Finally, as I lay cold and immobile, I felt the gathering of many and heard the words of the good vicar as he spoke of my soul now being filled with the light and warmth of Heaven.

"NO!" I riled against his words, for this blackness, this lifeless trap, could not be Heaven, and what merciful God would forsake me in such a place of despair? But no one heard my cries.

And then I was alone.

Until he came.

A stranger, I knew. God had finally heard my pleas, forgiven whatever sins my stepmother had accused me of, and sent me salvation.

The stranger's touch was gentle as he took my still hand in his, delicately caressing my palm. And though I could not open my eyes to see him, I knew that he looked upon me with the warmth of Heaven, just as the kind vicar had promised.

Soon, his lips were pressed against mine and it was like nothing I had ever experienced in either life or this newfound death; there was a pressure, and yet a softness, a chill, yet a warmth. And then, slowly, as if his kiss was the pure ambrosia of the mythic gods, a tingling began to spread from my lips outward, over every measure of my skin, seeping deep into my body.

In my mind, I thought it must be life flowing back into me from this stranger — no, from this angel; for who could give life after God Himself had taken it away? Only one of His own minions, sent by Him, for what purpose I did not know, but whatever it might be I would gladly and most willingly do His bidding for giving me this second chance.

After long, pleasure-filled moments, as the waves of life coursed over and through me, I was finally able to move my fingers, so I squeezed the angel's hand that held mine. Then, I opened my eyes.

The room around me was dark, with only a single dim candle somewhere giving the space a sense of warmth that it otherwise did not possess. Slowly I became aware of an incredible, aching coldness across my back and, as I looked around, I realized I had been placed to rest upon the mourning stone in my family's mosque.

In truth, I had been dead.

And, as I sat up, my eyes fell upon the angel. I expected gleaming light and brightness, as all the stories I had ever heard suggested. But, instead, he was as dark as the tomb in which I lay. Only the whiteness of his shirt, showing beneath his dark cloak and frock coat, and his eyes, appearing to hold all the warmth and wisdom that had ever existed in the world, saved him from blending completely into the formless shadows.

I stared in wonder at him, trying to puzzle away the anonymity that the darkness gave to all his glory. It was then that he leaned closer to me and placed his lips upon mine again. His hands came to caress my shoulders and arms, and I dared to lay my fingers upon him, but the firmness of his flesh mystified me. Did angels have form such as this? Were they not as ethereal clouds only in the shape of man when called upon? I could not believe that the adroit vicar had been mistaken, but perhaps he, as a servant of the Lord himself, had never encountered an angel. Surely he had never needed Heavenly assistance in such a manner as this and so spoke only from what he may have read or may have been told.

I was most curious about these questions, but felt I would seem ungrateful if I asked any of this angel, so I held firm to my silence and waited to see if he would speak to me. And, truth be told, I could have waited forever as his kiss was divinity itself, with more love and acceptance than I had ever dreamt possible.

When he finally broke our kiss, he pulled away but mere inches. And, as a smile spread easily over his full lips, light seemed to fill the air around us. Then he spoke, "Pera" — he called me by name, for oddly enough, that was my name — "you have lain in your family's cask ... for days. Had I not come when I did, you would certainly have slipped away into death."

"But I was dead, was I not?"

"No. You lay only in the aspect, waiting for death to come. But I came instead and ... healed you."

"I thank God, but why has He sent you to save me from death?"

"God?" The angel's dark eyebrows lifted toward Heaven in question, then he quirked a half grin. "No god has sent me. I merely happened by and heard ... of your sudden and untimely demise."

Now I was the one to raise my brows, but in confusion. "Are you not an angel, sent by God, to save me?"

"No," he said almost too quietly to hear, even within the silence of the crypt.

The grin that then played wide across his sweet mouth vexed me. "Does my confusion amuse you?"

But he shook his head, no. "I am only amused by your spirit."

"Then you are an angel, concerned for the well-being of my soul," I concluded, but again mirth splashed across his face.

"I am no angel," he said as he stared at me with those warm eyes. "My name is ... Vachon. Jeffrey Vachon."

Not an angel, but simply a man? I was stunned! Was he even a learned man, a man of family and breeding? "You should not have kissed me," was all I could think to say as I shrank back from him.

"I could not help myself," was his explanation. "Your beauty to me was great, even in the pale guise of death. That is why I saved you."

"Saved me?" I did not understand any of this! I was dead, but I was not? No one could save me, except for this man unknown to me? And we were alone in this mosque without witness to the false miracle of my resurrection. "Why ... and how?"

"The how  you will come to learn, but the why  is as I said before," he explained without explaining. I stared at him quizzically, until finally he continued. "When I looked upon you, I felt" — he breathed deeply as he paused — "a craving, as if for food, yet I was not hungry. You were to me as agua dulce."

Agua? I did not know of what he spoke, but his voice was like a balm and I yearned for him to continue.

"I heard your heart beating so languidly, as the decay of this place" — he gestured about the tomb — "slowly ate away at the resolve of your soul. And I knew that I could not leave you to such a fate — not when there was still a faint blush upon your pale cheeks, beckoning me to touch them, and dew upon your lips, beckoning me to kiss them."

He leaned close and kissed me again with such sweet tenderness that I could do naught but return the affection. His lips were so soft, his mouth so inviting. I yearned to be closer to him, to feel his arms around me, holding me safely, for I never again wanted to feel the aching isolation and loneliness that had entombed me these past days.

"Come away with me," he whispered as he pressed kisses upon my cheeks. "I will show you the world. There is nothing for you here now."

Nothing? But there was! My home was here. My father. And, and.... How could I have forgotten? Andrew, my betrothed. How could I forsake them for... this stranger?

"I cannot go with you. I— I do not even know you."

"Do you not? Do you not know my soul?" Vachon reached out to me and took my hand, placing it upon his chest. "... Even as I know yours?"

But he could no more know me than I knew him. We were strangers, met under strange circumstances. I could hardly believe that this was even real, for all this felt more like a fairy tale: me, the princess bewitched into a wakeless sleep, revived by the kiss of an errant prince, unknown to all before his arrival in the kingdom. But, what if the prince were a pauper in disguise? Or worse, a rogue, even a thief? What if the prince and princess did not live happily ever after? What if he took her away from her family and her home, only to bestow upon her misery, discomfort, and ill fortune?

But even as my mind grew reluctant, he continued to speak, "Let me take you from here and show you ... everything the world has to offer. And more...."

"No. If you knew my soul as you claim then you would not ask this of me. I cannot leave my father or my home."

"But had I not saved you, you would have left them anyway. You would have lain here until truly dead. Come with me, Pera."

He reached out to me again, but I shied away, nearly tumbling off the edge of the stone pyre. "I shall NOT go with you," I shouted, as I desperately tore at the remnants of the death shroud that still clung to my legs. As soon as I was free, I bolted for the door, but my legs were so weak that I nearly fell to the ground, my knees spared from breaking my fall only by the strong arms of the stranger that were suddenly wrapped about me.

"Leave off!" I yelled, as I struggled in vain against him. "Do not harm me," I commanded, though his arms did not break their firm hold. "If anything should happen to me" — my normally trifling, female mind began to fervently reason — "my father will hunt you to the ends of the Earth!"

"Your father ... believes you dead," he whispered menacingly in my ear, and suddenly I began to tremble with fear. If real death were even half as cold and lonely as what I had experienced these past days, I did not want it!

"Please!" I begged, having no more logic left in me.

The stranger set me solidly on my feet. He then turned me in his arms and I found myself face to face with the calming liquid of those dark eyes again. My voice caught in my throat and for some unknown reason I relaxed against his embrace.

Fear, which had seized me in its icy grip, now melted away and, this time, it was I who kissed him, though whatever could have possessed me to do so, I have no knowledge. But, as it had been before, the experience was more incredible than any I could recall — as if there could be no more troubles in the world were this kiss between us to but last for all eternity. How could a man — a plain, ordinary man — make me feel this way?

Dare I think it? Could it be?

But, no.

For I had been told that only time and familiarity can breed love for someone. And this man was more than a stranger to me — he was an enigma. How could anyone love someone they did not understand, could not even begin to comprehend?

As if clinging to the evaporating feelings, I refused to risk opening my eyes when our kiss was broken. And it was not until his words touched by ears, as his kiss had touched my lips only moments before, that I dared to look upon him again.

"Do you not feel ... what I feel? A longing, a desire?"

"No," I claimed, but my voice belied the true nature of my thoughtless heart, for beyond my reason, beyond my will, I did desire him, as I had desired no man, as I had known no woman to desire any man.

The longer his eyes held mine, the stronger my desire grew. And I soon found myself drawn into his embrace again, his arms about my waist as he held me so firm against him that we were almost as one. And this, I now knew, was indeed the path of my longing.

As if he knew my mind as well as my soul, Vachon released the clasp about his neck and threw the voluminous cloak across the mourning stone, and then he laid me out upon it as if I were again the corpse he had found. Vachon drew his hand down over my face to close my eyes before kissing me again. But, this time, my senses were already awakened to him and I could not even fight to keep my hands still across my chest. I had to feel him, to confirm that this was not all some fevered dream as I really lay ill in my bed. But he felt of so much flesh and blood beneath my hands that I knew I was both alive and awake. I opened my eyes and found him staring down at me, smiling again, though he did not appear as an angel to me now, nor did I want him to be one.

I wanted him to touch me, and he did. The fingers of one hand found my hair, gently working it from the braid wrapped about my crown, while his other hand found first my arm, then my shoulder, and finally my breast. More feelings that I had never heretofore experienced coursed over my body and again I wanted more. His fingers worked the flesh of my breast as if it were clay yielding to the creation of his touch. And as his fingers found the firm apex, his lips found mine.

I brought my hands to his beguiling face and felt the strong muscles of his jaw, then my fingers found his midnight tresses, so similar in color and texture to my own, and I pulled free a lock. Then, I found the ribbon that secured the bulk and loosed it, allowing his hair to fall about my face like a shadowy veil. As I did so, he worked away at the ties of my virginal burial gown, but when he reached the last one, at least a hand's breadth above my stomach, he broke from me.

He smiled again with another grin of infinite amusement, and then took an edge of the placket in each hand and tore — so slowly that I could hear the rending of each fiber. The gown, split in two all the way down to the hem, fell away from my body exposing me fully to him, though he never took his eyes from mine.

I smiled up at him, knowing there was nothing I could, or should, hide from him. He saw me — all of me, down to my core — and still wanted me, unconditionally. And I wanted him.

I wanted to touch him, as he had touched me, but he smoothed my arms to my sides, and then drew his own hands down the length of my body before retracing the trail he had blazed. His hands brought a cool warmth to my bare skin just as his presence seemed to keep at bay the dank air of the mosque that housed us.

Then he paused to look upon me again. I watched as he removed his frock coat, folding it into a pillow for my head. He then discarded his remaining articles of clothing to the floor.

My arms came up his sides as I urged him from where he stood onto my stone bed and he willingly acceded, laying beside me with his leg across my hips and his hand upon my stomach, caressing the smooth skin there.

I was content with this and, truly, I could have remained so forever had my heart not beat so restless. It knew there was more, though my mind could not fathom what else my body could be wanting. But I did not remain curious long as Vachon's hand again wandered down my body, moving his leg away to give his hand access to recesses I did not know I owned. I felt his hand slowly slip between my legs, slowly moving them apart, and then his finger, almost like ice, touched the one warm spot my body still seemed to possess. A sharp rush of cold air entered my lungs as I convulsed my head backwards at the unexpected pleasure of his touch.

How could such incredible feelings have eluded me for so many years of my life? How had I even lived without knowing them? But my mind was too occupied to ponder such heavy thoughts for all it could think about was the light and bliss of this man's touch, and it, like my body, craved more.

So, I welcomed Vachon's hand as he moved it over my inner thighs, yielded to it as he moved it between, and silently encouraged it as he entered into me. But still my body knew there must be more. And I could not prevent my mouth from voicing a hushed and hesitant inquiry, "Vachon?"

"Yes," was all he spoke in return, and no other words between us were necessary. He removed his hand as he shifted his body on top of mine, and soon I felt a similar, yet more wondrous, sensation between my legs. He filled me even as he fulfilled me. And as he moved over me, into me, I could think of no more natural repose in which to spend eternity.

Soon both our bodies were sheened in sweat, his oddly sweet, which I tasted as I lavished kisses upon his shoulders and neck. Still he moved into me, and with his encouragement I moved my hips up to meet his.

As the most glorious feelings washed through my body, I knew the truth about this stranger: he was an angel, come for me, to take me, to show me, to give me all the glories of Heaven and of Earth. For only in singing praise unto the Lord had I ever come as close to reveling in such bliss, such ecstasy, of my mind, my body, and my soul.

I heard him whisper above me, "Let me give you ... everything, so you may know the wonders that I know and experience the world as I do." As I looked upon him again, he seemed to glow with an aura of light that could not be attributed to the single candle that illuminated the tomb. Even his eyes did glow golden with Heavenly radiance.

And, in the rapture of that divine light, I spoke the only response that my soul would allow to one such as him: "Yes."

I closed my eyes again as he bent down to kiss my lips. He then gently moved my head to the side as he pressed kisses upon my cheeks and down my neck. So near to my ear, I heard him sigh as his body seemed to shuddered from an unknown draft. Then, suddenly, I heard the most unexpected of sounds. A ... gasp?

"Dear God!" a voice reverberated through the stone vault. "You fiend!"

Then Vachon was violently thrown from me. His pale angelic features above me were, a moment later, replaced by the drawn aspect of my fiancé, Andrew, and I could not have been more shocked by his unexpected appearance.

He stared down at me in horror. His brown eyes grew wide and his mouth opened to scream, but no sound came. Nor did it have a chance as Vachon grabbed him from behind, causing Andrew to drop the lantern he held.

Fearing the worst, I leapt to my feet, heedless of my present state of undress, but this only caused Andrew's eyes to roll back into his head as his body went completely limp in Vachon's arms. Vachon released him to crumble into a heap at the base of the mourning stone. Then my strange savior took my hand.

"We must go. Now."

I hesitated. Vachon was right; everyone believed me to be dead, but now Andrew, poor Andrew, knew the truth. How would any of them be able to understand what had happened here? How could they understand that I was so much more and so much changed from the girl they had entombed just days before?

And yet I was still a practical soul. I looked down at my unclothed self, and then over at Vachon. "I will go with you...." His look at that moment laid my soul bare and he knew my sincerity. "... But I cannot travel like this."

Vachon nodded, but then paused as he looked over at Andrew's form, still on the ground of the tomb. "Remain here. I will return in a few minutes."

He quickly dressed, leaving his cloak to cover me, then left me alone except for the remains of my passed ancestors and the one man who was to have been my future.

While I waited, I sat down on the ground beside Andrew, gathering him into my lap. I stroked his brow, sorry that he had come upon us, sorry that he had learned of my revival, for he would have been a happy and contented soul with my step-sister as his wife, as I knew would have been arranged after their mourning for me was complete; she was, after all, far prettier than I, though perhaps not as evenly tempered, and would have been the only heir to my father's property and wealth had I remained dead.

It was not long before Andrew began to stir, blinking away the fog of unconsciousness. When he saw me he knew me and he smiled as he claimed, "A dream. I lie here with you at our picnic. I must have fallen asleep."

I soothed him with a whisper as I smoothed the straight, dark strands of his hair from his drawn forehead.

"You live, Pera, and I have dreamed the most horrible of nightmares," he smiled up at me, his voice languid with hope.

"No," I corrected. "You dream now. For I am still dead, and I come to you in this vision only to tell you that you must mourn for me as is proper, and then do as is expected of a man of your station."

He placed his hand upon mine and drew it away from his brow. Andrew felt my fingers with his, and then proclaimed, "But you are real." He sat up then and looked upon me. The cloak I wore against the chill air had fallen open. Andrew's hand moved to cover me with the fabric, but jerked away when he inadvertently grazed my belly. We both could not help but stare at the fair skin of his hand, now streaked with red. He brought his hand to his nose and inhaled.

"Blood," he proclaimed in a shocked whisper. I took his hand and brought it close. Inhaling, I knew the scent immediately and I could not stop myself from placing my lips upon the skin of Andrew's hand. The flavor, too, I knew: it was the odd sweetness I had tasted upon Vachon's own skin.

Andrew snatched his hand back, as he looked at me with both curiosity and trepidation. "Where has he gone?" he finally demanded as he looked hastily about the shadowy tomb.

But I shook my head. I could have guessed at the final destination of Vachon's errand, but I was reluctant to tell my fiancé for fear of what he might do.

As if all his strength had suddenly returned, Andrew rose to his feet, and then pulled me to mine. He immediately flung open my cloak, exposing me to him without the slightest trace of regard for my modesty. He stared at me, but his eyes held no passion, no lust, no want. I looked down at my own body then, seeing fully what Andrew saw: the bloody sheen that marked Vachon's earlier possession of me.

"Satan has come for you."

"No. You do not know him; he has saved me. He is as a man, yet I know him to be sent from God."

"You do not know! How could you? He has beguiled you, as is the Devil's way." Andrew grabbed the edges of my cloak and thrust them tightly about me, and then took me by the wrist and began dragging me toward the door.

"Wait," I begged. "He will return, and then he will explain all to you."

"We cannot wait. We must get you to the vicar for protection — he will explain all to you!"

"Andrew! No!" I cried as his gripped on me tightened as he pulled me along with him.

Just then, as if he knew that I needed him, Vachon appeared in the doorway. He dropped the bulging carpetbag he carried, and then moved between us, breaking Andrew's grip upon me.

"She comes with me. Ask her," Vachon commanded, but Andrew only stood there, with both fear and determination mixed in his features. "Ask her!"

"Pera...?" Andrew began, but paused to swallow the edge of a tremble in his voice. "If he is not forcing you, then he is giving you the choice. You know me, and you know my family as well as you know your own. Forsake the Devil and choose to remain with me."

"You do not understand, Andrew. He is no devil."

"Nor am I an angel, Pera," Vachon reminded me and I remembered the bloody sweat he'd left upon my skin.

I looked at them both. In the light of the cask they were so similar — fair complexioned, ebony haired, with warm, dark eyes — and yet I knew them to be very different: Andrew, a good man of good family, whom I might one day learn to love; Vachon, a stranger of unknown ancestry, whom I already loved. But did they share these views of me?

It was the only question I felt mattered at that moment. "Andrew, do you love me?"

"'Tis no time to talk of love, Pera, not when your life — when your very immortal soul — is at stake."

I nodded acknowledgment to my betrothed, and then turned my attention to Vachon. "Do you love me?"

"More than ever I have loved anyone, for through these many years I have thought to share my ... life, I have never before asked anyone to join me in it."

"You cannot even know her," Andrew protested. "You cannot know that she prefers lilies to roses, that her favorite fruit is apricot, that yellow makes her sallow and blue brings out her eyes, that—"

"We do not talk of familiarity," Vachon reminded him, "but of love. We do not talk of mindful preferences, but of soulful desires." Vachon moved closer to Andrew now, and lowering his voice said, "Has your mere kiss revived her from death? Has her touch stolen the breath from your body? Can you think of nothing more pleasurable than to die again and again in her arms?"

Vachon then turned away from Andrew. He gathered me up and kissed me with a measure of passion I had not yet felt from him, a passion that made me wonder with delicious abandon what other pleasures lay ahead for us. And I knew without further thought the answer to the choice both men had placed before me.

"Vachon," I chose with a breath just a moment before a pain shot threw my heart and I felt the arms of my beloved suddenly tighten about me. Though our kiss had been broken, I tasted sweet blood upon my lips again, thick this time and heady with my own life. Then together we fell, for what seemed an eternity, until finally the ground came kindly up to greet us.

For a moment, I thought I heard Andrew's voice, screaming, and then a rumbling like distant thunder, and a clattering like iron upon stone. I wished to look upon my angel one last time, but all was darkness, and I knew he could not save me again. The second chance God had given me was gone, though it had not been wasted, for in that short span of time I had loved and been loved. I had been shown glories beyond my imaginings, more than enough to fill a lifetime.

As the darkness cloaked me, I felt no chill, no loneliness, as I had the first time I had died. This time, my last thoughts were not for what I was leaving behind, but for what awaited me and for what awaited my Vachon when he should finally join me.