Your Blood, My Bones

by Kelly Andrew

that he’d studied her for so long, for so many years, that he knew her like a sailor knew the sea.

The air was electric, the night alive. The sky was all storm, and so was Wyatt.

He didn’t want to tell her that most curses looked like gifts, at the start.

“Do you mourn?” she’d asked. All he knew how to do was mourn.

Pedyr sat as still as he could stomach. Altar steady. Icon quiet. A boy who’d learned how to bleed without flinching.

Mortal life is so fleeting, but love is as enduring as death.

And when our legacy is done, let it be forgotten.

He tasted like a tragedy. An end, before they’d even begun.

Here was Wyatt and here was James, both of them full of color. Vibrant as a photograph. The three of them, always.