Protect the Art, Protect the Art, Protect the Art, Protect the Art...

Micah leaned back into his chair, his eyes sliding closed. A sigh escaped him. It wasn't like him to be this indecisive. Ordinarily, the Words in his head let him know when there was danger. It hurt, but it never lasted long. The Words gave him a sense of where the problem was, he went there, and he dealt with it.

This time was different. He wasn't being drawn to a spot in the building. The Words weren't screaming themselves to him, they weren't a pain that drove him to respond. This time they were a faint whisper. The pain was an endless tickle in the back of his head.

It was slowly but surely driving him insane.

"Is it bad, love?"

Ophilia's voice came as a balm. It drowned out the whispering, if only for a few moments. It also let him talk without looking like a madman.

"Yeah. I have no idea what's going on, either. I'm not getting a direction, I'm not getting an idea what's wrong, I'm just..."

Long, warm fingers slid across his aching temples. Nothing could quiet his Words when danger lurked, but as her hands found their way down his neck to his shoulders, it gave him something entirely different and far nicer to pay attention to. Ophilia's hands slid beneath his shirt, hot against his skin. Ophilia's lips rested behind his ear and whispered to him.

"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

Though he knew she couldn't see it, Micah smiled. "I appreciate the thought, but not at the moment, love. I mean, I'd love it, but..."

"The Words are distracting you?"

"Yeah."

Ophilia spun his chair around and dropped into his lap, a pout curling her lip. "It's not fair. Just when things are finally coming together for us, your Words start acting up. I'd just got used to the idea of having my own indefatigable man of stone, ready to hop into bed with me at a moment's notice, and now you're broken."

She tried to hold her pout, but Ophilia couldn't keep it up for long. A bark of laughter erupted from her, quickly settling down into a quiet smile. She leaned into Micah, wrapping her arms around him in a gentle embrace. He leaned his head on her shoulder, and when he spoke, his words were a quiet, desperate mutter.

"I'm the oldest Golem I know, love. Maybe... maybe I'm just not as immortal as we'd previously assumed."

She froze. When she moved again, green light leaked from the corners of her eyes. She pulled away, staring at him, looking through him. Her words echoed with power and madness. "If you think you're going to use a headache as a reason to leave me, you've got another think coming."

A smile bent the corners of Micah's lips, and he leaned into her chest, resting his head against her small, perfect breasts. He spoke without moving. "You know I'd never leave you willingly, love. You're everything I never knew I could have."

Ophilia's voice still echoed with the faint warble of power, and green light leaked from under the edges of her tattoos. "I know, love. And you know the same." A single emerald tear leaked from her eye, ran down the rubies piercing her nose, and fell to splash on Micah's chest.

Micah blinked, really looking at her. His headaches had been going on for so long that he hadn't been paying close attention to his wife. Now that he did, he realized she'd changed without him noticing. The changes were subtle and went well with the artificial changes they'd both made to hide their lack of aging. The white streaks she'd bleached in her hair looked slightly tangled, but the strands with her natural color, a vibrant green, had become ragged and tangled as well. The slight crow's feet around Ophilia's eyes, a creation of makeup and the Sidhe magic of Seeming, glinted faintly with the remnants of the power that leaked forth when she tried to read the new custodian. Finally, there were her tattoos and piercings.

When he'd met her, Phil had a number of tattoos across her body. Since then, she'd only gotten more, and now layers of art coated every inch of her body, each tattoo a reproduction of a painted masterpiece or a lifelike image of a sculpted one. They'd been done by artists touched ever so lightly by Ophilia's talent as the Muse of Madness, the Muse that granted genius at the price of sanity. As a result, each of them rivaled the original for sheer beauty. At every corner of each image was a single, simple piercing, studs of silver-plated steel.

Between the tattoos and the studs, Ophilia controlled her powers rather than having them control her. Over the years she'd gotten better at letting them out when she needed to, allowing the pent-up pressure of her magic to make parties just a touch wilder, to make gala events a touch grander at the expense of some propriety, and most frequently to make the annual zombie crawl along South Street just a touch more frightening and fun. When they'd met, Phil wouldn't even think of using her powers for fear of the consequences. Now, it seemed she used them without thinking; they'd become part of her, like her hands and feet.

Micah looked closer at the tattoos and noticed small details that his headaches had denied him before. The greenery had grown thorns, and seemed to writhe slowly as he watched it. The blood in the scenes of death seeped slowly across the canvas of Ophilia's skin. Acting on impulse, Micah brushed aside Ophilia's blouse to see her belly, where the image of Venus rising from the waves had rested since he'd met her. Waves lapped at the shore, and in the distance storm clouds rolled across the sky.

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Worst of all, the silver on her studs had tarnished to an ebony black. A hint of blood red glinted from beneath the darkness, a faint suggestion that the steel beneath had rusted. Micah ran his fingers through her hair, and where the white streaks smoothed under his hands, the natural green strands tore at him. As a Golem, he didn't bleed, but he felt every snag and thorn as if it gouged him deeply.

"You need new studs, love."

"I just put these in this morning."

He pulled her to him, and they sat quietly for a time.

"Have you tried talking to your mother about it?"

Ophilia's body tensed, but he kept his hand moving in small circles on her back. The green glow flared, lighting the room with an unearthly radiance. The creak of old trees echoed through Micah's office. The air stank of moss and rot. Micah ignored it all, making small hushing noises as he stroked her body gently.

She shuddered once, then went still. The viridian light dimmed; the sounds died. When the smell dissipated, Ophilia spoke, her voice almost too quiet to hear.

"I'm afraid to."

Micah pulled her close. She buried her face in his chest, sobbing softly.

"No matter what happens, I'll love you. "

"I know. I know. But I'm afraid that if I talk to her, she's going to... I'm going to... I'm becoming what she wants me to be."

Micah ignored the barbs and stroked her hair. "No matter who you are, no matter what you become, I'll love you. I knew who you were, whose daughter you were, before I married you. Nothing is going to change that."

"What if I'm not myself?" she sobbed.

He pulled her away so he could look in her eyes. She blinked up at him, tears brimming in her eyes, and he put on his best South Philly accent, "Won't happen. No matter what else you are, you're my Philly chick. Herself can't do anything about that. C'mon, Philly is famous for flipping off monarchs and supernatural powerhouses. It's tradition."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, I mean, who else has the stones to boo Santa Claus?"

His fake accent brought a smile to her face, and his words pulled a giggle from her. The tears spilled from her eyes, but she laughed, clinging to him fiercely.

"I know a great headache cure."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, but you're wearing way too many clothes." The laughter and pain in Ophilia's voice couldn’t hide the current of desperate need underneath it all. He clutched at her, and she tore at his shirt, popping the buttons off in her haste. Her nails raked across his chest, and he hissed in pain. She pulled away, staring at the welts across his chest, horror mixing with desire.

"How in hell did I do that?"

Ophilia stared, horrified, at her hands. Her nails glowed green at the edges. After a moment, Micah reached up and took a firm hold on her right wrist. He held her hand up between them, silent until she met his gaze.

"I love you." Deliberately, with aching slowness, he kissed the tip of her little finger. His lips glowed for a moment when he took them away.

"I love everything about you." He kissed the tip of her pointer finger.

"I love what you were when I met you." He turned her wrist and kissed the tip of her thumb. She opened her mouth to speak, and he quieted her with a glance and a single finger across her lips.

"I love everything you've become." He kissed the tip, the nail, and the knuckle of her middle finger.

"I love you now, just as you are." She squirmed a bit as he brought her pointer finger back to his lips. The horror was leaking from her eyes, leaving nothing but the stymied desire.

"I love everything you might become," he pulled her hand back to his lips and kissed the tip of her ring finger. He lowered her hand without releasing it, and she wrapped her hand around his. "I said it eighty years ago, and I mean it as much today as I meant it then. Till death do us part, I will remain with you." He smiled at her and pulled her hand back to his lips, brushing them against the wedding ring he'd slid on her finger decades ago.

The corners of Ophilia's lips quirked up into a wicked grin. "Be careful, mister. I've been having some problems with self-control lately."

"Oh, no. Whatever shall I do? Oh, wait, I think I'll do this." With that, he buried his hands in her hair and pulled her to him. Their lips met, and her teeth nipped at his tongue when it slipped between. Her hands roamed over his back, her nails leaving lines of fire where they trailed across his skin.

Micah pulled away from her, his eyes refusing to focus. "That's about enough of that scratching, you." He felt his way, one arm sweeping under her butt and scooping her up, his other hand snatching her wrists, binding them in a firm, unyielding grip as he stood. Ophilia growled at him, and her face swam into focus. She bit her lip as she struggled in vain to free her hands.

"What's wrong?"

"Can't... reach... your... pants." Ophilia stopped struggling and met his gaze squarely. "I knew I should have burned everything but your kilt."

Micah shook his head in gently mocking reproof. "Whatever am I going to do with you, Philly chick?"

Phil's legs lashed out, wrapping around his waist, and pulling her to him. The short skirt she wore while working rode up until he felt her warm and wet against his stomach. Her emerald eyes rolled back in their sockets, then slid closed as she ground her hips against him. "I can't help it. I've kept this locked up so goddamned long, and it still leaks out. I..." She bit her lip again, quiet noises of pleasure sneaking from her mouth as she writhed against his grip, against his literally chiseled abs.

"Oh, fuck it." Her eyes snapped open, green, and glowing from corner to corner. Heat washed over Micah's legs, followed by a cool breeze brushing where his pants used to be.

"Well, if you insist." He swung her over his desk and ran his free hand up her back. A shudder ran through her, and her legs slipped loose. She slid down until she rested against him. He held her there until her eyes shot open.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Door's unlocked."

Phil didn't hesitate. The glow from her eyes flared, and Micah the doorframe creaked. "Yeah. Not a problem." A plaintive undertone colored her next words. "Now?"

"Now?"

Pleading disappeared, replaced with a demand. "Now!"

"Now." With that, he slid into her, hard and fast. She pulled at him with her legs; insistent, wordless cries escaping her with every stroke. Her legs twitched, and she started to slide away from him. Micah spun her around and pinned her against the wall. A small cry escaped her, and Micah froze, concern overriding his desire.

"Don't... Stop..." Ophilia forced the words out through clenched teeth. Micah started again, this time long, slow strokes that pulled groans of need from Ophilia's lips. She clung to him, her hair covering his face, her breath warm against his ear.

"Don't let go." Her hands writhed in his grip, slipping closer to free with each stroke. "Tighter." Micah's hand clamped around her fist like a vise, and a wordless cry of pain slipped from her lips. Before he could let her go, viridian light filled the room and Ophilia whimpered in his ear. "Tighter." He bore down until the bones in her wrists creaked, and a moaned word escaped her lips.

"Faster." He sped up, pushing her into the wall again and again. "Faster..." He hammered her against the wall. Some vastly unimportant part of his mind noted the sound of drywall cracking. "Faster!" He slammed into her, all thought of restraint forgotten. "I'm going to... I'm going.." She shrieked her need and completion in his ear, and his voice joined hers as her orgasm drove him to his own.