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I
The moment she saw him, she fell in love.
How could she not? She beheld his great form moving beneath the surface, his unblinking eyes fixed upon her, the sun striking and lighting up his skin even under the gentle ripples of the water.
When their eyes met, he immediately averted his. She watched him dart away, quick despite his size, before turning away herself.
Later she tasted blood on her tongue and found that she had bitten her lip in anticipation; she blushed, wondering if he had noticed her indiscretion.
II
Perhaps she did not admit it to herself at first. Perhaps she was uncertain, for she had never felt anything like this before, or perhaps she was ashamed, for how could a maiden desire a beast?
But, later, she could not deny the pang in her heart at the sight of her eyes reflected in his: dark and drowning in endless emptiness, hungry.
III
It was true that he was known to be a savage, heartless creature—a simple animal who devoured because he was hungry or afraid, she had thought when she first heard the legends.
Perhaps this was true. But to her he was nothing but a perfect gentleman. His manners were somewhat rusting after years of disuse, yet charming in their awkwardness—endearing in his sincerity and incapability of any duplicity, unlike human men.
So she smiled, and spoke with him of mundane things. Thus she allowed herself to be enchanted.
He was generous, too, as he brought her fruit to eat when she grew hungry over the course of their long conversations. She could feel his silent gaze on her as she brought one to her lips and put her teeth around it then bit down, tearing the skin away. She licked the sweet, nearly-overripe juice from her lips before it overflowed.
IV
She wondered if he grew lonely in his imposed solitude. If perhaps he looked at the men who had come to kill him and wondered, briefly, whether they had come instead to ease his loneliness—before he would see them raise their spear, and consign himself to more blood on his teeth.
Many, of course, had already tried to kill him. He still bore some of the scars over his heart, showing them to her when she asks.
She touched them gently, marvelling at how he kept still for her, and his eyes looked up at her with so much affection she could drown in them.
V
But afterwards she wept and wept, her tears falling into the river, until he came and asked in his gentle, rasping voice what saddened her so.
She shook her head. She threw her arms around him when he came ashore, clinging to him as she shuddered and he tried to comfort her though he knew not the cause of her tears.
It was love, of course, clawing at the inside of her chest and trying to break free. There was no other explanation for such pain. Her own heart, she thought, must be trying to climb up out of her throat, which was why her throat had now seized up to prevent her from speaking, so that it could not escape.
Unable to bear the sight of her sadness, he lead her away and showed her his collection of spears that others had brought to kill him.
Of course, none had been successful. After all he was strong, vicious when he needed to be though he did not show it to her. Relief rushed to her head, so much so that she could not help but laugh; the spears shone in the sunlight, still sharp after all these years. What harm could they do now?
VI
Then, that night as he slumbered, she was overcome with terror, thinking that he might at any time be taken from her—that that spear might be clutched in the hands of another as it cut into him and he cried out in pain, once and for the last time, and she would only find his lifeless body later, his heart carved out.
No!—she could not allow that. She resolved to herself that no one else would ever be allowed to hurt him so long as she loved him.
But how could she ensure this? She thought long and hard into the night, until she remembered.
There was one way, which she knew from her travels in her youth. She made her way down to the place where he kept his spears, making sure he was not nearby and could not see her. She searched until she found the sharpest one, which could fully pierce even the thick hide of the great buwaya, and held it in her hands, testing its weight.
Yes. She knew what she must do.
VII
He was, of course, opposed to the idea at first. All men, even those in the shape of beasts, want to live.
Day and night she pleaded with him. She could not bear to be separated any longer, for them to remain in separate bodies—where it was impossible for them to even join together briefly the way a woman and a man could.
If he truly loved her, she begged, then he would want this as well, would he not?
Still he refused.
"You are too cruel," she told him. "You have ensnared me, yet you refuse to be ensnared in turn. If I cannot be with you, then I must die."
The thought struck her then.
"Perhaps you would prefer to devour me instead," she accused, then let her voice soften. "I would not mind."
He drew back then, horrified at this suggestion, and told her he would think on it; then he darted away in the water once more, and she sat by the riverbank and wept.
VIII
When he returned, he spoke quietly as he finally told her he would allow it. Overjoyed, she put her arms around him and sang to him as he shook. He was afraid, of course, but he loved her more.
So she wove a beautiful net for him. Even a man in love would struggle to hold still as he was being cut into. It took her many days. It had to be finely made, so that it would match his beauty. Strong, to hold a creature of his strength.
At first she wove it by the riverbank, speaking to him as she worked to keep him company, but his eyes were too sad as he watched her weave. So she took her work into the night, under the silent gaze of the stars, until it was finally done.
IX
She wrapped the net around him as he slept, to spare him the discomfort. Love steadied her hands as she grasped the spear and struck.
He awoke then, but the net held him still.
He cried, when she stabbed the spear into his chest again and again. His voice was beautiful, as it always had been, and she kept utterly silent so that she might preserve it perfectly in her memory.
Then he was finally silent, and she continued her work in silence.
X
She could not bear to look further at his unmoving form. Instead she turned away, letting the spear drop from her trembling hands as she clutched his still-beating heart. Warm and wet and bloody in her grasp, she did her best not to squeeze and crush it in her fervor. After all, it was his last gift to her, his heart which looked just like a human's.
Reverent, she brought it to her lips and opened her mouth.
XI
It tasted like nothing she had ever felt before, and she frowned then, blood dripping from her lips as she wondered if it had not worked.
And then, everything at once—
XII
Now his heart beats warmly in tandem with hers; after she had swallowed his heart, her heart had unfolded in her chest and enfolded his as she cried out in pain, so eager were the two to be united.
Now she crouches by the same riverbank, smiling even as she weeps. She catches the tears that fall from her eyes, dully shining, before giving them to the silent water.
She savors the sourness of guilt on her tongue, sweetened by so much helpless love; the salt of her tears, she thinks, makes for a fine seasoning.
It is a shame she could not share it. She smiles softly at the water before she turns away.