Page 71 of Together We Rot

She brings out her pinkie and I shake it with mine. I want to keep them curled together forever.

There it is again. This bizarre emotion rearing its head. I look at the girl and I do not feel sympathy, but I feel... something.

I decide then that I hate feeling. The wind whips wildly against me, branches hitting hard. I know what I’ll do when I reach her. I’ll dig my claws in and roar to the heavens. I’ll break her down and swallow her up. Maybe then the hunger will end and the memories will fade. One more body to sate my gut and the moon.

Winter steals her scent. I lower myself to the earth and breathe her back into my veins. Her heart is spiced like cloves and cinnamon.

The slope of her nose, the curl of her lashes, the beating in my chest with each pencil stroke. There’s a softer sort of beauty when she lets her guard down. Her hair runs wild down her back, so many little braids woven by my hand.

I lean against the metal bleachers. With another flick of my pencil, I introduce butterflies to her hair. A dozen monarchs perched throughout like gems. I’ll color them in later, a brilliant burst of orange.

My sketchbook is filled to the brim. I’ve gone through several already. Sketching wings and antennae, thoraxes and mandibles, but also Wil and Wil and Wil and Wil.

Stop. I curse the daydream for clouding my focus. I can’t stop now.

I’m gaining on her. Fear blooms off her for the first time. I fill my lungs with it, savor the taste on my tongue.

Not as pleasant as I thought it would be. I want to spit it back out. “Elwood!” There’s that sound again. She screeches it above the wind.

She’s nothing more than a flash of heat. A blurry imprint of red among the surrounding black. One strike and she dodges me yet again. I might have missed her, but the forest doesn’t. I summon a root and she trips over it. She lies beneath me, back pressed into the bark, the rest of her body eclipsed in the snow.

Her blood pools in the frost. There it is. It smells heavenly.

I didn’t find all of my collection myself. I have to ship in some of them from faraway places, places where the sun shines harder and the woods aren’t so brutal.

The woods are dense, but they are also quiet. I walk through the trees and search for the dead. I want to make them new again. Occasionally I will find some— crumpled bodies, curled wings—but more often than not, I don’t find any.

I’m already prying into today’s crate. Everything is so carefully preserved, wrapped and double-wrapped, nestled underneath a mound of protective cloth. My death’s-head hawk moth lies wings closed, tucked inside a protective piece of wax.

I rip the package open, unable to hold back my explosive grin. She’s perfect.

Butterflies and moths come stubborn and rigid. It takes care to get them to open up. I place my new specimen gently inside a pool of water. With time, she will be ready.

I’m fine waiting.

“You’ve got to listen to me, Elwood! Whatever the fuck this is, it isn’t you.” Her voice clears out my mind somewhat. I hear her for the first time, but everything is fuzzy. It stirs in and out of focus. Meaning one second; meaningless the next.

Her heart is a rampant thing in her chest.

And the moon demands I steal it. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

I swipe back, gnashing teeth and swiping claws and a desire so potent, so raw, I can’t fight it. I’m helpless to the pull, and...

“I love you!”

And... I blink. The fog peels back, if only for a second or two. I stir, staring down at honey eyes and a set jaw.

My lips fumble uselessly with a word, my captive human spirit stirring for the first time inside me. W... W... Wi—

“Wil?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

WIL

There he is. The boy I know. The one I never stopped knowing.

He lets out an unearthly howl, a sound that sends the dead plants around us rippling to life. They tug on their roots, trying to push forward.

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