“I have no idea where you might hang it,” I said, “but I wanted you to have it.” To see. For on that painting, I’d shown him what I had not revealed to anyone. What the Ouroboros had revealed to me: the creature inside myself, the creature full of hate and regret and love and sacrifice, the creature that could be cruel and brave, sorrowful and joyous. I gave him me—as no one but him would ever see me. No one but him would ever understand. “It’s beautiful,” he said, voice still hoarse. I blinked away the tears that threatened at those words and leaned into the kiss he pressed to my mouth. You
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