Smooth skin is interrupted with the harsh lines of old injuries, and you trace the scars along her belly with your fingers, dipping lower and lower, following the path they create until you reach the point where they curl around her hips and into her pants. You stop there - it isn't something either of you are ready for, to continue.

Her hand joins yours, and together, you lace your fingers until they're woven tight, and it's hard to tell where she ends and you begin. You pull her close, and smile into her neck; she takes her free hand and dances it over your back, kissing your shoulder - neither of you have uttered a single word, but you both understand what's being said.

Her hair glows gold in the warm light floating through the window, and you nestle into it, tucking it past her ear with a finger and revelling in the soft lemon scent. She makes a small noise, almost like a laugh, almost like a song, and pulls you closer. your legs intertwine, and you can feel those scars on her belly brushing up against the ones on yours. you smile.

This is happiness, you think to yourself, and mean it, with your entire body and mind and soul - this is happiness, and she makes you the happiest anyone could ever be. You pray to all the gods that you make her happy too.

Outside, wars rage. Outside, monsters rip into demigods for the sins of their parents. Outside, children, suspicious of their new belonging, swing swords and draw bows for the very first time, learning all the different ways to keep themselves alive. You doubt any of them have had a life anything less than tragic, and you know not all of them will be alive come next year, if there are even any at all. That will be your burden, in all the years and months and days you have left.

You let your eyes slip closed, knowing that soon, you will rise, and arm yourself for a world doing its very best to kill you. Soon, she will leave, with no guarantee of ever returning. Your years are numbered - her time is running out. The last demigod to make it past twenty sold his soul for the resurrection of a titan.

So you hold onto this moment, shared with her in the privacy of your cabin, hoping desperately it won't be your last.

(It won't be)


part of my ongoing campaign to actually publish the things i write, no matter how short or horrible. it started out happy, got a little sad, maybe ended on a hopeful note? i don't know - tell me what you think.