while collecting the stars, I connected the dots.
I don’t know who I am, but now I know who I’m not.
I don’t know who I am, but now I know who I’m not.
It is impossible not to notice how beautiful he is, not to notice how the starlight gleams against the wet gold, how his face is strong and sharp and nearly regal with that crown of bent horns atop it. It is impossible, too, not to feel that flutter in her belly, the betrayal of uninvited butterflies batting holes in her stomach when his eyes dissect the mingled calm and uncertainty waiting like a mask in the hollows of her near-copper face. “It isn’t.” Is all she says, disagreeing despite that charming smile that appears against that smooth, gleaming face. It only deepens the unease that has started beating in her chest alongside her heart. And then, as if it mattered, as if it changed anything, “I’ve never even seen you here before.”
She regrets stepping closer as soon as that sound appears from the back of his throat – and again when those lips brush against the edge of a delicate, curving ear. Her eyes return immediately to his face, to his much darker eyes, and that ear disappears uncertainly into the tangles of rust mane just behind it. “Why would I be looking for you?” She asks quickly, frowning at the way her voice sounds a little breathless even to her ears. He has her rattled and she doesn’t understand why, doesn’t understand why despite the prickling of her skin and the wariness in her chest, something coaxes her closer still. Her voice is soft now, less breathless, and the faint smile that appears is enough to make those green eyes flash like emeralds. “Are you someone special?”
His eyes find hers and it takes all of her willpower not to look away, to keep them from flitting out of reach, jumping through the night like flickering green sparks. But something happens then, and she can see the change in his face, like the hardening of molten gold and this time she does look away. The night is a relief, cool and clean and it settles her despite the way her heart is thrumming wildly in her chest. But it is not enough to soothe her when he appears suddenly and silently beside her, weaving his body tight against her as he circles around to press his nose to the copper of her waiting skin.
There is a small gasp trapped in her chest, a sharp exhalation of breath that she holds onto until his lips are against her flesh. It escapes her then, like the whoosh of a loosed arrow, and she forces it in his direction. Her heart is a hammer tapping holes into her chest, her pulse the drum-beat to a song she has never heard before. It is reflexive when she pushes against him, using barely sheathed teeth that are meant to force him away – though his body is immovable and firm and yields only as he chooses.
She is appeased when he steps away, but the relief lasts only a moment before he is back by her side and moving at an unnatural speed she cannot fathom. At this her wings unfurl, arrogant and furious, hanging curved and wide to force him back and away again. Even in the dark their fury is not well-hidden, a gleaming mess of ruby and cooper and long, hooked talons. But she is not her wings, and even as they stretch in the night, cupping starlight and drenching it down her spine, her face is soft and uncertain and only a little sharp. “Why?” She asks, barely able to push the urgency from the note of that starshine voice. “Why ‘Bruise’? Of anyone in the world, Exist knows most intimately the importance, the relevance, of a name.
Exist