Star-Touched Man | Moon-Addled Boy
This, like so many other things impressed into your being, is a ritual.
The man of crossroads is hard to find- the man with the cheekbones who carved out your heart all those ages ago, who purred and hissed and whose shoes click-clacked in the gutter, shiny and polished. The man of the ageless stars that you saw in his eyes, he hides from you now.
Not because he doesn’t want to be found, but because he wants you to find him.
He wants you to find him and the breeze reverses suddenly, brings goosebumps and chemical scent, and you follow it, one foot in front of another down streets filled with people who part like a sea for you, down alleyways where the light glitters off things that shouldn’t reflect it.
You get lost- you realize it vaguely, that you don’t know where you are, or how long you’ve been walking, or where this path that you’re following leads. You think you’re near to the end of it.
Turn a corner and he’s leering down at you, soft shiny shoes and perfectly pressed suit, oh darling, you’re right on time.
You’d smile, but he hates your smile, so you settle for a soft noise of agreement- he likes that, thinks the birdlike coos are cute. You just don’t want to bother him too much.
What comes next is a ritual too: fingers carded through dirty blond hair (you lean into it), questions of how your borrowed life has been (you’ve joined a clan, you tell him, and he grins), and finally: what have you brought?
You have a shard of meteorite, two finger-bones, and a cup of your own blood.
The last makes him hiss out a laugh, oh Honey, you trust me too much with yourself, and he takes all three, says three months, and-
he kisses you on the mouth, featherlight and sparking with Power and one long-fingered hand pressed to the mess of scar tissue where your heart was before he carved it out all those ages and ages ago and when he pulls back again he grins, turns on his heel and disappears.
You’re left behind, of course, but you have three more months, and when you lick your own lips you can taste the time (thyme?) he’s given you, and you smile.
