Page 25 of Where the Light No Longer Follows

“Shouldn’t you be busy with, I don’t know, whatever your godly self should be doing?” she shouted back.

His words slipped through the veil between worlds as she entered Asphodel, “I want to be busy with you.”

She stomped all the way up the hill to her home, muttering all sorts of cautionary reminders to herself, almost bumping against Azriel on her doorstep. “W-What are you doing here?”

“You were late.”

“I went to a…uh, to a theatre,” she said, inviting him in as she always did, putting the kettle on the stove.

He arched a dark brow as he took a seat on her dinner table, not filling the space quite like his brother had. “You went to the theatre. And how was that?”

“He knows me,” she said, pulling a teacup and saucer. “From before.”

“Who does?”

“Gabriel.”

“Hm,” he hummed, sipping on his tea.

Silene’s lips parted. “You knew?”

“How much did he tell you?”

“How much should he be telling me?”

“None of it. I warned him not to.”

She gapped. “Warned him? Why would you warn him?”

“It’s for the best of both of you to leave behind what was meant to leave behind.”

“You’ve kept him away?”

“Have you wanted him to get close to you?”

Silene might have mulled over that one question many, many, many times over the next few mornings and nights.

Six o' Clock

That night, as she had done many nights ever since she’d found out the truth, she’d sat on her vanity, knees gathered to her chest, staring at candle light flickering for hours to no end, until all the wax had melted into puddles, wick burned entirely out of existence. Then she’d lit another, and another, just watching the flames flicker until she'd fallen asleep just like that, on the chair, her head resting on top of her knees, staring at his letters piling on top of one another on her table.

They started with: Miss me already?

The next day. You will have to leave your room. Your lilies look like they need water.

And the next. I’ve watered your lilies, you cruel Reaper.

And the very next. You must miss me. Surely you miss me.

Then again, the very next. Let me see you. Fine, let Tommy see you.

And another. Come out of that damn home and glare at me, shout at me, come out and throw rocks at me, and tell me every single thing you hate about me, just come out. Please. I can let you throw stuff at Tommy, too, if you’d like. PS: Your lilies are looking a little sad. Are their stems supposed to be bending like that?

Her eyes started drifting shut, lulled by the flame, a drunken smile etched on her face from the last letter he’d sent her and the glances she’d stolen outside of her garden these past few days of the terrifying God who’d been overwatering her lilies. She did not know if it was the faint candlelight or the exhaust she’d been feeling lately or if she’d simply gotten drunk on the silly words on the very last letter: I might have overwatered your lilies. They’re looking a little odd.

“Just go lay in bed already, Silene. You can’t keep sleeping like that forever.”

Her eyes popped open, and she stared at the flame, leaning in to whisper, “You did not speak, you’re a candle.”