She chose Dean for his drawings.

He showed her sketchbooks filled with charcoals, pencils, quill and inks. Watercolors he painted for her, acrylics, beautiful landscapes and still lifes and portraits of the two of them, laughing, kissing, caressing clothes from each other's bodies.

She guided him back to quills.

She guided him to lines of poetry flowing across her skin. He peppered her with other people's inspiration, other people's words. He dipped his fingers in inkwells, in her body, and as she writhed under his writing, her thighs stained black, she could almost believe that Tom had come to her again.