Page 101 of Florescentia

My eyes blinked open reluctantly, then turned slowly to her.

“It is real,” she said, “the skin. It is millions of years old, from deep time”—she placed her hands on it as well, a radiant smile piquing her features—“but you could taste that, couldn’t you?”

While she could only marvel at the beast, I could only see the shining star that was her.

“We can come as often as you like,” she offered. “It should keep you fed. No need to rely on street clams and stale pretzels.”

“Lucia,” I said, my fingers brushing against hers.

She circled the trunk that hung over the pedestal, her eyes flicking to me when I said her name. I thought, faintly, I could see her markings glow, the light in her eyes fluttering through as quick as a sprite.

Like some desperate possession, a pathetic, weak step took over this human form. My hand cupped the back of her neck.

For a moment, she was horrified. There was self-consciousness, the fleeting traces of fear.

Then our lips met.

I had to show her. If she closed her eyes, she could see it.

Expansive grassland, the cool glow of the morning sunrise painting the dry grass. Patches of shade in the graze still held snow. In the far-off distance, snowy colossal glaciers overlooked the natural kingdom.

An echo of a trumpet, footsteps crunching over the chilled landscape. Then, a small tusked woolly gallivanted across the plane, the larger, slower-stepping parent rushing behind. The large ears flapped as it finally tucked the small one under its body, shielding the mammoth calf from harsh winds. We were looking through the eyes of an equally large form. It got closer; then we could see tusks in front of us as it tipped its head against the other mammal.

I broke the kiss, my appetite full. I couldn’t look any longer.

Only to open my eyes to Lucia, her eyes slow to open, gaze glassy, cheeks flushed.

“Are you well?” I took her face in my hand, leaning back to look at her. Did I step on her? An extra appendage poke her?

Her lip trembled as she wiped her face. “Was that real? Was it . . .” She trailed off and looked at the still beast.

My insides hurt. Not like a stomachache, but a different ache. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“Can you show me more?” She looked so eager when she asked. “Can you do that for other things?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding, “with all things.”

With a tug, the scarf loosened from her neck.

“No.” I held my hand up, but she took it.

“Show me,” she said, wrapping the scarf around my palm. “Please.” The plea was breathless.

With an unsteady hand, my fingers curled into a fist around the scarf.

The rush was like an electric current halting the heart. Something twisted and sickening. Like curdled milk or rotting flesh. A longing unfulfilled. The urge to fight, to capture something being teased and then pulled away so violently.

But it wasn’t from the memories.

It was from something inside me.

For touching me so, and only wanting him.

Golden sunset kissed the lavender blooms. The fragrance was loud against the serenity of the field.

She wore white.

Lucia’s hand clasped his as they moved between the bushels of purple blooms. Each time the flowers brushed her skin, a fresh blessing of scented pollen clung to her like perfume.