She had looked untouchable.
Dark hair strewn too neatly against her back. The flowers of her dress unplucked.
Eyes skirting past him. Mind sinking through the ocean, spinning towards the sky, turning anywhere other than the boat.
She had looked out of place. He wanted to fix her there.
Her thoughts had seemed to weigh her limbs steady still. He wanted to fog them, drug them, free.
She had looked untouchable – so, of course, he wanted to eat her whole.
(Months later, he'll see her with bits of someone else's brain on her lips.)
(And, hey, that works fine for him too.)