He never realized the worth of solidity until it befell him.
Perhaps because it was a fool’s dream, to imagine it (though this never stopped him, but it was always in the dark and cobwebbed recesses of his mind, the places he always pretends were nonexistent) – because what they were was a fact. An endpoint. To imagine otherwise would only cause more pain – the same way he could not unmake the blood ties that both bound and damned them, he could not undo their very nature, the fact that they were born as fragile things, glass-boned and paper-skinned. They have always been born – damned – to have their veins and arteries read by anyone, bones in stark relief under their skin.
Break me, their bodies have always said, break me.
(And when the offer was taken up on, when the wolf feasted, when she screamed pointlessly to the sky, when he died and then didn’t – well, it was only inevitable.)
But the world changed, shaking in a violent throe as the magic was funneled back into whence it came – and with it went his glass, his horrid birthright, and he had never been so happy to see a thing go. For what replaced the translucent skin was a pelt, a red roan like strawberries and cream. What replaced those papery, useless wings were things strong and richly feathered, things that could bear a man aloft, if he so wished it.
(He hasn’t flown yet – fear still wraps its fingers against his throat when he beats his wings too hard; he recalls the snap of bones, the shock of pain.)
He holds the hope – of course he does, the fool – that whatever magic (or lack thereof) that’s changed him will change her, too. That their bodies can collide without fear of breaking.
But he’s scared. God, he’s so scared.
He’s always scared, when she’s not in his sights, because he knows how fragile she – they – are.
(Were?)
He calls her name, though, doesn’t care who hears it. Because he has to know. If whatever spell has worked on her, too.
He calls her name, shouts it, screams it like a madman: Adaline.
Such a beautiful name.
contagion be careful making wishes in the dark
 I'm wasted, losing time; I'm a foolish, fragile spine
I want all that is not mine; I want him but we're not right
How does one describe the joy at catapulting through the heavens and crash-landing onto alien soil—only to find that when the dust had settled, poison had been sucked from your veins? The initial blast had been terrifying, the moment when her eyelashes had fluttered open and she had been whole and alive (the glass in her body not fractured but cracked, their fragility vulnerable). The descent down the craggy slopes had been even more so, each step sending shockwaves up her delicate legs, reminders of her mortality.
She was not sure how she managed to make her way down.
She was not sure how except that she as grateful for the small blessing.
But then—oh!—everything had changed. The further she walked, the stronger she felt. Her steps became more sure, her body warping as her gifts (her curse, her defects) bled from her. Her body took on a new form, her skin growing tough, the hair growing lush and full. Her bones became sturdy and thick—the sensation a queer one. Her coat deepened to a rich red, her wings morphing from broken and tattered to full, lush with feathers. The noise she had made in her throat had been triumphant, unbelieving, joyous.
Unlike her brother, Adaline had not wasted time in testing the limits of her new body. She had rocked back onto her heels and then rocketed forward, testing the speed. She had tripped, fallen to her knees, and then laughed until she had wept when the only consequence had been barely scraped flesh. She had risen and run again, ignoring the sting and the pain; she had stretched out the expanse of her wings and clumsily taken to the skies, breathing in the crisp air until her lungs ached and her eyes watered.
It was only when she saw him, heard her name, that she descended, folding the appendages by her side and racing toward him. They collided, solid flesh against solid flesh, and she choked on her own laughter, her eyes feasting on the beauty of him, the strength of him as her mouth traced the new lines, the new curves for her to learn.
“Contagion,” she whispered, quietly. “What a blessing we have been given.”
For a second, she wondered, briefly, if he would still find her appealing, would still love her with the glass stripped from her, but she pushed aside the insecurity.
He would love her. He would always love her.
in the darkness, I will meet my creators
and they will all agree that I'm a suffocator
Pain is a strange thing now – not a death warrant, no snapped bones; merely something idly consequential. Scraped skin where it once might have torn completely, bruises where he might once have broken. Strength is a strange and glorious thing, and he has reveled in it, in feeling solidity grow in his limbs, his body.
He is no longer a glass house begging for stones. Now, he is a stone himself, slick and hard. A possible weapons. Now, he is glorious.
And Adaline, well--
She is beyond glorious in her solidity – beautiful, yes, but she has always been beautiful. No, what it is now is the life of her, the vibrancy, the rich sheen of her coat and the fullness of her body. He no longer looks at her with a swelling sense of dread, the knowledge of her fraigility at the forefront of his mind – no, now those thoughts fall away, and he merely looks at her.
And god, she’s lovely. A prayer, answered.
“I can’t believe it,” he says, and the words are thick with unshed tears – ones of happiness, stinging at his eyes, “you’re whole. We’re whole.”
He grins, bright, solid.
“I’ll race you.”
He takes off running.
contagion be careful making wishes in the dark
this is too happy we must think of ways to hurt them
I'm wasted, losing time; I'm a foolish, fragile spine
I want all that is not mine; I want him but we're not right
He is beautiful and strong and everything to her.
The entire world shrinks down until it is him—only him, always him. It is the smell of him in her bones, the curves of his muscles, the brightness of his eyes. It is the sound of joy reverberating in his voice and the heat of their flesh together. She presses her mouth to him and sighs with the pleasure of it. She laughs and the sound is thick in her throat, wrapping around the joyful tears that fall down her cheeks.
This was life and they were finally being given a chance to live it.
This was the world and they were finally invited to experience it.
When he peels away and takes off running, she wastes no time, in rocking back and then shooting forward. Her strides are not as long as his, but they still up the soil in a pace she had never experienced before. She bucks playfully, twisting her body with newfound strength, kicking out at the heavens with unbridled joy. She unfurls her wings and lifts to the sky, awkward but growing accustomed to the way that the earth spreads beneath her like a gift from the heavens. She is infinite here. She is eternal.
When he finally slows, she dips back to the earth, out of breath but exhilarated, her eyes fever-bright. “I didn’t know,” she gasps, curling into him, the space so fitted for her. “I didn’t know that it could be like this, that all of this was possible.” Her lips find him again and she shivers with pleasure. “I didn’t know I could be this,” she pauses, searching for the word, “happy.” Tears form in her eyes. “I am so happy.”
in the darkness, I will meet my creators
and they will all agree that I'm a suffocator
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