Archive of Our Own

Beneath an overgrown root beheld a man so shaken, even his own shadow stirred fear in him. His pursuers retreated with the setting sun; Its resilient sputters of orange receded into darkness. And that, was when he heard the darkness speak.

The voice crept towards him. It trickled up the rolling hills like a mist and greeted him. It was cold in its pursuits down his spine. The moonlight peeked through patchy grayed trees and guided him through the shadowy pull of the woods. His bare feet stung from the ragged earth beneath him. His heart thrummed with warmth. The path between the trees narrowed his vision. He ascended the hills, feeling weightless.

It said his name.

“Manohar.”

He was flying.

He climbed the hill on his hands and knees when he lost his balance. It drew him forward like a man days without water. His qualms were forgotten. That voice sounded like a trickle of wind chimes over a salted lake. Underneath his closed lids, he was just a boy.

Father? His voice swelled with youth.

Manohar took another step forward.

His father did not turn.

The snap of a branch beneath his feet yanked him from his reverie and he opened his eyes to a wide amethyst sky smudged in grayed clouds. His breath stalled in his throat.

The stretch of brown rooftop tips was orange, as if on fire. Beyond the familiar roll of arches and columns and window panes were shades of green etched into the landscape; The trees receded into a relentless fog. He squinted, unable to make out a path any farther or see where sky and ground met. Behind him, the world seemed monotone, and only forward did it twist in color.

Within his first couple of steps, the uneven cliffside gave from beneath him and sent him plummeting. His echoing screams mocked him, caught in the turbulent wind overhead. Earth did not meet him on his way down, but water and plenty of it. At first, he thought someone grasped him on his way down. He wrestled against a grip that only tightened the more he struggled. His throat burned and the water crushed his lungs. Only when his robes stretched towards a patch of light above him and cut through his green watery grave, did he realize that the fall caught him in a bed of vines.

He hastened. He turned his wrist over and over until his forearm ached and once he freed his left arm, then his right. Now they both stung and with grit teeth, he clawed at the remaining vines.

Once freed, he kicked his feet and surfaced with a loud and painful gasp.

The shore broke his fall, and he crumbled.

His body was resistant to the forces of nature; heavy and damp, he struggled to keep his eyes open. The green swirling around him broached faint nausea. His throat, raw and dry with gritty earth, coughed up something black and unrecognizable. The horrid thing scurried across the bank and, before Manohar was able to react in horror, he again hears that sound.

Faint. Beautiful.

Through a twist of ferns, passed a collection of docks and discounted boats, he made out something creeping in the night. Drawn by morbid curiosity, he crept closer, stepping over the rushing creek. He took cover on the slope side. He held his breath and peered through the fold of branches. There, at the edge of the pool, where green and red met, was something he’d never quite seen. It was long and spindly and hard to make out. Black leather wings fluttered along its back. Between elongated claws, the creature held a mostly limp and recognizably human body except for its hollowed eye sockets and bloody eyes hanging loosely from a moist mouth.
The creature drives the head straight against the chasm of rocks. From its cracked skull, she removed its brain and peeled away the flesh. Manohar recoiled, covering his mouth with his hand. A shattering sound brought his eyes back to where she was, perched on the edge of the stream. She struck the skull again, so it shattered into several pieces, like a vase. Her jaw slacked to accommodate the slivers she slipped into her mouth.
Yellow eyes rimmed in red flashed to him in the darkness.

Manohar sprinted. The trees rustled, and the wind shrieked. Rotted corpses and headless skeletons blocked his path, and he concealed himself at the base of a tree, willing his breath silent into his shirtsleeve. As he did this, however, he heard a wet, gurgling sound. Past his lowered hands, he made out a figure some distance away, advancing him like the slow crawl of waves. Similar to what approached him at the creek, but different in every way. The body was crouched and longer than any dog he’d ever seen. Dizziness crept up his spine as the shape drew nearer. A cluster of spider-like legs along either side of its body moved it from left to right like the lazy stroll of a centipede. It was nothing he’d ever seen, with its thin bones visible along its blue spine, its flat head, and pudgy black eyes flickering on either side of its thumb-shaped head.

A skulk of them crowded Manohar; Their legs moved in unison and they drew their tall, hairy legs in and sprung. Manohar scrambled away with aching calves and scorching lungs. They clipped at his heels as he raced forward, but towards what? The patch of land he found himself on was part of a rotted rooftop, decaying with the thick ripple of water. Just ahead, underneath the rusted coil of a gated fence, was a shattered stained glass window. He found purchase on the flooring of the gate and squeezed through the poles. The cursed things snarled, many legs skittering across the iron. He scurried over slanted walkways and flying buttresses and before he could second guess; he lunged.

The chitters receded, but he stayed put beneath the window until the coast was clear. Clutching his wounded arm to his chest, he stepped carefully over the fragments of glass. The inside resembled that of a castle: the Vaulted ceilings broached a particular memory in him, where he kneeled in front of his father, staring up at the thin lines that lead into the bigger ones before promptly scowled for not looking where his eyes belonged: his father's feet.

It smelled molded. He covered his nose with his bloody sleeve and proceeded further. Everything lay at an angle, and as he walked, he realized there was a bit of water sloshing underneath his boots. He wasn’t sure if he was on the top floor or the bottom, but the more he walked, the flux of water only deepened into an even shallower pool.

He follows a hall of framed images, all too worn and damp to decipher, to an open bowing staircase rimmed with twitching vines and hollow angelic light from above where the roof must’ve caved first. The steps moaned as he descended them. When Manohar arrived at the bottom of the stairwell, he checked the corners for anything shifting in the darkness. He did not remember deciding to sink to his feet, or when his knees drew up to barricade his head between them. He just knew the irregular architecture and the gloomy stroke of night tired him. His hand ghosts around his wrist, his neck. The skin already started to welt. He could hardly imagine how he looked.

A deep, animalistic growl rumbled through the foyer. Startled, Manohar sat up scanning the darkness for the source of the sound.

“Why are you here, in my home?” The darkness voice dripped wetly with anger.

His words caught in his throat.

He could not see anything, not at first but above him, where the shadows swallowed most of the ceiling and the roof rotted with neglect, a disk of white spilled through it like that would illuminations of the gods. It revealed hints of hands, hair, limbs, of cloth. Transfixed, Manohar made out feathers emerging from something leathery and tight. He could see the twist of talons. The anatomy is not quite human, not quite anything he’d ever seen. A shadowed pair of wings stretched from the floorboards and fell away from where the roof met the sky. They bent towards that grayed light, revealing their skeletal nature.

“So you’ve come to leer?”

“No!” He averted his gaze..”I’m sorry. I-I’m lost,-”

“You do not belong here.” The words were sharper than knives.

” Maybe we can come to a compromise?” He went on bravely when met with silence.”If I can just stay for a couple of days until I can figure out my way out of here. I won't disturb you. I mean no harm,-”
The creature made a brash sound, and it took him a moment to recognize it as laughter.

“The blood stains you.”

He looked down at his bloody shirt and back up at the darkness.

He despised the cowardice crack in his own voice..” please show mercy,-”

“It’s no matter.” Their voice rippled, chilled, and distant, like the touch of the ocean. “You will die soon enough.”

The voice did not speak again.

Still, Manohar felt observed. He did not relieve himself from the wall, and could not bring himself to do so. He would be dead soon. Along the city of Balmandi, where he was from, there was a city that succumbed to the touch of black death, is what they called it. The trading port gave way under waters that shimmered iridescent obsidian. Fish revealed their bellies inflated with that poison and homes built along the cliff side crumbled to a rising, angry sea. He wondered when the weight would slip from his body when madness would replace reality and he too would sink to the bottom of the vast sea, and wilt like neglected flowers. Or when something lingering in the castle, or just on its outskirts would find him.In comparison, returning to the village didn’t seem so bleak.

“Look at him” His father’s voice was impatient and loud in his thoughts, but Manohar half expected its sudden appearance. “That’s how a son should be.”

Manohar clenched fist left moon-shaped crescents in his palm.

That night, he was visited. Large hands stirred him from sleep, turning him until he was staring into green eyes. Though grounded, he felt as if a pit had opened on the floor. His father studied him, kept his arm pinned to his side, and he tilted his head down, just enough he could see his cranium, except it was cut open and red pooled at its entrance. He woke scarred hands grasping for something solid to hold on to.

From where he lay on the floor, body drenched in sweat, the house loomed over him. Bright and stark above him, the moon soaked his bare calves in moonlight, where he drew up his trousers and highlighted spiders skittering across the soiled floorboards.

He needed to clear his head.

On the shore, Manohar, drinking as much as he could till his stomach believed it was full, startled at movement. He stalled, allowing the excess water to pool between his fingers. Shock crept up his spine and opened its arms to him; His eyes fell upon a very still figure at the edge of the ocean. Their motionless body paled and slimmed by the bone-light moon.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

A red puddle formed beside his father's bare feet and the older man's eyes traced the vein in his father’s paled arm. His eyes were wide and unseeing. He raised his arm until it was parallel to the ground and pointed directly at him.

A thunderous noise crackled through the clearing and Manohar, with his hand on his stomach, Manohar with his breath rattling in his lungs, ran. He cut through the lake. The whooshing and slush around him crashed against his ears. His outstretched hands grasped the bit of brick emerging from the shallow pool and he scrambled to the top.

His name was being shouted behind him.

He gazed up at the gap between where he stood and geometric spokes that could only be part of what used to be a clock tower. He pressed forward, mis-stepping and sliding along the wall, and plunged into the water again. When he couldn't muster the strength to climb the metal spokes, he continued to swim around for better access. A shadow rounded the corner, and Manohar lost his footing. He scrambled back, sending waves crashing toward the figure, but the man was resilient. His heartbeat roared in his ears and he raised a frantic hand in a silent plea.

“You coward.”

His father’s voice sounded distorted and unlike himself. His long, hardened face swallowed in darkness, regarded his body and he felt the hot press of those large, thick fingers wrap around his forearm. He felt the way they burned.

“Weak.” He snarled. Deep beneath the rise of hysteria, dread gathered in the pit of his stomach.

And then, his father stood; And as he rose, he kept growing, shadows reshaping across his stoic face until he surpassed the trees and his crown blocked the moon from the sky. From it oozed wine, yellowing teeth that smiled at him. He could not breathe, for there was no air.

“Father.” He pleaded. “Forgive me.”

Then, just before a response rose from his father, someone knocked him down to his side. Pain exploded in his forehead and a ringing sound pierced his ears. He considered lying there, eyes only coaxed open by the soft touch of rain on his skin. When he attempted to draw himself up, a solid weight pinned the lower half of his body to the ground.

Two long, thin-taloned hands withdrew from their place on his spine and Manohar turned, mouth falling open in surprise. Again, he laid eyes on the creature. Her horns protruded from either side of her head- one broken off. Her long ghoulish body crouched over and from there he could see random areas of her skin eaten away to reveal the festering bone.

Manohar didn't process his confusion before she notices him stir, crouching lower. Her black cloth partially concealed his body. Her red eyes darkened with bloodlust; her jaw slacked enough that saliva dripped from her clenched teeth. Her snake-like slit nostrils flared. The feathers encircling her neck flared around her head and she screeched so loud and piercing, Manohar covered his ears with his palms.

The creature lunged toward his father, knocking him back several paces. Ignited, he struck her. Her landing dug up the earth and sprayed clods of dirt. He resisted the urge to assist her, paling as His father redirected his attention to him then. Perspiration dripped down Manohar's forehead, leaving the taste of salt on his lips.

A blood-curdling scream cut through the clearing and she pounced on his father once more. Her taloned feet latched onto his forearm, drawing blood. He did not lose focus on Manohar but her grip was far too tight. She bore the blunt of his next range of strikes on her skull.
One.
Two.
three.
The creature shifted on her haunched and drove her talons into his father. His face squelched under the contact and Manohar felt a familiar wave of horror, of delirium as bright red emerged across his flat forehead.

His father snatched her back by the scruff of her neck, tearing open his own skin where her talons hooked onto, and sent a devastating blow through her abdomen.

Crack

She gurgled and hissed, but no blood spilled from her lips. His father was nearly unrecognizable as his mouth widened, teeth flashing to accommodate her size. She caught his jaw with her hand and his hair with the other, yanking the two in either direction. Bracing her weight on his chest, she drove forward, her back blocking her actions from view.

Manohar's father's arms went limp at his side and the creature threw her head back. Now her mouth showed wine with blood. His father’s eyes, nose, and tongue were no more. The old man toppled over, spraying the creature in water when his body landed with an affirming thud. Her breath seemed to crash into her, chest rising and falling quickly and slowing, slowing, slowing-

When the creature keeled over, Manohar, without a second thought, rushed to catch her.

She was so much taller than him that even supporting her weight over his shoulder, her feet dragged across the ground.

The water drifted to accommodate him and he trailed up the stairs, one at a time, withered by his own injuries. The faces in pictures not torn watched him. Some regarded the creature's body with a mortified look, and other helpful ones pointed in the direction for him to go. The knights bowed their heads to him and the house allowed him, for once, through the shallow doorway that lead to the attic.

He lowered her body to a bed adorned in crimson velvet sheets. Her head tilted back against the pillows and her mouth red with blood- he was not sure if it was her own, or his father's- unsettled him.

He forced himself to snap out of it. They needed him.

A draft through the window blew open the cabinets till they flickered and closed and he rummaged through them, tracing wine bottles and glasses illegible with age.

He removed his shirt and bandaged his bleeding arm, winding it until it was tight enough to be uncomfortable. Next, he settled in the chair that trailed behind him and inspected her wounds. There were blemishes, too faint to be recently acquired in several areas of her gray skin, and he pressed a worried finger first to her throat, right where her pulse would be and he dared to lean closer, lowering his ear right where her heart would be and listened deeply.

But her heart was still.

He sat back. Her body rose and fell evenly, but her shattered ribs protruded from her flesh. A scar ran from her chin to the blackened part of her forehead and the closer he looked, he made out small indents beneath her jaw in the shape of gills.

The creature did not stir for the rest of the morning.

When she did, her eyes fluttered first. Manohar could not move from where he was seated tensely at her bedside, not even to give in to the flood of relief that spread within him. Her back arched as she let out a groan and her black hair, drenched in sweat, resumed its usual defiance of gravity, floating around her face as she sat up. Her disorientation only last for a second and the hands cradling her head froze in place she half turned, a hiss dragging out her mouth the moment she laid eyes on him.

“Wait no!” He cried out, but she snapped her teeth at him. A growl slithered from between clenched teeth. She leaped from the bed and zipped across the room. Her injury made it easier to track her figure retreating into the darkness. He panted and held his hands above his head.” I won’t hurt you, please… don’t be scared.”

When the darkness did not respond, he kneeled, pushing back the hair falling stubbornly into his eyes.“’m so grateful to you for saving my life.”

When she did not return his calls, he wandered. He explored the insides of the castle. Most of his journey through it gave him nothing but crumbling stones and torn pictures. A gargoyle on the edge of the banister gave him a great enough scare that he doubled back the way he came before he came to a panting stop at the lack of pursuit behind him. He felt a swell of empathy at the abandoned bricks and stone, knowing he was more sensitive than most men, feeling loss at the discarded silverware in a tilted dining room and unkept deeply flowers wilted with neglect.

There was a room behind the groan of an uneven door that led to an assortment of instruments and a few stools. It was a room untouched with tangible moisture; the only indication of it being in that ripe smell of the sea and the dankness that lingered in the air. His fingers skimmed a violin with a popped string and paused at the sight of the piano, covered in dust and vines. He traced the keys with his first finger, imagining the note swelling through the room- short and sweet. He’d have these music lessons with a brash teacher he could not remember the name of, with fingers wrinkled with age.

Aimless, he seated himself in front of the piano and his calloused fingertips kiss the keys. With his eyes closed, he imagined briefly the flow of music swelling into the room. He pictured how when the white keys dipped further into the piano, they would chime from just the touch of his finger. He startled at the sound- sharp and angelic breathing from the cracks of the piano. Despite his own astonishment, he brought his hands to the keys again, and the music swelled the room but with its warmth. A warmth that flooded in through the blinds and bathed his fingers. Dah dah Dah dah-

He realized then that he was not alone.

Her wing emerged first, and she edged out just enough for her face to be visible. Her long lashes brushed her cheek as she avoided eye contact with him for a moment, her hair fluttering around her, caught in its own wind.

Her gaze flickered to his, and she pointed a claw toward him.

Her voice sounded like the harsh crash of waves and at first, he was too stunned to process what she said, refocusing on the actual contents of her words.

“What did you say?”

“What is it that you are called human?”

“Manohar. My name is Manohar.”

“Mano…har.” Her voice was hoarse. He nodded.

That hand moved then to spread across her own chest. “Lorelei.”

“It is… nice to meet you, Lorelei.”

The wall between them remained taut but grew unclear; she- Lorelei seemed to accept his presence in her home. She continued to study him openly, if not with unreadable eyes. In her time there, in this city, her real name had slipped from her with the skittering of a shell across a lake. Washed away were Lorelei’s memories, but Lorelei suited her and rolled off her tongue. When he tried to show pity, she only scoffed.

“I do not need sympathy from you.”

He was looking up at her from the sand as he often did, neck craned at her body perched on the rotted slopes of the castle wall. She moved across the ledge, body jerking with each movement.
Her eyes swept to him then as pain spiked through his abdomen and pressed a hand to his stomach.
“You’re hurt?” Her head cocked to one side, her hair fluttering a bit away from her face.
“No, I just haven’... been able to eat much.”
“At this rate, you’ll die soon.”
She then dove headfirst from the ledge so suddenly, he flinched and rose to his feet.
“Come with me.”
“Where-?” He began, but she turned and walked ahead of him.
“Consider it a repayment of my debt.” She said over her shoulder. He followed. Lorelei didn’t seem like the type to wait.
Once they reached the edge of the bank, He hesitated. He feared if he looked too closely, or ventured into the misleading waves, the unforgiving creek would give him more. She stepped through the lake with ease and her withered wings flexed in the black, sparkling pool. She cast him a glance over her shoulder then and he spoke, concerned with upsetting her, but for what lingered in this swamp.
“Is it safe?” His voice was barely a whisper.
She scoffed.” if you move smarter than you have been.” Her gaze did not waver and he suppressed his complaints, joining her. Despite the time of day, no pain touched his skin.
They emerged to a collection of withered branches and he nearly lost his footing behind her, arms windmilling before she caught him by the shirt and yanked him back on the branch beneath them.
“You are clumsy.” She complained in mild annoyance. “How do I ensure you survive if you can not simply watch your step?”
“ I’m sorry.” He flushed from the grip on his collar and stumbled upright once she released him. He was more cautious of his step as they continued.
The setting sun drenched the exposed planes of her back in light, cast a golden halo across the inky black hair curling at her hips. His eyes darted then from the back of her neck and swept up to find creatures in the trees. They were lanky and a similar chalky gray. Their tails wagged side to side and their red eyes followed him with each step.
“Don’t be fearful.” She assured.” They will not harm you while I’m near.”
“What are they?”
“What has no meaning here.” She said somewhat somberly. Her large taloned footprints swallowed his footsteps. “Only why.”
She paused, and he peered over her shoulder. The branches of the trees reached for them, and the earth rose. They come up on a part unexplored and unfamiliar to him and she lowers him to the ground. The marshland is more muggy and thick with fog. He follows her outline until the field clears.
She stretched on her toes and plucked a blue round fruit from the tree and presented it to him. Her sharp claws left a moon crescent in the oval, spilling a bit of condensation down her fingers.
“Here. Eat.” She said. “I do not trust you to pick food from this place.”
It wasn’t anything he recognized, but he knew that dull ache in his stomach at the sight of it.
“It’s safe.”
The fruit gave around his teeth and he could sob at the spurt of flavor that filled his mouth. He ate noisily until he noticed her staring.
“You embarrass easily,” she deduced, passing him as wiped the excess on his shirtsleeve.
“I'm sorry.” He shook his head when he realized.
She seemed more at ease, so he reckoned it safe to sit near her. He crossed his legs in front of the other. Here, the water moved steadily, crawling between the shallow cracks. He eased his hands into it, tracing it with his index finger.
“You wish to ask me something.” She said without looking at him. She sat perfectly still, like that of a statue, eyes seeking things in the darkness he could not see.
“I'm having trouble understanding what attacked us back there.”
She did not answer at first and he remembered what she said, of the why mattering more than the what.” Why did it look like my father?”
She extended her hand for him, and he grasped another cracked fruit from her hands. The fruit was sour in his mouth. “ The city is attuned with our sorrow.”
“What do you see?”
She visibly tensed but her dark eyes flashed to him.” Myself before I changed.”
For the remainder of the trip back to the castle, Lorelei was silent, stalking in front of him, and did not speak even to tell him to move faster.

Lorelei then took him to the meadow every night. His body resisted the change in sleep, yet he allowed her to wake him in the dead of night, allowed her to lead him out of the cathedral and through the thickets of trees. He did not accompany her on her hunts, but he noticed the change in her clothes every couple of days. She robbed the corpses of their clothing, of their identities. This time he felt more confident to speak of the things around him: clusters of buildings, the unusual arch to the inhabitants of the creek.
The other creatures did not appear at their part of the meadow. She did not lie but if any ventured too close, she’d tense: her floppy ears suddenly erect and her eyes reduced to slits. A growl rumbled in her throat and he’d hesitate where he was standing, only feeling safe to move when the sounds subsided.
She watched him struggle to crack the hairy fruit over his knee and she crossed the space between them, seating in front of him and plucking it out of his hand. He did not understand her, he found. Her sudden kindness intrigued him
Lorelei spoke of waking up to this world, explaining how it shifted from time to time, how the water moved things from where they once were.
“is there anyone else here like you here?”
“There isn’t anyone like me.” She said it a matter of fact. He took this chance to glance at her face, but her expression was neutral as she tilted her head back against the wind. “ But I’ve met others like you.”
The first men to arrive after the storm from his village. The waters did not like them, did not trust them, so it devoured their boats and left blisters on their brown skin. They rested on her shores when they realized the trickery of the swamp, and she reckon they had no plan beyond that.
“I woke to a body on fire. A body that did not feel like mine. “She turned her wrist, revealing scarred tissue beneath the bandages.
Her wings had cut through her sweat-slicked back, sending the bookshelf to its side. She grasped for anywhere she could find purchase to assuage the pain that began the flare underneath her skin. She remembered how her own hands betrayed her, how when she shrank at her touch and drew them back center, they were shiny with blood and nails were growing-hair sprouting along her forearm.
Her body gave as her leg snapped in the wrong direction and her arms fell prey next.
While the men quarreled amongst themselves, she was confined to that room, to the bed that did not fold in familiarity beneath her body weight.
When rest finally found her, so did the men.

“They did that to you.” He realized.
He drew closer, stilling at the tension that rose in her body, and only proceeded farther when she did not retaliate. She lifted her right arm, but he did not touch her, fingers hovering over the wound.
“They were afraid of me.” Her expression wore disdain.” I woke to the threat of death, but even with the wounds. I could not die. I killed them, I fed on them.” He felt her eyes on his face, felt his ears warm under her gaze. But he was not afraid, not in the way she thought. He felt something miserably warm rising in his chest.
She removed her scarf from her neck, exposing a series of scars curved around her skin, creeping up her face.
“After them, more came. Hunters, fugitives, young people who seemed thrilled by adventure” She tilted her head to one side. “I wonder Manohar, which one are you?”
Lost, He wanted to say, but the question felt rhetorical.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered.” And for what happened to your village. You did not deserve it”
“ I do not remember it.” She dismissed his sentiment, but her voice sounded odd. She re-wrapped her neck with her scarf.
As she rose, then he had to know.
“Why did you save me, Lorelei?”
She did not respond. Just waited for him to get on his feet.” Come.”
The door to Lorelei’s bedroom creaked open, and he hesitated for a moment in the doorway. She drew her curtain out of the way, shoving him then towards the bed.”Rest here. I grow tired of the sight of your blood on my floors and the sounds of you snoring.”
He began to apologize but stopped, smiling to himself. “Thank you.” But when he turned, to his surprise, her face adopted an expression he was unfamiliar with on her. He stared a moment too long, he knew. But there he stood in the doorway, lips parted still. Even after she turned away and crawled through the trapdoor.
She smiled. At him.
Her smile felt earned. He would think of things, of jokes perhaps to get her to smile more.
Manohar sank into the mattress, drawing his feet in, allowing his boots to slide off. He never realized how cold he was downstairs, not until he felt the warmth of her blankets draw around him. On the brink of sleep, he turned towards the circular window, through the splintered cracks running through the frame and at Lorelei zipping through the air, streaking the night in light. He woke from yet another nightmare and found her seated in the music room.
Her long gray fingers touched the strings with practiced delicacy. The sound was pure and flowed in, almost displaced in the still dreary room. It was unique yet, brought with a feeling of warmth like the crackle of a fire, soothed him like a memory. Her voice spilled out, gentle and eerie. A few strands of hair spilled down her shoulder, curling over her hairy wrist, flashing in the light.
Yellow orbs flicked to him where he stood, fingers intertwined in the doorway. Her voice, the clear uncanny edge to it drew him closer.
“It’s beautiful” He gestured towards the harp.
“Do you play?”
He shook his head. “My mother.”
She did something unexpected then. She offered the harp to him- to which he shook his head, blinking away barely contained tears. He could not play, not after that.”I’m better with the piano.”
Her face was curious as she regarded him.”Let me hear again.”
He protested.
“What does it matter to me?” She inquired, already rising from the harp.”I’ve never learned. I couldn’t possibly tell the difference.”
“I don’t think it works like that,-” At her insistence, he caved, scooting over on the bench, which seemed to shock her to some degree, and she joined him. Her wings folded behind her back and her eyes rested on his face.
The threat of nerves crept up his shoulders. When he did finish, a small smile tugged the corner of her mouth. He felt very giddy with it.
“Here, place your hands.” he hovered them over hers, without touching them.” Can I?”
“Can you what?”
“Touch you?” He clarified, and she paused before nodding. . By comparison, her hands were much longer than his; They were cool to the touch, wrinkled around her knuckles, and calloused at the edges of her palm. She was a fast learner. Anything he played for her. She caught on quickly, smiling to herself at the accomplishment.

Before, he had imagined her days or tried to avoid the thought. Then, he became privy to it.
She rose and surveyed the castle. She woke to moonlight and when she stretched, her wings flickered out, the spikes along her back unfurled.
Don't touch, she warned him once he came too close. The fins on her back were deadly.
Sometimes they’d lie on the warming sand, or they’d return to the music room. They’d lay in the meadow and talk, or silence would exist between them. She urged him into the water, holding his hands between hers.
You will not be harmed as long as I’m here.
He told her of stories, of traditions, of music
He’d wake and find himself leaned against her side and she, staring off into the distance, blocked out the rain that picked up her wing over him. Her soaked hair clinging to her face.
Sometimes, he’d talk just to fill the silence, to encourage her to speak. Feeling strummed in his chest, the routine put aside dread. As long as Lorelei was near, he was safe. His father was not near. He found himself smiling, giddy. When she sat beside him, he leaned closer so that their arms would touch, so that his knee met hers. He was starved and well-fed.

She played her harp. He watched until she took his hand in hers and directed him to it. While he played, she positioned herself behind him, stray hairs tickling his shoulders. Her body was taut, slender, and muscled around him.
“Relax your fingers.” She said with thinly veiled patience once he messed up again, but she smelled of sea. Of sea salt of trees.

“I’ve borrowed your scarf.”
“I’ve noticed it missing.” Her voice was biting, accusing from where she sat on the couch by the empty fireplace. He joined her, seating himself on the floor. Under her steady gaze, his nerves threatened to unease him but he shook them off. From his satchel, he pulled out her scarf where it began to tear during her last hunts, and extended it as far as it can go, revealing the patchwork he did to its center.
She did not speak, but her ears quirked up against her own accord; she took it from him. Only after searching his face for a moment did her ears deflate and she smiled, wrapping the horrid thing around her neck.” You are odd,” is all she said and Manohar beamed.

“you may grow to fear me.”.
They lay across the sand on the skirts of the castle. He felt at ease beside her. The moon held her attention, so it felt safe to stare. The light highlights her face and kisses her lips. He watches her and when she turns to catch him; he does not shy away, not this time. Her eyes were wide, darting between his and lower, back to his again before she turned, half-heartily back to the moon. He reached across the small space between them and dared to touch the back of her hand. She tensed but did not turn away.” I see the way you look at me,-“
“I am not afraid of you.” He murmurs. She looked at him, her expression unreadable as her eyes darted from his face to his hand and back again. Carefully, she traced his finger with the back of her thumb- gently. He did not look away from her face. Her mouth. Something thrummed between them, as gentle as the softest pluck of a guitar or the stroke of a violin. It made him uncomfortable. It made him feel light, heavy, and he felt the urge to draw nearer, could feel- could feel her easing him closer.
He opened his mouth, maybe to speak, but she withdrew with haste. Her wings flapped around him and, suppressing the flash of hurt that washed over him, he jumped to his feet.
“Lorelei!” He called, but she’d already disappeared into the lake. Even when he ran to the edges of it, he knew she was too far for him to go in after her.

He worked his jaw.
How silly of him to think he could have some sort of life in this place? That he could escape his problems? With each passing day, humanity seemed to wither further away. His hair has grown to his shoulders and though he showered nightly in the pools, it was unkept and gnarly in the absence of soap. His teeth were unwashed, his beard unkempt. He tugged at the forest of hair, thumbnail scraping his jaw.
He rubbed his face with his hands. How silly of him to think-
Could she even look at him that way? He wasn’t even a good representative of what a man could offer.
When Manohar regarded his body, he could not remember what he once looked like. If his collar bones were always prominent if the sharp dip in his cheeks were familiar if his legs were always so thin. When she was not looking, Manohar measured hers; her towering height and lanky body, the muscles taut beneath her skin. The hard muscle of her thighs. He looked away, color finding his cheeks.
“You stare at your reflection often.” Lorelei's voice was soft behind him. He did not look up. His reflection swirled. They haven’t spoken of his indiscretion and at first, he found himself relieved, but now, it hung between them like rotting fruit.
“Just trying to remember what I look like.”
She scoffed.” You’re so melodramatic.” But she joined him, not yet sitting but standing beside his crouched body. “You don’t look so different.”
“I know I’m not,- “he broke off.” I’m not as attractive,- “he rubbed his calloused hands together.” That I am not the most flattering to look at.”
“What are you talking about?” Her head cocked to the side. he did not answer, scratching his scar with his nail.
She sank beside him. The breeze pressed against them, sent her cloths fluttering around him. She cupped his face, her expression still, and then she traced his jaw with her left hand. He froze at her sudden touch.
“Flattering?” she repeated, mostly to herself.” your face is just as long and narrow as it’s always been. Your hair is longer and thicker.” She drew her fingers through his beard, kneading it gently. She stroked his hair and the other hand caressed his chest. “you're slimmer here.” Her eyes met his.” And your eyes. Brown.” A breath.” Warm. “
Manohar swallowed, breaking eye contact with her, but did not remove her hand. Though he wanted, though he wished he truly wanted to. He turned away.
He meant to apologize for the show of insecurity, but he knew deep down; it was of her rushing away, of her disappearing in the sea depths. I see the way you look at me. She knew, and it worried her. It disgusted her. “I didn’t mean to be a bother.”
The silence grew between them and he rose, unsteadily. He crossed the beach, kicking up rocks as he went. But as he walked, he dared one glance back to see her still seated there, soaked in moonlight, her gaze unwavering on his frame.

He shivered.

It is warm, the sun setting- pink sinking into the cool greens of the water. Manohar found his sleep to be inconsistent. His body grew tired at the night as usual and he drifted only to wake at midnight to search for her. Now, during the day, he feels the pull of sleep- the inadequate amount of it, drawing him up the stairs and under the covers. Perhaps if he slept, he could avoid this whole thing. It’ll pass.
It did not. When he closed his eyes and sleep welcomed him, so did images. Hands, long and delicate but strong, reach for him. They cup his face, the bring him closer until the air between him and the darkness is shared. He startled awake, finding the flush of darkness in his room. He knew she was awake somewhere and he closed his eyes again, willing sleep to find him, but red eyes haunted him in his dreams as they did in waking life.
He found her in the music room, facing him with her eyes closed. She was playing - playing the song he taught her and a little of something new. The music unfurled in the room like an unsettled wave. Their eyes met. “What is it?”
He could hardly look at her.” Nothing.”
“You weren’t hungry?” It felt as if she were asking him something else. She clarified when he looked confused.” You did not come to the meadow.”
“I was too tired.” He lied.
“Oh… i could still take you if you wanted” She paused, uncertainty ringing in her tone.” unless… you’d rather go alone.”
“Maybe later.” He said, feeling guilty. She was being friendly with him. How could he behave distantly because of the rejection? He cleared his throat.” What you were playing there it’s- it’s quite beautiful.”
She smiled then. Despite her haunting stature, she looked smaller on the bench, with her wings folded behind her. His heart skipped. He began to say something, anything that would stop him from staring at her foolishly, but she interrupted.
“I still can’t get it right. This one part.” She gestured towards him.” Come to me.”
Despite all his musings, he joined her, unable to look at her. He did not move to play, and neither did she.

When he turned to her, she was waiting, eyes on him.They could swallow him whole, and willing, he’d be devoured by her.

She tilted her head to one side. Her expression was expectant. He felt the familiar knot twist into his stomach. The quickening of his pulse. But there was something in her eyes that made him feel braver. He leaned to her, slowly. Manohar placed a firm on her lower back and brought her closer to him, so close their knees touched, as close as she physically could.

Their lips touch briefly. Her mouth was hesitant on his, unpracticed. He pulled away and saw her eyes were still closed. He kissed her again- she pressed into him as well. The kisses were fluttering and exploratory. He cupped her face this time as if she were made of glass. Her fingers curled against his chest and her waist was so warm against his hand. When they broke apart, he still held her face in his hand. Up close, her eyes swallowed every light in the room.

Later, when they went to the meadow for food, and for his wash, he willed himself to be seen. He wrapped a cloth around his waist, crossed the beach, and lay beside her on the riverbank. When his eyes met hers and stayed perhaps too adoringly long, she darted to him.

She properly knocked the wind out of him and he rasped, attempting childishly to roll them over but she caught his wrist and pinned them above his head with one hand. He panted, a smile slowly stretching across his face. Her hair was wild, her smile bright and contagious; she was so at ease, so exhilarated. Her laugh bawked out of her.

They cuddled under the warm shade of a peach tree. Her head fell to his knee and her hands rested on his chest, talons pressed to his collarbone. Her angled back head accentuated the sharpness of her jaw and her supple throat. A peach escaped from the tree above them and rolled by his curled fingers. It was warm, with a touch of chill around its outside. He rolled it around in his hands. The sun hung fully in the air and she yawned, shadows dancing across her face.

“Rest, Lorelei.” He found himself saying as she drifted.

“Tell me about him.”
“Who?” He whispered from the floor of the attic. She ran her fingers along the space between his pectorals, his head resting in her lap. His heart was racing with each drag her nails did on his trail of hair.” your father.. You dream of him, do you not?”
He tensed but his hands remained soothing light scratches. “I’ve upset you?”
“No.” He answered far too quickly.
“He is… no longer with you?” She asked him then.”I can hear the grief in your voice.”
He rubbed his hands together. They felt cold.” When everything happened, I was inconsolable. Felt bitterly alone.”
“You speak of him sometimes when you sleep,-“ he squeezed her fingers and kissed the back of her hand.
He no longer wished to speak of these things. He turned to her then.” What is your sorrow, Lorelei?”
She does not answer at first and surprised him with the worried indent between her brows.
He learned better than to push her, predicting her withdrawal. As he mustered the words to speak, however, her voice slithered out.
“I feel as though I am not real. Not whole. A shell that time passes through.” The memories came to her in bits and pieces, fragments; she felt deep loss and yearning, she explained. The woman that stood across from her that day filled her with rage, with regret.”I’m what's left of someone who already lived, and I have all her pain, all her anger, her fear.”
He did not know how to assure her, nor what to say. He brought her knuckles to his face and brushed his lips across them.”There’s so much life to you. You are so good to me.”
She lowered her face to his chest.

Time eluded Manohar, but his body withstood the lake. He helped Lorelei trim her hair to her shoulders when the coat had grown too long. She loved his hair long; It had grown longer than it had ever been and tumbled down his back in wavy curls. They scavenged fresh corpses for clothes. Beneath the branches of an oak tree, hidden away by the moss and ferns, it had started light. He called to her, extending his palm out towards her. Dance with me. Wet, they were caught under the spring drizzle.
“I don’t know how.” She protested, yet he insisted.
“Who does really?” He countered. He wriggled his fingers.” Come to me.”
She dismounted the tree; Her wings fanned out to block out the droplets of rain sloshing between the trees. With her dark hair crackling in the sky, she drew attention; her thighs, the knot of her knee, the smooth muscle of her abdomen, her arms, the smooth pecs adorned with feathers and darkened in moisture. The steady pull of her scarlet eyes was voyeuristic. Desire unwounded in his chest.She began her dance around him, deliberate in how she eluded his hands seeking hers in the night. Racing from light, she was a shadow and he, a boy enthralled by that light. By the way, her head tilted back to mist.
When she peeked at him from behind her wings and a boyish laugh jolted out of him, she turned wistfully and seized his lips in a kiss.
A kiss that intertwined 2 bodies. Their mouths opened to one another, beckoning and wielding and heat rose from Lorelei's throat, sweet and tangy and raw. He’d kissed her before, once, twice, a peck, many times so forth, but this felt different. Her mouth felt tinged with urgency as she explored his mouth, slathered her tongue against his as if he were fruit pried beneath her fingers. She smelled of the deep sea and of trees.
The incessant frosty touch of rain pattered against the stained glass window of the bedroom they hurried to. The blankets were askew but she did not need it, Manohar thought once freed from her lips to press kisses into her skin. Her body arched under the moonlight and dipped beneath shadows. The scars were paintings, her freckles starlight, and her horns the constellations that marked the sky. Her wings folded around him. Futile, he tried to press his noises into her shoulder blades.

Let me hear

She wanted, and he delivered

“Manohar.”

In her mouth, his name sounded like everything. It had weight to it. It carried meaning.

“Where do you go?” She wondered aloud, but instead of answering her, he took her hand in his, spreading their fingers.

“Does she haunt you, the way he haunts me?”

She eyed him in question but seemed to know whom he was referring to. “What did you do?”.

“I'm not a good person.” He confessed.
Then he repeated it again and again, a mantra bubbling out of him. Lorelei grasped his face and urged him to speak.
“Tell me.”
“I can not.”
“Manohar. Tell me.” She encouraged.” Trust me.”
The words escaped him, swiftly, and burned his tongue.“I killed him.”
And around them, figures emerged from the shadows. Lorelei did not stir, just held him tighter in her arms. The room swelled with young men, of shining hair, or thin waists and white cloth. Around him, they danced. Round and round.
He had changed into his white tunic. His father regarded him once, waved his hand and had him change again. The figures arched towards the light; the rain bounced like highlights off their skin. His father showed potency, with his set scowl and his face absent of facial hair.
“That is how a son should be.” His father uttered, or perhaps he did not. So long ago, perhaps Manohar was making excuses.
The rain showed red on the dancer's gowns.
The soldier standing beside him was oblivious. Manohar reached then for the sword in his hilt.
His father's head thudded bluntly on the palace steps. The surrounding ground oozed with blood. And his brother, the closest to them, eyes popped open in surprise.
Lorelei's voice was clear as rain and pulled him from his reverie.
“Can you see him now?”
“All of them.” He murmured, and she gripped him tighter. She whispered the words to his skin.
“They do not matter. I am here.”

When Lorelei stirred for just a brief moment, she was unaware of Manohar's absence. Just that beneath her lids, she had come to a dream. It was nothing of excitement, or peculiar, but it held in it the way Manohar rested, the way the sun warmed his skin that particular way. Unlike her and the others of the swamp, the warmth did not pass him, or illuminate him- it fluttered to his skin like a moth drawn to light; it seeped into his pores, kissed him till his lips were dry, his cuticles cracked. She cradled his body in her arms. Breath slipped out of him and rushed back. When he first landed on her shores, she thought him nothing more than the corpses that littered the bank. But she heard it beating beneath ribs, beneath a proud chest. When she inhaled deeply, it cut through her senses sharply. She could taste it.

Life.

Despite the wash of fear, of rage that simmered inside her as she found him standing meagerly across the lake, she reckoned he would not survive in the wild. That the swamp would take him. Yet there he was, frazzled and hiding within her home. He looked nothing like the nobles and the peasants she found. His clothes were tattered from his fall and hung loose off his slim frame. He moved strangely, unlike the frantic fret of prey, or the careful stroll of a predator, but something way more defenseless.

His face was not cruel, but soft and inquisitive.

Manohar pressed his cheeks to her hands, cool to the touch.” I wish to be with you forever.” He murmured.” With you, I am stronger than I’ve ever been.” His curls fell around her wrist. But something was different in the way he looked.

Something dark crept behind them, like a filter or a film.

Once he’d fallen asleep composing the piano and when he did not stir, she whisked his frail body to their bedroom. Different. He was lighter in her arms, thinner. His long hair swayed past his waist. Sometimes, he grew too tired to eat and was resistant to their nightly trips to the meadows.

“I wish to stay here with you.” was all she could make out of his rambles. Bruises swelled beneath his eyes, a storm waves dark.

Once, lying back in her lap, he dragged his eyes closed. The wind stirred the wilted flowers around him and curled them against his sunken cheeks. She blocked out the light with her wing- would tear it from the sky if she had to. Lorelei felt a swell of dread at the idea of him growing old at her side, of his corpse lying by her side, willing her to eat. She gagged, with the back of her hand to her mouth, resented her cursed body, how it lurched at the thought.

Not only did he change in his appearance, but despite the affirmations that tumbled from his mouth, he seemed simply gone from her. His father haunts him, she told herself once, observing the shell of him lying in bed with her. He did not start from those dreams at night anymore. He did not need her console. To hold him to her chest. Was the terror that awaited him not his past mistakes, but his current ones? Did he regret the life they built together? Did he tire of the routine of it? Did her voice no longer enchant him? Did she ever?

She paced. And she paced. And she paced.

“They’re beautiful,” Manohar murmured to her once while they made love. His hands traced her wings and they, on their own, bent to his touch. He kissed them with care, and held them between his scarred hands as though they were glass. With his mouth to her, she felt as if the very contact of his lips, flushed with life, with blood, breathed life into her.

“Have you always been alone?” He asked her.

“No.” she said.”But it feels that way.”

“Even when surrounded by others, I have always felt alone.” He looked at her then.” Sometimes, I feel alone with you, even tho I know that you love me. That I love you.”

It had been the first time it was stated. “Perhaps I am the shell out of the both of us.”

No, he did not see himself clearly. His father was cruel to him and misguided him. She would not hold him. It did not matter.

Lorelei stirred to the painful glare of sunlight. Disoriented, she managed upright; The black river crept up the bank, tickling the soles of her feet. She could hear the familiar creek to the woods and not only that but her own breath in her throat.

Something was wrong.

Away was the sweet scent of sweat, oily dark hair, and sea-washed skin.

“I was taking a walk.” He had said briskly to her once.

Perhaps he was somewhere along the shore?

The comfort she felt, tangled in the sheets with Manohar's warmth pressed against her, of his nape soft to her lips and his hand cradling hers to his chest was wrenched from her.

No

Perhaps in her slumber, Manohar wandered carelessly to the creek.

She checked there. She checked the cluster of bushes and took a dive beneath the bank. She visited the meadow where his lips were tainted with peaches and kissed hers. She checked the Lilly pads; she strained against gales and scouted the skies. She covered every inch and could not find him.

What if he drowned?
What if something found him? Perhaps she had not slayed the creature she saw as his father?
No
No no no
The double doors to the cathedral flew open with gusto and within a flash, she dashed up the stairs. The music room appeared hollow, and the piano sat despondently trimmed in golden light. It was morning? She had not noticed. Did not process how long she’d been searching for him. In a lull of desperation, she inspected the seats and moved the shelves to peek behind. The cupboards, the closets, the fireplaces, the bedroom, beneath the bed.

The more she looked, the more the image of his rotting corpse struck her and in the places she checked, she could see her.

His name stung in her throat.

Shame could not find her, and she called his name out to an unforgiving sun.

She clutched her chest. The wind, which had stolen her breath, was soundlessly skittering away dying leaves with it but Lorelei could not feel her hands, no- Lorelei could not see, not past the tears that were beginning to spill and curl beneath her chin. She trembled.

Manohar

Manohar

Manohar

Through the stained glass window, shattered in her frustration came a warm, moist night breeze that disturbed a flutter of papers strapped to her harp seat. She hoisted herself up from the piano and crossed the room. Her talons clunked loudly across the tile. At first, she struggled to read the cursive loops; The language itself was familiar, but strangely simplified. She rubbed her wet eyes with the back of her hands and squinted.

Forgive me

Forgive him? What for?

Recognition dawned on her as she noticed her scarf folded and draped over the harp. A scarf she had allowed him to wear as the weather became unmanageably cold. It was soft to her nose, and his scent lingered. Her hands trembled. The fabric was suddenly itchy. It was suddenly uncomfortable and suddenly, the smell nauseated her.

It slipped from her fingers.

What if he… left?

When she stepped from the castle that come to be her home, the blowing gales raised sandlots and sent debris from crumbling buildings. Heavy black tar shielded the sky in a turbulent wave that ebbed and increased in opacity. It opened up and the downpour of rain was black in color.

The earth sucked up the tears of an old siren and gave them back to her. The pain blossomed in her chest, reminiscent of the one that dragged her down, down, down to those wiry arms, numbed her. Lorelei, then, wished she was made of tree, of stone. She prayed that she could reemerge like the others- mindless and rendered shells of what they once were. Perhaps she would not know real pain.

At first, she hoped, she prayed that wherever Manohar went, death found him, but that thought scattered immediately. She closed her eyes.

Manohar breathed.

She did not.

Manohar moved forward. She could not.

She did not move as the downpour rose, nor when the buildings collapsed haphazardly around her.

Death was already knocking at his door. It clung to his body.

He could not spend eternity with her, nor she with him.

She floated as the sea level began to rise.

Manohar was flying.