We agree not to mention it to Marcellus 

In the midst of bliss, on the edge of the dance floor, I think my solar plexus chakra opened up and yellow light shone out of me and filled the whole room. It was just me with this energy burst radiating from me in joy. In ignorance, I directed it at the only person I knew in the room; all at Mark. I mean, he received all the fecking fairy dust full force with no guarding and I reckon he must have felt it because it can be like that. Next thing, he breaks out in hives. And then hives on hives, and then hives on hives on hives and we have to leave (with a dance on the way out) because his skin is glowing like an patch of strawberries. At the emergency room, through stifled giggle he admits that he can feel his throat is closing up and he feels anxious that he won’t be able to breathe. This is, for some reason, incredibly funny to us. Later they take me through to him covered in patches and wires and naked expect for his underpants. He’s burning up and they are taking it very seriously. Emergency adrenaline. He looks very small and vulnerable on the bed. I just climbed up next to him and fell into twilight in the crook of his arm. It wasn’t weird or sexy or romantic. It was as natural as if I had curled up in the space one thousand times before. Did I hive him with some buzzing energy overload or is that hocus pocus mumbo? The doctors had no explanation for the strange body reaction. Neither do I. 

  

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