10-07-2015, 03:59 PM
Before he sees her, he smells the blood.
For all his fragility he is not accustomed to blood (he would shatter before he bled overmuch, to be truthful). The scent is tangy and strange and makes his stomach churn. He does not realize the stench comes from her, at first, he thinks there must be some animal dying in the bushes.
But she emerged, a woman changed, a woman crowned in horns, and he realizes the blood is hers.
He doesn’t know the lives that have passed for her since – that there was a world where they were a family, a world where he was ripped asunder by the wolves while she watched, helpless. He does not know she knows the glaze that comes over his eyes in death, the way the nonexistent son’s bones break like twigs.
He knows none of this, only that she smells like blood and her eyes are full of ghosts.
She remains shadowed and he wants her to step closer, stay closer. His leg twitches, for a moment, as if he will go to her – but ultimately he is still. She is full of ghosts and there is something changed to her, the way she was after her first quest, something he cannot place and isn’t sure he wants to place.
She says his name, a question, and he nods, as if he needs to confirm his own identity – the only other glass thing he’s seen is his twin.
“Tyrna,” he says, soft, like he might scare her, “what happened?”
contagion
be careful making wishes in the dark