The bathroom is lit only by the scented candles but there are dozens of them arrayed in geometric patterns on every flat surface. The room is warm and soft shadows cling to the walls, just waiting to detach and embrace someone. I’ve been running the water for a couple of minutes now, and the bath is already half-full. It sparkles, crystal clear, unpolluted.
I slip my bathrobe off, the white brushed cotton falling to the floor, and step into the bath. The water is warm but not hot, and I lie back and relax, letting myself slip down. The water covers me, reaching my chin, and so I sit up again and turn the taps off. Then I lie back.
The water caresses me, and moulds itself around me, holding me in a fragile grip. Then it pulls up slightly and takes on human form, pulling away from me until my lover is in front of my eyes again, sparkling and rippling and utterly wonderful.
“Undine,” I whisper throatily.
My love is in every drop of water.