Wild ​Reverence

by Rebecca Ross

She was not mine by spoken vow but something deeper. Something that felt older, stronger, darker, like a language that had been sung centuries ago but had now been forgotten. Something that simmered in the blood, calling to me, calling to her.

How I had resisted that pull, as if it were something to fear. A

weakness that would doom me should I let myself ...

“If it takes you,” I said, “then let it also take me. Don’t leave me behind like this, Red.”

But she only pressed my hands harder into her, as if she needed me to remind her of what was real. As if she, too, wanted to tear away the scales, the steel links of her chainmail.

“But until then, let us feast and dance and sleep in each other’s arms. I am yours, Red. I will always be yours. Not even Death can change that.”