I feel feral. Wild. Like the night is not just above and around me but inside, too, deep where no one can take it away. I want to howl at the moon with Furfur. I want to dash up the mountain or down to the ocean where Avesta will pace at the shoreline like a tiger at the end of a too-short leash.
I feel like I’m constantly moving. But I’m not. I’m drawn taut and still, eager as a weapon that wants to be buried to the hilt. “It’s just a pup.” Furfur murmurs to me with a gentleness that makes me angry. I KNOW it’s just a pup but I want to hold on to this savage version of me, I want to be this girl with razor eyes forever.
I can’t hold on forever. I soften, fold. Hide all the parts of me too sharp and strange to share with strangers. Kibou says “it’s nice to meet you.” and I say “you too,” even though I still don’t know what to make of him. All I know of boys I’ve heard second-hand. Most of it has been from my parents, who I obviously cannot trust on the matter.
He says he’s big enough to go for a walk by himself, and I am careful not to roll my eyes. My guess is he snuck out, just like I did, except instead of bringing a wraith wolf with him he brought… a monkey. Maybe part of my scorn comes from a secret admiration. Maybe.
He asks why I’m not asleep and I snort. “I’m bigger than you.” I don’t think I need to explain much more. If he is big enough to go for a walk by himself at this hour, so am I. And even if I wasn’t– with Furfur here, as far as I’m concerned, I am untouchable.
Of course, I evade the real answer to his question. I’m not asleep because the walls couldn’t stop talking tonight, and I couldn’t stop listening, even though I know too well how some stories are better left untouched. I’m not asleep because my heart needed the open sky and my head needed the fresh night air and my soul needed the moonlight. And even though the cobblestone streets try to catch my attention with scandalous whispers, as long as I keep moving they can’t overwhelm me with story.
The boy is so… smiley. I try to mirror his expression, soft and eager and happy. But I’m sure he can see that I’m faking it, my smile an uncertain mockery of his. “It’s nice.” I say, attention caught on that warm golden glow. Something about it fills me with certainty, like the way I know the sun will always rise at the end of the night.
Without realizing it I begin to shift from foot to foot. Magic is making me restless. Whispers are gathering in the shadows; I begin to hear snippets of sentences, stories weaving together in the darkness where Kibou’s light does not reach. I need to move, or to keep listening to the boy talk. “How come I’ve never seen you before?”
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