There are many passages through Nevermore, it’s an ancient building. I run my fingers over the stone wall as she pulls me into a study of sorts, shutting the heavy, oak door behind us as quietly as she can. I grab her face with a smile, and kiss her. She holds my wrists, leaning into my affections.

When I pull away to gaze around the room, she chases my lips. I smile again, and she mumbled something in Spanish that I don’t catch. Her hands move to my waist, and I let her pull me closer. We haven’t been alone in a couple days, and she’s rather impatient. When our kisses pause, I can feel her warm breath on my lips.

I lean up and nip the top of her nose, just because I can. She laughs, pinching my side in retaliation. I gasp, and I shove her away. We carry on like that for a little while, shoving. Even though she could overpower me had she wished to do so, she lets me pin her against the wall.

Her gaze softens, pale blue meeting brown. My hands come up to cradle her face once again. She whispers, "Te quiero hasta la luna y más allá," as she leans in. Our lips meet again, and she parts hers for me. I slip my tongue into her mouth, deepening this kiss.

Despite it seeming and sounding lewd, it’s gentle and loving. Mama says such feelings of intense affection are childish and useless, but I don’t care. My mother is a cruel, cold woman. I refuse to be like her, refuse to isolate myself when I could experience life’s pleasures. I know what I like, and I like her.

We break apart, and she laces her fingers with mine. For the first time, I have an opportunity to really look around the room. Our hands slide out of one another’s as she gravitates to the bookshelves and I to the grand piano in the corner. I lift the cover for the keys, and am delighted by the fact they still work so beautifully.

I feel arms wrap around me, slow and languid. She opens a worn songbook before me, and allows me to flip through it. She moves my hair off my neck, and kisses it. She kisses up to the sweet spot under my left ear, and I jump when her nips. She whispers her apologies, and moves away from me to the window.

Snow covers the centre quad- or courtyard, depending on who you ask. The snow falls, the little flurries catching on the wind and drifting from their path. She’s thinking, I know. It’s in the tense of her shoulders, they way her spine goes ramrod straight when she thinks of her parents.

So, I do what I do best. I walk over, and drape myself over her. “Mi amado, I’m cold. Could you light the fire?” I ask, pressing a soft kiss to her jaw. She breaks from her stupor, and kneels by the hearth of the fireplace across the room and roots around for matches, then lights the stack of wood.

The room is filled with the pleasant crackling of a fire, and I sit down in the piano’s bench. She had migrated back to the window, and is staring out. Her jaw is set, and even as I begin to play she does not turn around. Usually, she loves hearing my okay for her, but today it does not seem to break her sadness.

The marriage of a same-sex couple is illegal, and we are two women. It doesn’t help that Mama hates her, and would never let her take my hand even if we could. So I watch as she stares out of the window at the snow falling and I play piano, unsure of how to soothe her.