Page 72 of Fable for the End of the World

“Better?” Inesa asks quietly.

“Much.”

When I open my eyes, she’s staring at me. Her face is close enough that I can see the tears daggered through her dark lashes. The smudges of ash on her cheek. Her throat ticks.

“I watched Dr. Wessels do this once,” she whispers. “He cooled the burns with cold water. Then painkillers. But he said...” She pauses, swallows again. “He said it was important to remove tight clothing. Before the wounds swell.”

Blunted by both the ebbing pain and the painkillers, my mind is slow to grasp what she means. All I can do is blink back at her. Then the word rises, almost unconsciously.

“Okay.”

Inesa draws a breath. Then, with utmost gentleness, she takes me by the shoulders, tipping me forward at the waist. Just enough to reach the zipper on the back of my suit.

As she tugs it down, cool air brushes my bare skin, making goose bumps rise along my spine. I bend over farther, palms against the floor to steady myself. When the zipper reaches the small of my back, Inesa pauses. She repositions herself and then begins to pull the suit down from the front.

The fabric peels off my shoulders. My chest. It feels like my own skin is being cut away, like I’m parting with an essential piece of myself. But by the time my suit has been shed completely, when it’s just a crumpled heap of black fabric on the floor, it feels like nothing at all, and I can’t imagine how it ever seemed so vital.

Inesa brushes my hair back, baring my collarbones. Without even looking up at her face, I can feel her gaze running over me. From the scars on my wrists to the ones on my elbows, the crooks of my knees. My hips. They’re garish and ugly, raised like maggots under my skin.

“They take us apart and put us back together.” I stare down at the floor. “And then they have to cover up how hideous it looks.”

“They’re not hideous.” Inesa’s thumb touches the scar on my wrist. “They’re just... adaptations. It means you’ve survived.”

“Maybe.” Slowly, I lift my gaze. “Maybe that’s all, but...”

My voice tangles in my throat. Inesa just watches me. Her eyes are bright and deep at the same time, like light filtering through the leaves.

“I’m sick of just surviving,” I whisper. “I want... more.”

Fear floods me as I say the words. I’m curled naked on the floor and confession has made me even more vulnerable. Nothing dooms you quicker than desire.

Inesa raises her hands to cup my face. Her fingers are trembling.

“Me too,” she whispers back.

She leans forward, closing the space between us. Our foreheads touch. And then our lips.

It all bleeds away. The pain. The smoke in the air. The cold prickling my skin. All I can feel is the warmth and pressure of her mouth, gentle but insistent. It sends heat through my body, through the marrow of my bones. I wrap my arms around her waist to pull her closer, and she folds into me, as if our bodies were madefor this. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe it is. Maybe I’ve survived this long so I could know how it feels to hold her. Maybe all my life has been one long gauntlet, running, fighting, searching for her.

Twenty-Seven

Inesa

I kiss her, and it feels like I’ve finally learned to breathe. I’ve beenpanting, struggling for air, and living by half measures. Everything I want just barely out of my grasp. Now I don’t have to fight.

There’s only a sliver of space between us, but it’s still too much—her hand presses the small of my back, drawing me closer. My hands tangle in her long hair, the strange, beautiful color that looks almost silver in some light. It’s even softer than I imagined it would be, sliding through my fingers like water.

Melinoë is the one to break the kiss. We’re both breathing hard, our chests rising and falling, the rhythms perfectly synced.

Her heart is beating so close to mine that I can feel it. Like the pulse of a thousand tiny wings. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

She bites down on her slightly swollen lip. “So have I.”

“I was afraid to do it,” I say quietly. “I was afraid you would hate me.”

“I never hated you.” She pauses, looking up from under herpale lashes. “That was always the most terrifying thing. That I couldn’t hate you even with my hands around your throat.”

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