“Come, stay, whatever you’d like.”
ASK MEME. : VIDUAMOR. : OPEN.
in the brightest hours of the day , the cottage is filled with warm , revealing light. the windows , he notes , are squares divided by crossed wood panels into four smaller squares. it is useless – windows in windows , squares in squares. the result is all the same : morning light , the absence of privacy.
when she returns from another end of the refuge , carrying a cup that leaks smoke like fire , which he thinks he remembers from a night his dad took him hiking , he is staring at the way the sun is puddled on the floor in decided rays and trying to figure out when he learned the words sun and window and square.
it is not cold ; he pulls the blanket around him closed anyway. he senses , vaguely , that his nakedness is inappropriate. nonetheless , she is unfazed , placing the mug on the table beside him and remaining upright , tall and straight , powerfully present and seeking no privacy. a window into nothing , an undivided square.
she must sense his discomfort , as she bandages it in a practiced hospitality that he feels he’s never liked but always respected. come , stay , whatever you’d like. what comes next is a sputtering , a collection of syllables that pool like hot sun puddles on his tongue. in the depth of his new consciousness , a name : viy.
caged in illiteracy , he strings aggravation in a cacophony of guttural noise. slowly , as if battling the size of his own tongue , he articulates:
“ s – stay. ” extending a hand from beneath the blanket , he points at her , then at him , then at the floor of the cottage. “ stay with you. ”