She had watched history unfold before her, while she existed in a state of being and non-being alike. It was not until the afterlife realm sprung into being that she took form, the child she’d never been (the thing left on the sands had been half-formed, stillborn). Gold, like her mother, though transparent – another spirit to walk the quiet sands.
But something shifted. Something about her was, in a way that was not there for the other ghosts and haunts.
A child of the ether, then – not dead, not alive.
Not alive until the ghost-king took her, passed her from spirit to flesh, sparked the reverse birth that led to a girl rotted dead, and now, a girl growing gold.
She cannot pinpoint the things flavoring his voice (it’s the newness of words, the wonder that creeps in them, writes itself upon the syllables, but she can’t put it into words, only recognize it like a song she once knew). He tells her his name, breaks into a smile, once she returns, enjoying the solidity of her lips and that the flesh remains whole.
“Nice to meet you too, Noctem.”
The eyes drop to her leg, to the glimpse of white there. She shifts a little, and tendon click against it. He asks after her injury. Truth be told, she doesn’t feel any pain from it – has never felt. Is unsure she has the capacity to.
“It doesn’t, though,” she says, a little unsure, “it’s getting better. A lot of me was like that for a while.”
.
graveling
the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out