Well, by now, I'm sure we're all pretty sick and tired of the Unseelie King making an appearance and just being an overall pain in the ass, so how about we get some good old fashioned Shion/Nezumi content up in here, huh?
CHAPTER TWENTY
Shion stumbled off the stairs, dizzy and a bit embarrassed. He'd had an opportunity to talk with a faerie king—an important faerie king—and he'd blown it. All the cool thoughts that'd drifted through his brain, the opportunity to ask for protection from the cruel Folk for his mother and Safu, vanished as soon as those strange black eyes caught his own.
Shion tripped forward, his hip catching against a tray a small creature that resembled a Victorian gargoyle carried. The beast snapped at his calf, grazing it with the tip of its jagged fangs. Shion felt the tooth catch against his skin, scraping just enough to unleash a few beads of blood. The black leggings the arachne had given him proved little protection against faerie teeth.
"Ow," Shion said, although it didn't hurt as much as he thought it should.
A strange haze hung over his vision, blending the monstrous faces of the crowd together into a single conglomerate of horror. It was like something he'd seen in his worst nightmares—hundreds of gold and purple and red eyes glaring back at him, hungry for a taste of human flesh, eager to punish a mortal foolish enough to walk into their midst.
The smell of Shion's blood seemed to attract the Folk. The ones closest to him leaned in and breathed heavily, their snouts ruffling the edges of his hair. The stench of rotten meat scattered around Shion's face; he turned away, stomach rolling.
The Unseelie King had smelled like dead roses. It wasn't necessarily a pleasant scent, but it was far better than the rotten smog emanating from some of the Folk. His feet carried him forward, the crowd parting for him just enough to get a good look at his shoulders and his back.
Shion's tunic felt strangely loose on the back of his spine, where the arachne had cinched it shut. Something brushed the backs of Shion's thighs, and all of a sudden, a cold gust of air prickled across the bare skin of his back.
He turned, and the sleeve of his tunic slipped down to the point where the whole thing almost came unraveled. Shion's left arm, the bandages wrapped around his bicep, and most of his chest lay exposed for the majority of the Unseelie Court to see.
I should... fix it. Shion's fingers fumbled for the flimsy ties that'd held his tunic together. His trembling fingers made a mess of the white ribbons, pulling them loose to the point where the whole ensemble slipped down to his navel.
He wondered if someone had pulled the ties on his back loose. If they'd snagged on one of the jutting spikes or massive scales sticking from several of the Folk and quickly become undone. The arachne had informed him that bare human flesh would entice some of the large Folk, appealing to the blood lust within them. She'd assured him that no harm would come to him this evening—nothing he wouldn't survive, at least—and that it would be wise for him to simply let whatever became of him occur without incident.
A few of the larger Folk closed in around him, their fangs dripping green drool on the stones. Shion stared up at them, a faint echo of terror twisting in the back of his skull. He'd seen creatures like this on the outskirts of Kronos before. These Folk ate sprites. They plucked screaming cherubs off the ground and bit their heads off.
Shion stepped back, a scream for help building in his throat—
A hand brushed against his bare arm, and then a wash of gold drifted in front of his sight line.
"Let me help you with that, hon." A soft feminine voice danced over him, melting away the faint drift of terror that'd begun to bubble within him.
Shion lifted his blurry eyes and peered through the haze at the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.
Curls of golden hair spilled over her shoulders, bound into tiny braids at her temples. Her peach-colored skin glimmered beneath the faint golden light; along the bridge of her nose and her plump cheeks, Shion could see a dusting of freckles that better resembled glitter embedded in her skin. They sent a sheen of sparkles against the sapphire pigment of her irises, her big eyes rimmed with a thick smearing of black kohl.
Behind the girl, a hulking figure with electric yellow hair slid between her and the horde of Folk that'd begun to descend toward Shion. A set of massive golden wings, like those of a great bird, extended from his back, forming a neat barrier between Shion and the nightmare assortment of beasts.
The man narrowed his eyes at the crowd and growled, "Get lost, the lot of you."
"Fuck you, Locke," snarled one of the creatures, its voice high and thin. "We saw the boy first!"
"I said," the man rumbled, "get lost!"
He swung one of his wings forward, and when it struck the creature, it fell back with a pained hiss. Steam rose from its face—and Shion saw, with no small amount of surprise, that a blistering red burn had grown on the goblin's cheek.
Shion inspected the man's wings for traces of iron—but no, there was nothing except feathers and the faint echo of heat radiating from them. A dull glow emanated from within, as if a fire had been lit in the core of each feather, releasing only after touching the goblin's flesh.
The golden-haired girl placed her arm across Shion's chest, shielding him from the assemblage of creatures around him. Their attention had been arrested by Locke, the towering man who stood before them, growling out a warning challenge to anyone who tried to step forward.
A scent like fresh peonys radiated from the girl's hair and skin as she guided Shion toward a table nestled against one of the stone walls. A crowd of massive ogres had been situated there, but as they saw the golden-haired girl and the hulking man approach, they quickly vacated the premises, leaving only the table and a few upturned stone chairs in their wake.
"Here," the girl murmured, her fingers deftly retying the tunic and sliding it back up Shion's bare shoulder. She tied them extra tight, ensuring that it wouldn't come undone unless someone made a solid effort to yank it to pieces. "There, that's better."
"Who..." Shion's head swam, and he touched his forehead with a soft groan.
"Sit down, hon." The girl guided him into one of the chairs while the hulking man busied himself with picking up the rest. His wings had flattened against his spine; up close, Shion could see a mess of golden tattoos etched into his dark skin, swirling around the cords of muscle beneath his bare arms and back.
Once he was seated, the world steadily began to stop spinning. Shion rested his head in his hands, taking a few moments to catch his breath. The swirl of the crowd around him radiated with the same hostile excitement it had when he arrived, but with the girl and the hulking man lingering close by, Shion felt that, somehow, it couldn't touch him.
"I'm Tana," the girl said, waving her small hand toward her chest. She gestured to the man, who'd come to stand at the table beside Shion, blocking him from direct view of the crowd with his body. "And this is Locke. We're companions with Nezumi."
Shion perked up at the mention of Nezumi's name. Even with the haze burning through his mind, he remembered that silver-eyed boy he'd helped in the woods. He couldn't get the memory of those pretty irises out of his mind, so much so that they'd haunted his dreams while he slept in his bed. Shion covered his mouth with his hands and stifled a laugh at the absurdity of it all.
A look of concern flickered across Tana's face. She looked over her shoulder, and all at once the worry drifted away from her face. "As if on cue," she muttered, a fond smile flashing its way across her pale pink lips.
Locke stepped aside, and Nezumi appeared beside him. The silver glass comprising his irises flickered as he spotted Shion, and all at once, the tension in his shoulders seemed to dissipate.
Shion wriggled his fingers at him and said, "Hi, Nezumi!"
Nezumi looked up at Locke, who rose several heads taller than him. He gave him an appreciative nod, and Locke returned it. Nezumi stepped toward the table, and Tana placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
"I saw you coming," she murmured, "but Locke and I were closer."
She was far shorter than Nezumi, and Shion was surprised to realize he hadn't noticed that she was shorter than him, too. He'd been arrested by the sparkling freckles on her face and the sunlight trapped in her wavy hair. The floor beneath his feet slowly began to sway, like a boat rocking gently on the ocean's waves. A storm lingered at the edge of it, ready to capsize the boat at a moment's notice. Shion clung to the table in case the waves came to tip him over and wash him away.
Nezumi stepped away from Tana with a grateful nod, and Shion vaguely remembered that the Fair Folk didn't express their thanks with words the way humans did. Shion furrowed his brow, trying to remember how it was done. Should he thank Tana and Locke by bumping his nose against theirs, the way a mouse would? Should he wave at them? If he said, "I appreciate the help", would that count as a 'thank you' to the point where they'd be offended by it? Too many things churned in his head, making him dizzy.
"We'll leave him in your care," Shion heard Tana say. "Locke and I will ensure that no other... situations arise."
Nezumi nodded to her once again, and then he stepped in front of Shion. His expression was cold and distant, a fine porcelain mask set in place to keep the world from seeing his emotions. But Shion could see the cracks forming at the edges as Nezumi looked down at him. Shion's pale, dream-drunk face peered back at him from Nezumi's irises, and Shion hoped he didn't look as woozy as he felt.
"They were nice," he said dumbly as Tana and Locke disappeared into the crowd. Shion could see the way they went, for the crowd of dancing Folk shifted to allow them to pass, putting enough distance that Locke's wings didn't brush against them.
"They're far less terrible than every other faerie in this Court," Nezumi muttered, and Shion felt a pang of sorrow as he realized that Nezumi had included himself in with the other monsters living in the Unseelie mountain.
"You're..." Shion's head swam, and he felt like he was going to fall over even though he was still sitting down. "You're not terrible."
"You have no idea what I'm like," Nezumi retorted almost immediately, but there was no heat behind it. Only a quiet resignation that made him sound sad and lonely.
Shion's arms ached from their place on the table's cool surface. He went to lift them, but found the effort to be far too difficult. He exhaled, frustrated at how hard it was to think, to move, to just focus, and then he felt Nezumi's arm shift to support his upper back.
"Come on," Nezumi said. He eased Shion up out of the chair and onto his feet.
"Where—where are we going?"
"Not really much of anywhere," Nezumi grumbled, his eyes darting to the crowd. Inside the collection of grotesque faces and sinister grins, Shion could make out a familiar set of golden eyes watching them from the shadows.
Scorpia. Shion furrowed his brow at the Phooka and stuck his tongue out.
"Come on," Nezumi said, louder this time, drawing Shion away from the table. He kept his arm across Shion's upper back, and it was only then that Shion lamented that Tana had tied it back together. If it'd been undone, he would have felt Nezumi's arm across his bare skin. "We should—try and enjoy the celebration, I guess."
Shion felt a laugh bubbling up inside his chest. Nezumi didn't seem like the type of enjoy any sort of party. He seemed better suited to sitting in a room, surrounded by books.
Shion thought about telling him that—but then they were swept up in the crowd of faeries partying around them. Shion stepped in close to Nezumi, tucked against his side so the crowd wouldn't pull him away.
The world around him was awash in bright reds, blues, and purples. Overall, darkness leeched the light out of the corners, and at the head of the chaos, the Unseelie King sat on his throne and surveyed his subjects with a cruel eye. He held a goblet in his black-tattooed hand, tipping the contents into his mouth and laughing loudly over the reedy music that drifted through the mountain.
Shion's mouth ran dry as he and Nezumi moved slowly through the crowd. For the most part, the courtiers didn't seem too fascinated by Shion's presence. He wondered if Nezumi's arrival had something to do with their averted gazes.
The bubbles of terror that'd begun to swell inside him popped and fizzled away as Nezumi lingered beside him, a stable anchor to keep Shion from swaying too far over the edge and being swept away by the nightmares. Safu's grandmother had regaled him with stories of humans who were foolish enough to find themselves inside the faerie Courts, incapable of escaping without making a life-changing bargain. Even if they did manage to find their way back to the mortal realm, it might not be the year they left, or even the same generation. The Folk might keep the human for a hundred years before depositing him back into a world he could never hope to adjust to, forcing him back into the arms of the Folk out of sheer loneliness.
A short creature with the body of a dog scampered by, clutching a tray of wine goblets in his tiny paws. It spotted Shion and Nezumi and thrust the tray up toward them, its beady black eyes flickering to Shion's face and widening at the realization that he was mortal.
The dry snap in Shion's throat compelled him to reach out and snag one of the goblets. "Thank you," he said, and at the creature's flinch, Shion quickly amended, "Oh, I mean, not thank you." He furrowed his brow. Was he supposed to say the opposite of thank you? "Um, screw you? No, wait," he said urgently at the creature's startled expression, "that's mean. Um, what I meant to say was I appreciate the drink. Have a good night."
The creature raised an eyebrow on its strangely human face, but didn't comment on Shion's strange outburst. It offered the tray to Nezumi, but he seemed more occupied with reaching out to try and stop Shion from drinking from the wine glass.
Shion pulled it away from him, twisting his body to protect the glass from Nezumi's reaching hands. "No, this is mine!" He curled around it protectively, feeling Nezumi's hands brushing against the curve of his back. "If you want one, get your own."
"Shion, don't be an idiot. Don't drink that!"
A strange festering of excitement burst through him, and Shion gulped down the contents as quickly as he could. A few droplets of the liquid spilled down his lips, splattering on the ground beneath him.
"Shion!"
The lights peppered around the walls of the cave glittered in his periphery. Everywhere he looked, Shion could see the faces of faeries flashing and whirling around him as they spun like tops to the reedy music a group of cherubs with goat legs were desperately playing from a small wooden stage in the corner.
The contents of the goblet were a heady mix of things Shion had never anticipated he would taste: sunlight glinting off of polished apples before they were pressed into cider, a dusting of cinnamon sticks before they were bottled and shipped to human grocery stores, the dangerous promise of an eternity living in constant revelry without a care in the world. Shion drank the remainder, miserable because he couldn't reach the droplets clinging to the bottom with his tongue.
Nezumi snatched the glass from him and flung it into the crowd. It managed to miss the head of a tall serpentine boy by a few inches before shattering on the stones and skittered about like diamonds. The crowd ignored the sharp sound, and Shion realized he wasn't the only one drinking the strange elixir.
"Dammit," Nezumi snarled.
"Did you want some?" Shion slurred, feeling oddly guilty. He stared at the pieces of broken glass, wondering how long it would take to piece it back together. Would the droplets of the wine still cling to the shards and pebbles of glass, and if he licked them, would he taste them over the metallic flavor of his own blood?
"No, I don't want some." Nezumi hooked an arm around Shion's waist and began to guide him away from the music and the dancing faeries who'd drifted around them. The Folk seemed to know to leave enough space around Nezumi at all times, and they never drifted in front of their path. "And you shouldn't have drank any of it, either."
Shion reached up and pressed his fingertip against his tongue. The drink settled in his stomach, churning through his blood and turning his thoughts to mush. He felt muzzy and warm, comfortable in a way he never felt unless he was cozy beneath his blankets back at home, listening to the pitter-pat of raindrops against his bedroom window.
He didn't want to lay beneath his covers, though.
He looked out at the crowd of dancing faeries and suddenly wanted to join them.
Shion caught Nezumi's shoulder, so suddenly he almost fell onto the floor. Nezumi's arm snapped around his waist, keeping him steady, and Shion took the opportunity to weave both his arms around Nezumi's shoulders.
Warmth trickled through his stomach as he stood against Nezumi, their chests pressed together. Shion angled his head back, just a bit shorter than Nezumi, and peered into his silver eyes. There was a look of shock etched across Nezumi's face, and a purplish-pink tint to his cheeks that Shion thought might have been the beginnings of a blush.
"I want to dance," Shion said.
"W-what?"
"I want," Shion said slowly, his voice rising over the reedy music, "to dance. With you."
In the back of his mind, some hollow part of Shion knew he shouldn't take part in a faerie revelry. Safu's grandmother would lose her mind if she could see what he'd become, if she knew what he'd risked to end up here in this moment. But it was a small price to pay for such a reward. The muzzy haze of the spiced wine danced in Shion's mind, pushing aside the fears and the restrictive edges of his humanity.
"You said we should try and enjoy the celebration." Shion's tongue poked at the lingering taste of the wine on his lips. He wanted more of it—especially when he saw the way Nezumi's silver eyes glanced down at his lips, following the path of his tongue.
Shion was unsteady on his feet, but clinging to Nezumi, he'd never felt so certain that he wouldn't fall. He could spin and dip and do whatever dance move he wanted, and Nezumi would never let him hit the ground. Shion knew that, the same way he knew the sun would rise each morning, the same way he knew the air would smell like petrichor after a heavy rainstorm.
Surrounded by the music of the Unseelie Court, Shion's heart lurched as Nezumi pulled him close and guided him safely into the throng of dancing faeries.
The other Folk kept a sizable distance, but Shion didn't mind. He preferred it. There was nothing to focus on except the silver eyes locked on his own, the feel of Nezumi's shoulders beneath the palms of his hands, the scent of leather and jasmine petals that drifted around him and lulled him into a calm sense of being that he'd never experienced.
Shion vaguely recognized the dance he and Nezumi performed—a muted rendition of a waltz—and Shion was certain he didn't look as coordinated as he felt. His head drifted a thousand miles above the crowd, anchored only by the soft brush of Nezumi's eyes, which never left his face. No matter where they drifted, Nezumi's gaze never abandoned him.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Shion knew that something bad was about to happen to him. Something he should have been running away from. But as Nezumi guided him through the dance, Shion couldn't remember what he'd been concerned over. It slipped from his mind like water from a cracked glass. He laughed and drank and danced until he no longer cared what would become of him.
After spinning through the crowd for what felt like an eternity, Shion placed a hand on Nezumi's shoulder and murmured, "I—I need to sit down."
Nezumi's silver eyes flickered and, if Shion didn't know any better, for the briefest of moments, he looked almost concerned.
Taking Shion into his arms, Nezumi dropped backward onto a plush couch streaked over with vines and dark leaves and moths that looked almost alive. Living portraits trapped within the fabric. Shion hadn't seen when they'd drifted toward the lounge, only that there seemed to be an assemblage of cushions and couches and soft chairs jammed against one of the walls, where a few Folk had passed out, dozing in the midst of the revelry.
Situated and secured on Nezumi's lap, Shion leaned forward and rested his head against the crook of Nezumi's throat. "I need another drink," he whispered. His throat felt too dry. He could taste ash on his tongue, a thick layer that made him want to vomit.
"I think you've had enough," Nezumi snorted, but Shion laughed as three small sprites tripped over one another to bring a tray of tall goblets filled with spiced wine over to them. "Water," Nezumi said firmly, lancing each of them with a stern look. "No more wine."
"Yes more wine," Shion said, taking hold of one of the goblets. He spun it in his hand. Delicate scrollwork traced the surface, and etched into the silver and black glass were images of a brutal war. Shion tipped the glass toward his face and peered inside. The rich gold and orange colors of the apple spice wine swirled and shifted like tiny sunbursts inside. "Pretty."
"Yes, very pretty." Nezumi took the goblet from Shion's hand like a parent removing a knife from their toddler's curious fingers. He set the glass on the ground, where Shion couldn't reach it unless he toppled off Nezumi's lap and onto the floor. "Let's find you something else to drink. Like water. Water's pretty, too." He jerked his head toward the three sprites, and with thin chirps that might have been either affirmation or panic, they darted off into the crowd in search of some water.
"Buh-bye, little lights," Shion whispered, wiggling his fingers after them.
With an arm securely around Shion's waist and the other pressed between his shoulder blades, Nezumi pulled Shion forward until their hips were aligned. Shion couldn't have fallen even if he wanted to. He could feel and smell and touch Nezumi, but rather than making him feel the painfully hot prickles in his belly that he usually felt, Shion was overwhelmed by how relaxed being with Nezumi tonight made him feel.
Nezumi's hair fell around him like a curtain. Shion hadn't noticed before but, when they'd been dancing, the tie keeping it drawn back had come undone. It fell in long, glossy black tendrils around his shoulders. Shion felt a crushing desire to run his hands through it. The strands glimmered in the dim light like strips of metal. Would each of his fingers be cut to ribbons, if he dared?
Shion felt Nezumi's hand move from between his shoulder blades to tangle in his hair, securing his head in place. "Have you ever heard A Fairy Song by William Shakespeare?" Nezumi inquired. Shion couldn't see his expression, but his voice sounded as hard as the stones they'd danced upon.
"No." Shion's head spun. He felt anxious and unsteady, as if sitting any longer could cause something bad to happen to him. His legs ached with the desire to join in the dancing again. "Let's go back and dance."
He shifted on Nezumi's lap, but those hands kept a firm grip on him, solid as iron manacles.
On every side, faeries were laughing—dancing in ways that were graceful, wild, and sometimes shocking. Shion couldn't imagine what it must have been like to dance among them until the sun rose. He wanted to find out.
Nezumi pulled Shion close until he was all Shion could see. Nezumi bent forward, almost curling his body around Shion's own, as if he could shield him from the twisting revelers who surged around them. "Over hill, over dale," he whispered, and Shion stilled in his arms and listened. "Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire."
There was something haunting and beautiful about Nezumi's voice. The way the words slipped over his tongue, fell from behind his teeth and transformed into something compelling that made Shion forget the beasts that shrieked and laughed and gyrated behind him.
"I do wander everywhere," Nezumi went on. "Swifter than the moon's sphere; And I serve the Fairy..." Nezumi paused, a word in the poem lodging in his throat as if he'd swallowed a piece of fruit he hadn't quite chewed enough. He clenched his teeth and decided against trying the word, instead pushing forward with the rest of the recitation: "To dew her orbs upon the green; The cowslips tall her pensioners be; In their gold coats spots you see; Those be rubies, fairy favours; In those freckles live their savours; I must go seek some dewdrops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear."
"That was—," Shion whispered. "That was beautiful, Nezumi." Beautiful didn't seem like a strong enough word to describe the sound of Nezumi's voice. Shion buried his face against Nezumi's neck. "Tell me another?"
"Only if you drink your water." Nezumi shifted Shion on his lap like a rag doll; Shion seemed to have stopped caring some time ago which way he was shifted and moved toward, and Nezumi was warm and solid in a world that was cold and spinning.
Shion's dry mouth longed for the prickling taste of the spiced apple wine, but his heart longed for more of Nezumi's lovely poetry. His fingers itched to reach for the goblet of wine—which, he realized, had been snatched up by greedy fingers and whisked off into the crowd. He pouted, but the disappointment slipped from his brain as the three sprites came fluttering back into view, carrying a large tankard in their toothpick-sized arms.
"Hullo, little lights," Shion greeted, wiggling his fingers toward them.
The sprites fluttered toward Nezumi, holding the tankard in their hands, only capable of carrying it between the three of them. With nervous chirps, they handed the tankard to Nezumi, who took it with an appreciative grunt. Freed from the burden of the heavy cup, the sprites flitted around Shion, ruffling his hair and tugging at the strands stuck to his cheeks. He swatted his hand at them playfully, ducking his face into Nezumi's throat with a breathless laugh to protect himself from the onslaught.
Nezumi held the tankard in his hand, his grip on Shion's back tightening to keep him steady. "Here," he said, holding the water out toward Shion. "If I hand this to you, are you going to drop it?"
Shion unearthed his face from the leather of Nezumi's jacket and peered up at him. Those unnatural silver eyes lanced through him. "No," he said, furrowing his brow. The room had begun rotating around them, as if the couch had been set on a turntable. "I can... I can hold it."
Nezumi gave him a look that said he didn't quite believe what Shion told him. He held the cup out, but when Shion went to take it, Nezumi gripped the edge of it and kept it steady. Shion thought about yanking it away from him—because he could hold it on his own, he could!—but the room was spinning, and the water might spill. And if Shion spilled the water, he wouldn't be able to drink it, and then Nezumi wouldn't tell him more poems.
He grumbled, but allowed Nezumi to keep the cup steady as he tipped it back and took three greedy gulps.
Somehow, as if by magic, the water within the tankard was crisp and cool, as if it'd come from the snow on top of a mountain. Perhaps it had. They were beneath a mountain now, and Shion wondered if the Unseelie Court got their water supply from the snow that melted above their heads. He tipped the cup back as he took another gulp, a few drops sloshing over the rim and dribbling down his chin.
"Careful," Nezumi chided, pressing his forearm against Shion's spine and sitting him upright.
Shion didn't like the position. It made his spine ache. He shifted in Nezumi's lap, but it didn't seem like he was going to be let free anytime soon. He grumpily took a few more sips of water, carefully this time, letting the cool taste of melted snow wash away the bittersweet snap of spiced apples.
When he finished the tankard, he showed it to Nezumi. Nezumi scrutinized the contents, as if Shion had somehow managed to hide it from him. After confirmed that Shion had, in fact, finished all of it, Nezumi exhaled and thought for a moment. "Let's see," he murmured. "How about... Bright Star?" At Shion's uncertain look, he clarified, "Keats?"
"I don't know him," Shion murmured, nestling into Nezumi's shoulder all the same. "But I want to hear it."
"So uncultured," Nezumi tutted, but he kept Shion comfortably against his chest, shifting only to allow the couch to envelope them more. Shion felt his thigh brush against something hard strapped to Nezumi's hip; he vaguely recognized it as the silver knife he'd plucked from the forest floor, the catalyst that had led to Nezumi returning to find him at the bakery.
Shion nuzzled against Nezumi's shoulder, breathing in the scents around him, listening to the rumble of Nezumi's chest as he lowered his voice and recited the poem in a soft voice, intended only for Shion to hear:
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Shion exhaled, his eyelids fluttering as Nezumi's voice drifted around him like a lullaby. Nezumi curled around him and drew Shion into the protective warmth of his jacket. His lips brushed the strands of hair on Shion's forehead as he carefully and calmly recited the words of the poem, and his own unbound hair fell around Shion's face.
It's soft, Shion thought wondrously. Not like metal at all.
He meant to tell Nezumi. He meant to tell him he was dizzy and he wanted to lay down, but before he could, the world spun and went dark.
To Be Continued...