love on the water, love underwater, love, love and so on; spyndle

[Cordis]

She knew something had passed between her lover and her tormenter, some promise. His smell is distinct and it clings to Spyndle each time they exchange words (or other things). It’s horrible when it happens; to have them mixed just so, flashpoints of memory combating each other – pits and rivers, smoke and hazel. You were promised to me; he’d said to their silver girl, the one lost, the one she hopes desperately is dead. It’s almost a parody, him demanding the firstborn (not the first for either woman, but the first for them, the fulfillment of promises years in the making). Almost a parody, except no matter how stereotypically villainous the action may have been, it was still her daughter who walked away at his side. How could you come back to me, asks her darling, after everything I’ve done? She returns to her because she must, because they are magnetic, because they are tides. There is a rhythm to them, one she could not break even if she wanted. She does not blame her. Maybe she should. But she is the one who brought Him into their lives, she is the scent that drew Him in. She is the one who forgot. He would have come regardless, the promise he extracted from Spyndle was just to hurt her, hurt them. He would have come regardless because He knows the children are their hearts made flesh, and nothing would stop the tsunami of Him from ripping those hearts from them, from the glee of their pain. “You’ve done nothing wrong,” she says, touching her lips to the gold crest, the feelings sharp and raw and beautiful. “It was…” She trails off, chasing the word. “It was inevitable.” He will always hurt us, she thinks, because He wants to hurt me. c o r d i s she said it was a mistake to let them burn her at the stake and she learned a lesson back there in the flames