about his face and caressed his mighty body. “Yes!” he murmured, and he buried his face in their downy softness as Lila began to moan and stir. “Yes.” “What...where?” sighed Lila gently. “Ohhhhhhhhhh.” “It is over, my darling,” rumbled Reginald as his hands found their way to her blossoming, succulent thighs. “The mighty magician has been bested by another. We are safe.” Tears fell from Lila's doe–like eyes. “We are to be together?” Reginald moved his lips to hers, murmuring, “Forever, my love...forever.” Tom pushed himself off of the fireplace mantle in a burst of newly–found strength. “Billy, you can't do this. You can't be here.” The figure turned around, drawing all the focus of the sun and leaving Tom shrouded in darkness. Thunder rumbled menacingly outside. “Oh no, Thomas? Why art thou here? Why hast thou encroached on my realm? Indeed, it is thee who cannot be here!” Hail struck against the sculpted glass panes of the windows. Lila moaned as Reginald puttered about in her garden. “I just wanted to warn—I mean, I just needed to see...” “Thou didst plan to destroy my splendid creations. I understandest completely.” “Billy, come on. Please. The papers take up so much space...and I didn't know that you were here...I came to warn them!” Reginald's hair gleamed in the sunlight reflected off of the dazzling intruder, and his thick muscles flexed around his lithesome love. “Didst thou takest the time to read my stories before destroying them?” The extraordinary figure polished his mighty codpiece. His ringlets of hair drooped god–like against flocculent cheeks. “Well, a couple of paragraphs–” “Enough!” came the megaphonic reply from the perfectly contoured lips of the majestic figure. “I hast heard enough. Judgment shalt be rendered and passed.” The figure exacted a measured pace around the room as he spoke. Each footfall was a thousand gunshots reverberating around the gilded room. “Thou shalt not interfere with my creations henceforth. They shalt survive always and forever and they shalt haunt thee from now until nevermore.” The figure winged a dramatic glare in Tom's direction that Tom narrowly managed to avoid. “A new world hath been created, where thou canst not make fun of people, nor give them 'wedgies,' nor punch them when their mothers have turned the other way–and simply burning the framework of its creation wilt not destroy it. Reginald, Lila, Geoffrey, Ms. Pimpleton, myself, everyone here, all of my glorious creations–we are all so much more than the printed words. There are things here thou dost not understand.” The figure paused slightly and let a regal grin flit across his burnished face. “Perhaps it is beyond thy comprehension.” Tom's legs seemed unable to support him properly. “Billy? This is ridiculous. Seriously. I just need space to live... I don't understand...” Tom began to whimper. “Dost thou question me? Dost thou question my power, simpering whelp? I am in control here! They stay alive, their love remains alive always, because I so wrote it! It shall be so forever, because I so wrote it!! Thou wilt be destroyed, because I so wrote it!!!” “No, no, Billy, please. I’m not questioning you. I need space, I didn't know...” The figure's visage darkened, even in the middle of the sun's intense scrutiny. His eyes focused on Tom's weakening and blabbering figure, and one symmetrical finger rose, pointing directly at Tom's chest. Tom gasped. The finger wavered slightly, and with a pop, Tom was transformed, hidden behind a trickle of bluish smoke. Birds squealed outside, and a herd of antelope bounded gracefully by the front window. The coruscating sun waged war with the dark clouds that had gathered, driving them westward. The smoke trailed away lazily through the air and gradually dissipated, leaving a slightly singed smell that permeated the interior of the house. Reginald and Lila writhed and pulled, locked in a torrid embrace, never wanting to let go, never wanting to stop. Reginald's lips finally found the true interior of his love's, and as their fluids flowed, their unspoken vows unified liquidly in their mouths. They would never part again. Their love would carry them through anything, for they now knew that their love was true and real. It had been proven in a test against a great magician, and it had prevailed. Reginald entered Lila's love cave with a start. “Oh!” cried Lila. “Oh my,” rumbled Reginald. The elegant figure settled back into the polished mahogany of the Beoughies original with a mysterious smile on his face and watched love being made in front of him. Behind him, a butler with a well–chewed pencil in one hand and an eraser in the other trained a modest, deferential gaze at the floor and awaited his next order.