PERHAPS HE SHOULD FRIGHTEN HER . what is it that they said , in the old books ? look like the innocent flower , but be the serpent under it . that is tom ; beautiful , poisonous , but caelestis will not have him any other way . for he touches her gently , in a way that makes her feel as if she is precious . when he bows her head she feels invincible . such a soul bending to her ’ s ; gold & grey swirling together in a divine , messy way .
❛ you could never frighten me , ❜ she says , & it comes out hotly . he could do everything that he is destined to —- DESTROY , RESHAPE , DIE ; but she will never be afraid . she has known him too long ; felt him in moments of panic , sadness , even the limited taint of fear lining his emotions in rare , brief moments . she knows him inside out . ❛ i do not want to tell you , not all of it . i think — i worry that if i tell you , it will come true . ❜ she is apologetic , in a sort of way ; she hates disappointing .
❛ it ’ s hard to explain , really . souls , i mean. yours used to be black —- it used to fight me , when i looked . hurt , sharp . but now it ’ s alright . all grey , like a dove , & it doesn ’ t mind when i look . ❜ she strokes his sharp cheekbones with a thumb .
It should anger him ; perhaps once, it would have. Once, he’d been only an orphan, raised loveless, reaching for a higher purpose, taking a knife to his soul and burying the pieces so far away, no one would find them. But when she said he did not frighten her, he only felt a sharp twang of relief, of acceptance. He was not feared. Perhaps, he thought, that meant he was LOVED.
“ You worry me, ” he retorted, head tilting slightly, a bird’s odd stare. “ How am I to look for what might come true, if I don’t know the signs? ” Fear was a foreign emotions, and yet he could taste it, there at the back of his tongue, sour and penetrating. What she kept from him - how bad was it, truly?
It had been easier, he thought, when his soul had still been black as night. When it was made of edges, and pieces that hurt to touch. He’d been safe, then, from all of it. This grey, this dove she spoke of - it was vulnerable, open to sensations he had once thought didn’t belong. Yet she guided him, cradled dove-like soul. Kept all he felt safe within her slight palms. “ Is that what is supposed to happen? ” he asked, brows dipping. “ Am I supposed to have a soul like that? ”
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