(This picture I took myself at the Palazzo Doria Pamphilj in Rome. It had some of the opulence I imagine Lord Ruthvyn's estate possessing.)
‘Father’ pulled Shelley a little closer, although not quite into his opening arms. For some reason, he was holding back, as if he couldn’t enfold Shelley within them, even though he wanted to. His entire body quivered with the strain of holding back, but there was an unspoken invitation in every curve of his finely tailored arms.
“You don’t have to be alone,” Father murmured, as he opened his arms. “You can be with me. Become one with me and our Goddess. Surrender.”