She had once compared him to a king, had knelt to him. She wasn’t sure where she fit then, whether beside him or in front of him. Tom falls to his knees, a king without a throne. Under the heat of his breath, the devotion and wonder in his eyes, she knows her place. She is not a supplicant, but a goddess without a shrine. Perhaps Tom will build an altar to her and she will let him pray with his lips and worship her with his hands.