A Dark and Drowning Tide

by Allison Saft

“Live,” she repeated. “I’m not sure I know how anymore.” “For now, just breathe.” Sylvia slid her palms up to cradle her jaw. “Focus on me. Stay with me.”

She tasted like lavender—like the river, deep and dark. Sylvia arched against her, as though any space between them was unbearable.

“There’s time.” Sylvia cradled her jaw, a fond smile playing at her lips. “I want you however I can have you. I want you brutal, and I want you tender, and I want you at your best and your worst. Saints. I want you, Lorelei, and I—”

I want you, Lorelei.

And when she raised the water to her lips and drank, it was as though she swallowed the moon itself. Light bloomed beneath her skin and radiated softly outward. Even her eyes glowed with the spring’s strange, wondrous power. Mondscheinprinzessin. No, you fool, Lorelei thought. Just Sylvia. And yet, she remained on her knees until Sylvia helped her rise.

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

Sylvia’s eyes sparkled. “When would you like it to be?” “Don’t mock me,” Lorelei whispered. “I am being very serious.” She sounded a bit cross now. This was not off to a good start. Lorelei opened her mouth, but Sylvia barreled onward with what Lorelei was now convinced was a script she’d prepared. “One word from you, and I shall be the happiest woman in the universe.” “What.” “Not that one,” Sylvia said.