A Dark and Drowning Tide

by Allison Saft

Her travelogues enraptured her readers—bamboozled them into calling her a visionary.

if it really came down to it, hatred would choke out logic like a weed.

And then there were the cows. They trundled by in a line that stretched several blocks. Some were crowned in fir boughs and heather, others garlanded in roses and daffodils, others still in bright headdresses embroidered with the images of saints.

Sylvia, always there in the edges of her awareness—and always looking away the moment Lorelei noticed her. Had these tender sentiments always been there, or had they overwritten her resentment with time?

When Lorelei glanced back, Sylvia was grinning at her. Her hair had come loose from the braid and lashed the air behind them. Her excitement was infectious. It was as intoxicating as wine, her stupid smile even more so. Lorelei’s own tugged stubbornly at the corner of her lips.

“Because you despise me! You think me beneath you. I could see it in your eyes, and I…God, I would have done anything to earn your respect, your attention. I just wanted you to look at me.” Sylvia floundered for a moment. “When you do, I…It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating. You’re like something out of a nightmare.”

“One day,” Sylvia said, “you will grow tired of this thing you’ve made yourself into. One day, all there will be to content you is ghosts.”

“There is so much more to living than fear, Lorelei. For once in your life, let someone worry for you the way you worry for others.”