Page 19 of May: Bloom & Bane

He is so heavy. Like a mountain that finally decided to lie down. His hair is a wild thicket of deep green with shimmering purple and gold streaks.

As I run my fingers through it, I can feel the tension slowly bleeding out of his shoulders.

“He’s so quiet now,” I whisper to Droot.

The Big Bird is charging, Droot chirps. He used all his batteries. He sang to the box every night. Sometimes he cried, and the flowers turned blue. Then he sang more, and they turned orange again.

I look around the grove. It isn’t just a garden; it’s a diary. On the bark of the surrounding trees, deep scores in the wood mark the days. Little sketches of a woman’s face, and words I don’t recognize.

“It’s okay, my guardian.” I smooth a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “The box is open. You can stop waiting now.”

His eyelids flutter.

A sharp, pained gasp hitches in his chest, and his eyes fly open. A breathtaking pair of mismatched irises locks onto mine. One violet. One gold. Wonder flickers across his face. Then horror crashes over it.

He screams, his eyes bloodshot and wide with panic.

“Not again. Please.” He staggers backward, clutching his head in his hands. “I beg you. Not another dream. I can’t—I can’t wake up to the glass again.”

“I’m not a dream, Sage,” I say softly, staying exactly where I am so I don’t frighten him.

“That’s what the dream-her said!” he screams, his voice rattling the branches of the tree above. He stares at me. The agony in his eyes physically hurts my chest. “She said she was real, and then—I woke up, and the blossoms were rotting, and you were still asleep.”

He reaches out a trembling hand.

“Stay back,” he chokes out. “Please. If I don’t touch you… maybe I can keep this dream a little longer. Maybe we can stay like this.”

I freeze, my hand inches from his beautiful green skin. I pull it back, but he flinches anyway. “Okay,” I say softly, tucking my hands into the folds of my gown. “No touching. I’ll stay right here.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, his hands white-knuckled as they tug at the roots of his hair.

“You don’t believe I’m real,” I murmur, glancing around at the orange peonies. “So let me tell you something the dream might not know. Let me tell you about the year I spent in the dark with my guardian.”

His head barely lifts, one bloodshot eye peering at me through the curtain of his hair.

“I remember,” I begin, “the first time you brought me a gift. It was a handful of wild strawberries, and you felt guilty because you ate three of them on the way here. You apologized to the glass for at least ten minutes.”

A choked sound escapes his throat.

“I remember,” I continue, watching a vine of jasmine slowly creep from his wing. “The winter came, and you were shivering so hard I could hear the glass rattling. You sang a song about a golden bird with a broken wing to keep yourself from falling asleep. You promised me that if I woke up, you’d never let me feel the cold again.”

His wings give a tiny, involuntary twitch.

“I heard you tell Droot that you were afraid I wouldn’t want to listen to your stories once I saw what you looked like,” I confess. “But you are even more stunning than anything I could have conjured in my dreams.”

I look toward the willow hut, my voice dropping to a whisper.

“And I heard you whispering to the willow branches three nights ago. Pleading with them to wake me up.”

He crawls toward me. Every time his palms hit the ground, purple vines emerge and slither toward me.

“You could hear me?” he rasps. “I wasn’t talking to a ghost?”

“I heard every single thing you did for me.”

I lean back a fraction, but he inches closer.

“You’re not a monster,” I whisper. “You’ve spent a year protecting someone you couldn’t touch. When you’re ready… I’d like to change that.”