It doesn’t matter that they come from separate worlds.
He can make them the same. He can find them equal footing, even if he has to carve that ground through the rocky canvas of time and space himself. He will not mean to, of course, it only comes naturally. He warps the structure of circumstance until it suits him, because that is what he’s grown up believing. He believes in lies. He believes in deception. He believes in magic. He believes in the world his mothers bore him into.
He believes in cancers. He believes in fate.
He believes in twisting truths until they suit him.
So she finds him on the spindly legs of a child, and she tells him her name. He can make them the same. He touches his nose to her cheek, and he exhales, and suddenly they exist in a world made up of only stars. The starlight is everywhere. The starlight is everything. The world is bright and beautiful, and it’s silent and lonely, and he blinks softly and says, “I am Elektrum.”
And when he opens his eyes he sees her there among the starshine, but as she would be years from now, with the ogee curve to her hips of someone so much more worldly, with a fire in her eyes that could only exist in the eyes of someone who had known the feel of a lover’s lips along the ridge of her spine.
“Topsail,” he says, with a curl along the edge of his lips.
“What brings you to the edge of the universe?”
elektrum
i am and always will be the optimist