Work Text:
Prompt: Spinning Silver, Miryem/the Staryk, learning his name
I make certain he understands, not the wedding contract – that much, I know he understands well – but the witnessing of it, the family and the rabbi and Wanda and Sergey, all those others who would see his name written down clear in ink.
He only smiles, my clever husband, and tells me, “That much is true, but they will not truly know it, not the feel of it in the mouth, the shape it takes on the tongue. That is a privilege I will grant only you,” he finishes, brushing the hair from my ear, the sharp bite of his breath baring his soul to me in the sound of icicles forming, the creak of snow underfoot, the hush of a winter world, bathed in frost.