It came only after her breath had steadied into the long deep rhythm of sleep. Dark fingers crept along her jaw, ebony limbs slid over her torso. A blank, empty visage nestled itself between my face and hers.
“She doesn’t love you, you know.”
I didn’t say anything in reply. Please, please let me sleep.
“She only feels sorry for you.”
I turned away, carefully, trying not to wake her. The low whisper continued.
“If you died, she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about leaving you.”
Go away. Let me sleep!
I felt its fetid breath on my cheek. I felt it’s tongue slithering against my ear. I tried to ignore it, but the whispers cut through my resistance. They were undeniable. I threw back the blankets and went out to apartment balcony. I sat on the wooden bench swing. The florescent light overhead was calm and did not crackle or waver. The stable glow soothed me, stabled me.
After a few moments, my loathing slithered up beside me.
“She never loved me anyway.”
I am crying
The womb of the universe had always been cold and dark, prickling with distant lights. Erde was born near the flickering candle flame of her Source. In the beginning, she wobbled uncertainly.
She had been born of that candle. She was born of dead brothers and sisters, and familiar strangers. The remaining siblings began to coalesce. One, flung himself upon her, tearing at her flesh and rending himself in his passion. Soon, a child of her own was born, the Moon.
Ages passed, and the Deep Sky showered her with his seed soon Life crept upon her. Brown sludge, then green tendrils crept across her clean pure flesh, corrupted it. Red seas faded to blue. Poisoning itself with it’s growth, it adapted and exploded.
Dismayed, Erde grew an icy shell to hide her shame from her siblings. But her warmth did not permit the ice to last. And Life renewed its ravagement upon her skin.
She tried to burn the insult off.
But in the end… it won.
“I have you.” he said to himself. Surely, to himself. Surely not to the broken thing he cradled. She didn’t hear him, however. She was unresponsive to his crooning. She was the one leaving him to pick up the pieces.
She had told him it would be alright.
She had cradled him once like this, he remembered. When she had picked him up, a bundle of ragged black that was weak and dying in the snow.
There were good fairy tales, he knew. He breathed in deeply of her scent, lesser now. He remembered her hands, smoothing down his feathers. He remembered the scent of her flesh, the scent of her spices and oils. So much was denied him, now.
I can heal you. She said. We will go together, and you will be a Prince, again.
He saw that she had been mad, now. Eccentric and mad and… lovely. She had been lovely. She was lovely.
But she was dead now. He had pulled her from the water into which they leapt… but she was gone and he was alone there. He stared up, up the cliff from which they had plunged, and into the deep pale sky he would never touch again.
And after a moment he looked down and began to eat.