The love in Litotes’ life has always been a beautiful, dangerous thing. He has always loved so freely and vividly, painting pictures of his devotion with whispered words and desperate acts. When he was a teenager of three and four, his love was golden and sewn into the finest of silks. I love you was meticulously etched a thousand times over into the tapestry he carefully wove. No Renaissance sculptor was as attentive and as devoted as he. From the ashes of the broken boy his father left him he sculpted a beautiful castle full of life and purpose. Marbled by fire and water, his kingdom was impenetrable.
He thought it was impenetrable.
Until the years wore down the earth and the cliff his castle sat majestically upon crumbled. The marble broke violently against the rocks. The loved ones that took up residence in his beloved home bled into the ocean.
Litotes survived. But at what cost? Why did he continue to just survive?
Lilt feels as if she needs to rebuff Lie not being welcome in Sylva, and the cremello subconsciously warms to that part of her. The ghost of a smile lifts his lips when she presses her mouth against his cheek. It had been so long since someone had touched him like that. He had forgotten what a sweet feeling affection is, and the slow beat of his heart picks up a pace or two. I don’t deserve it, he thinks, and that somber nature returns his face to shadow.
The pair travel down a moonlit path, Lilt’s feathered wing occasionally brushing against him. Lie can feel her pull away and he can’t blame her, so he keeps his distance as they travel. He knows good and well that whatever she feels for him, he did nothing to deserve; and whatever anger he felt toward Starsin deflates beneath the weight of her daughter’s affection. I deserve this, he thinks, even as he desperately tries to keep his focus in the present. I should turn tail and run. He starts to—run, that is—lion’s fangs tearing into the flesh of his mouth as he prepares to make it impossible for him to ever return to Sylva.
But Lilt stops in a tree-speckled clearing, and when Lie sees her anxious eyes, he cannot bring himself to do it. I’m weak, he thinks, sighing as he concedes to spending the night here. I should leave. He doesn’t, though; in fact, he steps quietly over to a large tree and leans exhaustively against its rough bark.
Lie doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t speak for a minute. His gemstone eyes are veiled. He looks worn.
“I was in love with your mother, is the short version of this story,” he eventually begins, choking on the word love. “But she didn’t love me back. At least, I thought she did, but now . . . I don’t think so.” I would rather die than deal with this, he thinks—but once again, he grits his teeth and survives. “We have two children, your half-siblings. Dove and Draco. I’m sure you’ve met them.” Not even the mention of his churlish son and sweet daughter can lift his lips in a smile. “I don’t want you to think this means anything within your family. Your mother loves Ophanim more than she could ever love me. And I don’t feel the same way that I did.” Is that a lie? “I just . . . uh. I don’t feel like I can give you all of this right now, if that makes sense. There’s other pieces of our story but I’m tired and . . . I think you’re something special. You deserve more gentility. Someone easier.”
He says this because he knows what this is. He knows what fate and magic always do to him. He knows he is destined to love her just as much and more than the others. And he isn’t sure he can take it.
as it softly glides across your back
and i hope you leave right before the sun comes up
so i can watch it alone
