A Dark and Drowning Tide

by Allison Saft

When Lorelei looked at her, she felt sick with an emotion she preferred not to name.

She had lain awake deep into the night, devouring every word until the candle went out, puddled on her windowsill. It painted a picture so exquisite, she’d wept from longing.

It was a splendor she could slide her fingers beneath, like a loose tile or a strip of rain-swollen bark. Some superstitious part of her feared what rot she’d find if she peeled it back.

Anger, at least, was a balm to the rawness of her grief.

Her smile was like daybreak.

The Absolute was much closer than she’d ever believed. It was not in God, not in nature. It was right here before her. Close enough to touch. Close enough to profane.

This sharp stab of longing was a bittersweet and sorely needed reminder.

“How could I have possibly known? If you truly wanted me”—she stumbled over the words—“why have you been such a menace all this time?”

You’re like something out of a nightmare. And you, Lorelei thought despairingly, are resplendent.

“Because life is as bitter as it is sweet,”