Gravebriar

by Casey L. Bond

I’d once believed that scars and wounds belonged to the one who earned them, but now realized they could be passed down from generation to generation.

“Good,” he rasped. “Look at me like that. Often.”

He turned to me, divided the air between us, and brought his mouth close to mine. I almost let him capture it, but at the last moment, put a finger up to those pretty lips.

The dainty, gold-laced clouds from dawn had long since dimmed, but he thickened them, making them churn like waves in an angry sea, pluming like thick smoke. They darkened. Built. Turned my favorite shade of green. Wind gusted through the forest, ripping leaves from the canopy and flattening saplings so they bent flush with the ground.

The dragon in my bones spit fire, claiming that she was his better. She wanted to make sure he knew it. She wanted to singe him for his treachery.

And when we parted, I realized how grateful I was he’d come into my life. That I cared for him. And that my heart had spoken and meant her words when I told him I had no intention of releasing my hold on him.

If you want to go to our bakerie, we’ll go. If you want to see great cities, we’ll see them. Together.”