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“You’re lucky,” he said, “that I have a soft spot for caged birds.”
“Beautiful. Mysterious. Dangerous. And an obvious, clear-as-the-fucking-moon mistake.”
I hated them all so much, and I loved that I felt that way.
“Hm,” he said. “To think I let such a dangerous creature sleep beside me every night.”
I knew that a wounded soul craved another to mirror theirs. That was all this was. But my soul was hurting, too. And perhaps I, too, craved someone who understood that.
Now it seemed impossible to think that I had ever felt nothing from him. He had one of the most complex souls I’d ever felt—so many contradictions, all kept under such delicate control.
Now, as an adult, I knew that the reason why people were distant was not because they didn’t feel our loss, but because they felt it too much. They had no room for more.
He was taunting me. Like his jeering tone could chase me away. He was wrong.
Another wordless sound, a choked groan. “You shouldn’t be here.” This time he spoke against my mouth—not quite a kiss, but the promise of one. I whispered, “Why?” “Because you make me ravenous.”
I had never felt so close to another soul before. It terrified me. It intoxicated me.
“It’s a shame that all problems can’t be solved by cutting off a head.”
“Maybe you’ve inspired me,” he said. “You taught me the value of severing the snake.”
“Death is what happens when you stand still,” I said. “Don’t stand still. Not for anything.”
He looked at the gods like they were a challenge.
“So very terrified of that beating thing within your chest. That is the wrong enemy, child.”
“Because even though there’s no longer a curse, I can’t seem to sleep without you.”
Strange, how being so exposed can make a soul feel so very safe.
