that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
She is the realest thing that he has ever known—even though she is as thin as gossamer. He wants to reach for her, to hold her, and he is afraid for what will happen when he does. Will she disintegrate beneath his touch completely? Will she fade into the dark? He struggles to imagine that, struggles to think of her simply dissolving into the darkness, but the closeness of the reality makes his heart thrum.
“You would find me,” he promises, even though he has no idea how this magic works. No idea who or what she is. “Or maybe I would find you.” There’s a hint of mischief in his smile then, a hint of the boy that he could have been if it weren’t for this curse turning his blood cold. He imagines that she is his to find. Imagines that she is nothing but the figment of his mind. A salve for the mental wounds he suffers.
He is not sure that he could have dreamed her up though. Her gentleness, her gift. The sun warms him and he feels his rigid muscles relax in this world, the venom in them releasing until he is nearly whole again.
“I think you would have been much better,” he says with that same crooked smile—the most genuine one he has given in weeks. It does not stop the way that his heart trips in his chest though. The sudden cold rush at what she had said. “Do you not live?” his voice drops, grows a touch huskier with the worry that he can’t completely block from it. “You feel so very alive to me.” More alive than he feels most days.
Certainly more alive than he feels most nights.
“I think you should be yourself,” he leans forward to touch her cheek lightly.
She doesn’t disintegrate, and he is not sure whether he is surprised or not.
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
