EIGHTY-THREE | SALT AND ASH

My heart thrummed and pulsed with sheer joy at our closeness as we walked along the cliff’s edge. Mist shrouded the sea, but the red orb hanging low in the sky would burn it away as it rose. I would juggle the new, darker morality singing within me later.

It had been childish to latch onto my Dads’ words as gospel, to readily believe their tales and their lore. It had nearly cost me my life. And, though my nerves jumped with every sweeping brush of Cyrus’s fingers across the back of my hand, which clutched his like a lifeline, I was still uneasy about telling them.

I could now remember exactly how poorly I’d reacted to the truth. I knew that they would react similarly – after all, it had been their influence that had guided me to such hatred.

I shoved the thought aside, and instead revelled in the touch of his skin against mine. His palms were smoother than mine – no callouses drummed