[P] so, eden sank to grief

[Marisol]

“May God break my heart so completely that the whole world falls in.”

The moment of silence between Marisol’s admission and Orestes’ response feels absolutely like death. 

The longest moment of warm, complete darkness there ever has been or ever will be—longer than life itself, longer than Marisol’s bloodline has walked the earth, longer than the gods have existed, longer than the heat death of the universe or anything else.

She is a teenager again, making eyes across the room at the boy who will ruin her life, because the future is so fuzzy, and he has eyes like gems. And then a child, dark skin warming under the sun, racing through the fields with the wind at her back. And then a foal, still learning how to walk; and then nothing but a swirling consciousness trapped in the warm belly of her mother, and Mari closes her eyes, and she can hear nothing but the wind rushing through the old trees and Orestes’ heartbeat drumming in her ear out of the soft place between his cheek and throat.

The turning of the world slows, then stops; her head is filled with the rushing sound of blood, and the smell of so many apples crushed underfoot.

Orestes moves. She almost falls apart, or collapses to the ground, folding at the knees; but instantly he is there to catch her, steady, solid, as warm and calm and alive as ever when he tilts her head up for their eyes to meet, and when they do Marisol wants to ry again for the way he looks at her, with more love than she could ever possibly deserve from him. 

Blue and blue and blue and blue, all the way down to the bottom of the sea. And Marisol was always meant for the sky—why else would she carry these wings?—but for Orestes, she thinks she might be willing to drown.

I would help you look for her, he says. She looks up at him with wide gray eyes and they are softer than perhaps anyone has ever seen, melted down into mercury, spilling over onto her cheeks; and when she breathes it is shaky, the inhale mottled by effort, chest tightening as if squeezed by a python. “He died years ago. When he was still in training.” She produces a swallow made gritty with effort, even the memory of it casting a brief shadow over her face.

But almost instantly she is distracted from that pain by the echo of Orestes’ voice in her head—I would help you look for her. 

I would help you look for her.

Her ears ring with shrill noise. The thought of it makes Marisol dizzy. Almost sick. It turns the edges of her vision black, and when she speaks it is in a tone of quiet pain, but also conviction: “She doesn’t even know me; it wouldn’t be fair to disrupt her after all these years, when she has her own life and family. I have nothing to give her.” A pause. Marisol glances up at him again and presses her nose briefly to his chest, so that when she speaks it is less noise than vibration, and he cannot see the flush of embarrassment that crawls into her face.

“But sometimes,” she mumbles against his skin, timid and almost silent, “—sometimes—I think I might like to try again.”

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aimless | kokovi