These are sounds made of the ectoplasmic iterations of a room from long ago, Of tired boots clearing snow off the edge of the mountain, and leaving behind the woes of a weary life.
"Don't want to. I've been sitting for the last eight hours. I want a rest."
"That's an awfully odd notion. Staying on your feet to take a break." She took a drag.
"When will you quit?"
"I'm in no rush, my love. Anyway, I smoke maybe thrice a day. I'm not dying any time soon." She flicked the ash out the window.
"I don't care if you die or not. That horrid smell doesn't sit well with me. Not in this house." Harsh words, but sensitivity was rotting in hell. He scraped the icicles off his beard.
"I do beg your pardon, Lord of the Manor, but I-"
"Do NOT patronize me, Laura."
She felt the stale air in the room seethe with his raw unbridled temper. How hard was something as simple as an escape? Having the world at your fingertips inadvertently meant your fingertips are the world, so how could you get away? For the life of her, she could not understand why coming here would make a difference but love was complicity, and she was the ball to his chain.
"Fine. Not while we are here. Now, come, so I may kiss you. And I, for one, do not want to stand."
He looked through her with a muted heat, and she shivered in the cold morning light of the mountains.
"Let me light a fire."
They twisted and turned, one way first, then the other. His hot breath soaked her body in sacred sweat, her quiet urging drawing a cloak around his strong shoulders. For just one moment, a single moment that was brilliant, horrifying, ecstatic, resilient, ethereal, their eyes met. The warmth melted her glaciers, and the waves extinguished his flames. Up against the wall, he pushed one last time before they collapsed in a heap. Still tangled in their own limbs, they panted till the embers hid themselves away.
"I want you to kiss me."