You're a gifted writer. Vert subtle, which is something I should learn.
Daybreak arrived all too quickly, as Philip tried to ignore the creeping light entering through the window of his chambers. Not to be put off by the lazy slumberer, it gathered illuminating strength and burst into his room with unrelenting intensity, with heat as its companion.
Flinging bedclothes aside, as though detested and no longer welcomed as the intimate comfort they had been from the cold night, Philip lay for a moment with thoughts and visions of the evening before, playing over in his mind.
The wonderment that he experienced the night before came back to settle over him, before being mingled with another emotion, so painful, and so deep, that it drew a ragged sob from his innermost parts.
Grabbing the discarded robe that was given to him last evening, he drew it on, again being reminded of past and present things, pitiful and wonderful, simultaneously. Oh, how he wished he could shake the conflicting energy that coursed through him!
A servant knocked and then entered Philip's room hesitantly, but with an obvious air of curiosity. Keeping his head slightly bowed, his guarded gaze averted when he realized he was being observed, as well. He poured water into a basin, the scent of flowers wafting towards Philip, and placed two white, linen cloths next to the bowl. With a bow, he retreated with a hasty last look at last night's famous arrival.
Philip walked towards the bowl, appreciating the lovely, jeweled vessel with his eyes but giving its contents the majority of his attention. As he placed his hands into the cool, fragrant water, with intentions of bathing, his eyes fell on his right hand, where a ring adorned his finger.
Another confusing, emotional tide plunged over him, as the water in the bowl might have done, leaving him breathless and weak. His heart and mind played a game of war of some sort, brandishing the steel force of pain, before relinquishing under the prevailing reign of grace and dignity. He felt the shame of his heart, as he felt last night, give way to humility and thankfulness.
Oh, he would never forget his father's face! If he lived to be a thousand years old, each day he would remember the love and forgiveness written in the lines of pain that he had inflicted upon him. His neck was still warm, where he had been embraced, and his face still felt the kisses, and tears, of his parents.
His brother had been angry, he knew, but it seemed that after he spent time outside, things changed between them. Their father had announced to even their extended family of his homecoming, and everyone came to a banquet given in his honor. By the time the preparations were finished, and the fine meal was presented, his brother had appeared towards the end. He even gave the last toast of the evening, as a goodwill offering. Oh, how that meant so much to him; his brother was his best friend!
Philip felt that his life was just beginning, as if he was being given a second chance to make things right, and to learn the things he refused to be taught before. He wanted to give his father the gift of a son that he had never been to him.
If ever he felt the conflicting emotions of unworthiness and pardon, he did now. But he would take those feelings and turn them into resolve, to give his father the very things he bestowed upon him....love and honor.
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