Tilda would have been happy to die in that moment, laying on Auguste's bed, her arms tangled around him, her tongue tied with his. It was perfectin. It was, everything she had dreamed it would be. Of course, her best dreams usually ended sadly.<br/><br/>There was lust in her eyes, to be sure. It colored her face and turned her green hues deep, causing her to gaze up at him though thick tangles of dark lashes. In a hundred years she would have never guessed that she would find herself here-lying on Auguste's bed and so very near to giving herself to him. But even though her lust fogged mind, she was also terrified. Terrified because it was widely believed and generally accepted that to do such a thing meant certain death.<br/><br/>She had seen it, two young lovers dragged out into the square, their transgression read aloud so that everyone in Vasille would know their shame, and then burned until they died screaming in the most terrible pain imaginable. How they were found out was never revealed, but there were whispers that the King was in league with the Dark One who whispered to him the sins of the villagers. It seemed fantastical, but it was said often enough that It scared Tilda.<br/><br/>Pressing her eyes closed, she sighed heavily. "Aren't you worried about our souls? I...I couldn't condemn you to the Pit. Not for one night of please. Please, Auguste. I'm...I'm afraid we'll regret this."<br/><br/>It was very hard to be convincing when she wanted nothing more to feel the kind of bliss people spoke of when they whispered about love making. And especially if she could share that first moment of complete surrender with the man she had been in love with since she was a small girl. But he had amnesia, he didn't know the dangerous, and she couldn't blindly allow him to risk himself.