Walking to the window, she’d stared at the grand old city of Godsgrave. But she’d set out rosejoy candles and a bouquet of water lilies on clean white sheets, corners turned down as if to invite him in, and the boy had smiled at the sugar-floss sweetness of it all. The room had been small, sparse, all she could afford. The girl watched her mark slink toward his bed. “… are you sure…?” the cat who was shadows asked. Cool waters seeped out through the city’s veins and into the ocean.
Its tail curled around her ankle, almost possessively. It was paper-flat and semitranslucent, black as death. She owed him that, at least.Ī shadow wearing the shape of a cat sat on the roof beside her. But before she left, she’d wanted him to know. A part of her still didn’t want to say goodbye. The sight of his carrion smile and rope-raw hands set her shivering, heart racing, insides aching with want. Lifting her harlequin’s mask to drag on her cigarillo, clove-scented smoke trailing through the air. The girl watched him limp away across the Bridge of Brothers. Didn’t spy the figure crouched atop a stone gargoyle on a roof opposite, clothed in plaster white and mortar gray. The streets were growing crowded, and he forced his way through the crush, intent only on home and a dreamless sleep. His eyes roamed the cobbles ahead, bleary with drink. He swayed in the taverna’s heart a moment longer, then tossed a coin on the ironwood bar and stumbled into the sunslight. His lips were on the tankard, draining the dregs as the music and laughter swelled about him. Glittering like stars in the still of truedark. A sheen of spittle at his mouth, whiskey’s kiss scrawled across cheeks and nose, and his eyes, O, Daughters, his eyes. Sclerosis skin, a shallow chin lost in folds of stubbled fat. But before she left, she’d wanted to know. A part of her didn’t want to say goodbye. A canal murmured beneath them, its sluggish flow bleeding out into the ocean. She’d opened her eyes, found him staring back in the smoky light. They’d drifted apart like dancers before the music stopped, vibration still thrumming along their strings. The feather-light brush of his tongue against hers set her shivering, heart racing, insides aching with want. His hands had roamed her back, current tingling on her skin. They’d stood entwined on the Bridge of Whispers, a purple blush pressing against the curves of the sky. His lips brushed hers, warm and curling soft. Pulling you in to laugh even as he drowned you. Strong hands and hard muscle and his eyes, O, Daughters, his eyes. Caramel-smooth skin, honeydew-sweet smile.
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