07-29-2016, 10:12 AM
He knows, of course, that they should leave one another be.
Them together can only be a weakness, glass stacked upon glass only means more pieces to pick up. Never mind the more obvious sin of it, that he loves her in ways he should not – mind that he’s died for her once and he would do it again in a heartbeat and anyone could see it, anyone could use it against them.
(And what has she given up? What did she promise, to bring him back?)
But the knowledge is ash in the wind when he beholds her, and reason ceases to matter as she crashes into him, a dangerous move (their bodies are made to mince and touch softly, not to collide). He feels the reverb in his thin bones but he doesn’t mind, because she is here pressed against him, her lips on his skin and his on hers, she is here and she is saying his name.
A moment of joy, carved in stark relief against everything else they have endured.
“What…” be begins but cannot finish, because the desire to kiss her again is there and his lips are muffled in her skin. But while his desire for her is always there, a living, raging beast inside him, his desire to know is there too, insistent.
“What happened, Adaline? After…”
After I died.
contagion
be careful making wishes in the dark