Someone You Can Build a Nest In

by John Wiswell

There were no gods in the shrines she passed, at least not visible ones. Gods never showed themselves to humans even when they dumped miracles on them, which Shesheshen thought was wise. If humans got used to the presence of gods, they’d probably hunt them for profit and glory and other nonsense, just as they did to monsters. Gods were smart to keep a light touch.

This revelry was a kind of fear, for hatred was the fear people let themselves enjoy. Never had she imagined such a thing. Humans were so creative in their disappointments.

Nobody actually helped each other. That’s why people had religions, hoping gods would provide help where people refused.

Romance was awful. She couldn’t even do something as simple as murdering rude people anymore.

She wasn’t kind because of some angelic virtue. It was insecurity. It was an adaptation to cruelty. Shesheshen wrapped her arms around Homily and held her to her chest for a moment, mourning the realization that she’d fallen in love with someone’s pain.

One could only pretend to love in language.

“No young woman of means has gone through her entire life without at least once surveying her opportunities and wishing for a dragon instead.”

“Thank you, for being part of the rest of my life. I don’t know how to be. Not yet. But I’d like to be, with you.”

“What if the panic doesn’t go away? What if no number of happy days together buries it?”

“I became those things. I still am those things. But I became more than those things, too. So will you.”

Time was the sort of thing you had to care about when you belonged to more than yourself.

This still made no sense. This safety. It wasn’t something she was prepared for.