Page 2 of Misfit Monsters
One more bit of joy to make amends for the thousands I’ve hurt.
I dare to step closer and smile. “I can get one for you.”
It’s been weeks since I last used my voice, but the words slide off my tongue with my usual bubbly cheer. The girl grins. “Yes, please!”
The human-ish body I can shift into has many appealing features, from its unique hair to its multitude of soft curves, but it’s hardly tall. I have to stand on tiptoe to reach a flower.
The girl watches avidly. Lucky her, she’ll grow with the passing years. The only thing I can change about my human-like form is what it’s wearing.
As my fingers close around the base of the blossom, a different sort of ache jabs through my ankles and feet—not a hundred needles but one that’s way bigger than any needle has a right to be.
Shadowkind can recover from plenty of injuries that mortal bodies can’t. But some wounds aren’t so considerate.
Suppressing a wince, I hold out the flower. “Here you go.”
The girl plucks the blossom from my fingers with a gasp of delight that melts in my mouth like a gumdrop. She darts away to show off her prize.
Warmth tingles over my scalp. I tug my hood lower over my hair to cover the glow of satisfaction.
On the far side of the park, a procession of vivid colors catches my eyes. People are walking up to a large stone building, the women in swishy dresses, the men in suits.
They give off a cocktail of excitement and anticipation that tingles into me from even this far away.
I study the building. Arched windows, tall towers, intersecting lines carved into stone?—
Oh! I’ve seen this before. It’s a church. They must be coming to a wedding.
My heart skips a beat.
Weddings bring big emotions. Delicious, giddying, fill-me-up-in-one-gulp emotions.
It’s so much easier to overindulge.
I hesitate and then gird myself. I’ll only walk over to the fence between the playground and the church. Absorb the edges of the celebration from a distance. That’s safe enough.
Pleased with the compromise, I stroll over. The wafting festive energy draws me in.
I rest my hands on top of the picket fence. Only traces of the largest emotions reach me, like standing outside a bakeryand imagining pastries filling your belly from the scents seeping past the door, but it’s a feast all the same.
The burn of my hunger eases. After another five minutes here, it’ll be nothing but a smolder. Five more, and I’ll be completely sated.
The stream of wedding-goers trickles to a halt. It must be almost time for the ceremony to begin.
A small wooden door on the side of the church opens, and a woman in a poofy white dress steps out onto the narrow lawn.
Her pale hair swirls around her head in a fancy arrangement of overlapping loops. Gold jewelry gleams around her neck and in her earlobes.
I stare at her. What’s the bride doing out here?
How are all the people inside the church going to revel in the marriage if she isn’t in there doing the getting married part?
A current of more concentrated emotion washes over me from her, so close by. Without trying, I can pick up on a sour tang of doubt and a bitter knot of guilt alongside the delicate tendrils of excitement.
Oh no. What does it matter if the people inside are happy for her if she isn’t happy herself?
Is there some way I can help her?
My resolve to keep my distance wavers. I never want to come here and only take.
