Title: Interlacings
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“Turn over.” Vaughn complied with the quiet command. Sitting up on the bed, he watched Sark start at his feet. With a peace Vaughn had never seen grace his face, Sark repeated the Gaelic, interlacing pattern around his ankle. Slowly, methodically, as if time weren’t an ever present issue, Sark continued; pausing only occasionally to draw a more intricate knot. Eventually Vaughn stared at his naked torso in the hotel mirror. He was covered head to toe. Around the bed, kohl pencils lay scattered amongst their shavings. “This is beautiful,” he whispered, tracing the design up his arm. The alarm clock beeped and Sark shrugged, looking away. “It’s
just make-up. It’ll wash off.”
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