we are slaves to the sirens of the salty sea
He is like having a conversation with a ghost—or, he would be if she had the imagination deep enough to try and conjure the idea of it. Instead, she is left chasing shadows. Trying to wrap her pragmatic brain around the deeply fanciful notion of him. He is so different than everything she has ever encountered in her young life. So deeply different than anything she could have possibly imagined that it’s difficult for her to try and maintain the conversation, to stave off the ache that comes with upholding it.
But the pain is worth it for the wonders that live beyond the veil, and she keeps pushing forward. “You sound ill,” her statement blunt because she doesn’t know how else to be. The longer she stands here, the longer she is away from the salt and the sea, the more blunt she becomes. The pieces of her that are coy and playful—the pieces of her that act as shields peel away, leaving her raw and vulnerable before him.
He closes the distance again and she wonders at how it feels like a relief at the same time that it causes her heart to skip. The closeness of him both tangible and completely other in the same breath.
She stands still as the shadow presses into her and tries to focus on if she can feel the edges of him. If she is able to discern where he starts and ends, where he meets the truth of her scaled shoulder. She thinks that she can imagine it, but she is not certain—not clear that she knows. Just that she feels something there.
“If I stop, will you leave?” she asks, curling her head slightly, tucking it in to brush her silvery lips against the shadowy wisps of him. “Is it selfish of me to want to keep you here but a moment longer?”
