Page 126 of Antiletum
“That was probably the most difficult aspect to adjust to. Leaving my clothes somewhere I could find them again. Not shift unless I had something nearby to put on. Being mindful to dig through my pockets and hold in my talons anything I didn’t want lost.”
“Like my hair clasp?”
“Like your hair clasp.” A shot of mourning plagues the moment. I held that trinket dearly for so many years. I’ve found myself reaching for it in recent days, forgetting that it’s no longer in my possession. It’s almost like I’m missing a limb. Tentatively, I ask, “Do you still have it?”
“I still have it.” Her eyes soften further as she nods, the simple motion easing the clench around my ribs. Relieved.
“Can I see you shift?” Delaney asks excitedly.
My smile widens again. I’ve been waiting for her to ask.
Without a word, a grasp at that ball in my gut that I thought was hunger as a child. The same spot that first flicker occurred: the magic of my shift. It’s thoughtless now, curling a phantom fist around it for my whole being to collapse within itself and turn into something feathered and new.
I land with a softflumpon the bed, barely audible over Delaney’s gasp. Wings unfurl from my body, shaking out happily. I hop over to her. Delaney picks me up and cradles me against her chest, my feathers right against her naked breasts.
I can feel my heart-shaped face grinning, nudging under her neck to nip affectionately.
She laughs and strokes my feathers.
In a blink, I’m a man once more, Delaney yelping as my weight increases in her arms. She flops out of the way before I can crush her.
Pity. I was half hoping she’d attempt to catch my much larger body.
A deep laugh calls to her reaction. Her eyes are bright, disbelieving.Impressed.
“One day”—I lean over to kiss her knee through the blanket, falling to my back once more—“you’ll be able to do it too. I’m certain. We will be able to fly together.”
I get lost in her hazel eyes, burrowing into me. Wondering if this is real. If I finally have her. My wife stares at me as openly as I do her. Lost in the calm quiet. Never wanting to leave. I’m warm all over.
Is this what it’s like to be relaxed? Happy?
The weightlessness I experience is foreign. New and exciting.
“Blair told me you never told any of them your name,” Delaney says softly. “From before.”
“No. I didn’t. I wanted to leave that person behind.” I roll over onto my stomach, arms lost under a pillow. I never break my wife’s gaze, nor she mine. “And besides, Sebastian officially died. At the hands of your father. I stayed out of Omnitas, mostly, for nearly a year. Until I was completely unrecognizable.”
Delaney takes a deep breath. It hurts—witnessing the anguish flaring in her beautiful eyes.
“What was it like, when your family brought you here?” she asks. Avoiding talking about her parents. Not fully opening up. “Was it hard for you?”
I don’t allow the sinking sensation in my stomach to take hold, forcing myself into patience. Reminding myself that her forgiveness, her willingness to speak openly with me, will take time and effort.
“Yes. Those first months at The Citadel were incredibly difficult. Thrust into high society when I could barely even write. Only knew my age because Blair was able to read me with her smoke creatures and tell me. It turned out I was seventeen. Had been for a couple months when we met and was none the wiser.”
We peer at each other, inspecting one another openly, looking beneath the years of age to the faces we first saw and fell in love with, fitting them to what’s in front of us now. Imperfect. Just right.
“It was unnerving. Meeting this strange woman and her telling me my age—down to the fucking second.”
Delaney laughs. “When I first met her she ripped my clothes off and had smoke creatures invading my nose.”
I groan. “Sounds like Blair.”
Soft fingers trace the owl tattoo across my back. The symbol that started pulling me out of my despair. Thanks to the friends I had made who held my hand through it: Mallin (literally); Alaric (metaphorically). My hand sweeps from beneath my pillow to curl around Delaney’s thigh, right by my head.
“I told you I don’t sleep much,” I say. “I don’t know if it’s because of my owl. Or spending too many nights being on edge in the streets. Either way, when I made it here, I endured endless sleepless nights in that cavernous room with that huge bed. I felt like I was being swallowed whole, everything too wide and open, even though I was used to sleeping outside. Kept waking with a jolt of guilt for finding a better life when so many others like myself were left to rot and forever would. Abused and hungry. If it hadn’t been for my ability to shift and hunt, I’d have died long before my father found me. Insomnia was fueled further because for the first time, as long as I could remember, I was allowing myself to feel more than just rage.”
“Is that when you started painting?” Her quiet question speaks to her regrets in destroying the one I left for her. No bother. There are many more, as she will one day see.
