we are slaves to the sirens of the salty sea
Evia knows nothing of embarrassment. She has never grown enough in the ways of the world to know the framework of it. She has never had any reason to second guess herself or think twice about her desires. She does not know the things that would make something worthy of shame or that she should perhaps try and shield her own interests lest they be used against her. In this, she is purely childish in her innocence.
“I thought of you often,” she says, honestly, because she can’t think of a single reason why she would lie. Her face is washed clean of pretense, the river water still running down the length of it to her silver nose. Without waiting, she takes a step forward again, hardly noticing the weight of her belly as it sways.
There is a sigh of contentment when the shadows reach for her and something else that curls in her belly. She angles her head, pressing her cheek into the darkness. “Have you thought of me?” she asks quietly, realizing that she still does not have a name to call him by. He is still just a shadow, just a swath of darkness against the backdrop of the riverbank. He is hers this way. Her own shadow.
He has no name and she cannot name him, cannot claim him—
but neither can the world.
A pause as she walks closer again, even though she knows she will likely pass right through him as if he does not exist at all. “I like to think that you have,” a breathy confession, the honesty stark in her eyes.
