Page 21 of May: Bloom & Bane

“Sage,” she hums. “Open your eyes.”

I crack them open, and my breath leaves me all over again.

Her eyes are the color of a sun-drenched canopy—jade green with streaks of gold.

“Thé sila,” I breathe, the words catching in my throat as I gaze into their depths. (You shine)

She reaches up, thumbs wiping away the tears from my cheeks. Her lips brush mine for just a breath. Like sunlight skimming the surface of a still pond.

It’s so soft it hurts. My whole body goes still.

Her nose grazes mine, her breath shuddering against my skin.

“Eden,” I whisper. But she kisses me again, and I swallow her sigh. Her fingers slide deeper into my hair, tugging me closer.

“Luváel,” I groan against her mouth, my fingers digging into the silk of her gown. “Mí’sírael… neeth… neeth… neeth.” (Yours)

A flicker of fireflies ignites in the grove. Then snow. Then sun. Then rain.

The seasons unravel around us in beautiful chaos as my control shatters. Summer’s heat pulses through the flowers before they freeze under a sudden frost. Orange peonies blaze, lavender melts into liquid, wind lashes at the trees.

The grove doesn’t know what to be—so it becomes everything.

I pull her into my lap, my wings snapping closed like a cathedral around our bodies.

She exhales my name into my mouth.

She tugs harder at my hair, and the vines around us bloom in a fevered rush.

“Í amar thé,” I gasp, my lips finding the pulse point near her throat. (I love you)

I am hers—in life and in death. She is The Sun, and I am the shadow she finally caught.

The silence inside my wings is thick, heavy with the scent of our mingled breaths. I lean in for a third kiss when the wing near my shoulder begins to twitch.

Mmph! Heavy! Droot is squished!

A tiny, neon-pink head pops through the layers like a sprout breaking through the soil. He’s covered in a mix of white jasmine petals, icicles, and gold pollen. He shakes out his fur, sending a spray of ice crystals directly into my nose.

Big Bird and The Sun make too much weather! Droot chirps, his light flickering indignantly as he crawls toward my collarbone. First it is hot. Then it is cold. Then the flowers go poof, and Droot is a popsicle!

He lands on the bridge of my nose, staring directly into my eyes. He looks like a very angry, very pink firefly.

The box is gone, yes? The mouth-touching is done? He jumps up and down. Droot is hungry. The big peonies are now frozen pops. We go to the hut now? We eat the honey-bread?

Eden’s chest shakes with a suppressed giggle.

“He’s right,” I rasp, though I make no move to let her go. “He’s been waiting over a year for this snack.”

Droot is the King! He puffs out his tiny chest. The King does not wait. The King leads! He does a clumsy somersault off my nose and hops his way down my wings, shining his light like a tiny lantern to show us the way out of the petal-pile.

CHAPTER 11

walnuts & safety

The hut! Let’s go to the hut! Droot repeats as he hops around us in a circle.

“We are in the hut, Droot?” I try to stand, but my legs are like water. I have to lean on Eden, my arm draped over her shoulders as we stumble through the tangled collapse of my multi-seasonal poof.