Page 33 of Florescentia

“He doesn’t want this.” I pressed my fingers under my eyes to relieve the pressure.

“I know.”

“He was secular. I don’t know why no one will listen to me when I tell them his wishes.”

“I know.”

“He wanted to be tossed into the ocean, added to the ecosystem, buried in a deep forest—he thought funerals were a waste, as do I.”

“Both of our families need closure. This is the fastest way to deal with them. Appease them.” He squeezed my shoulder. “We will make it up to him.”

I brushed his hand off and began gathering the papers off the floor from my failed search.

My stubborn heart ached at the thought of disrespecting his wishes to appease tradition. Yet, the idea of it all being over with was all too enticing. Would he forgive me, knowing it was less stressful to give into these silly formalities? Was it selfish of me to hope he would?

Perhaps it was time to hand the reins over completely. While I did not like appeasement, I trusted my brother to do what was right. It was practically in his bones. The kid had always been righteous to a fault.

He was right: I didn’t have to do this alone.

The day was dying slowly like a dense candle. The sky turned red and pink, sometimes hints of iridescence from polluted clouds mingling with the sunlight above.

The backyard was quiet, since I’d forgotten to feed the cats this week. They hadn’t come today. It wasn’t their fault, after all. Absinthe and Tonic slunk around the yard, as if to mimic some sort of life. The greenery in the back had begun to singe, brown crisp forming along the edges of ivy, shriveled blooms of clematis, and too many withered roses to count.

I was afraid to move anymore; something might go wrong.

That monster from before, the beast.

It was a type of horror that you couldn’t look away from. An image that could stick with you and hold on to any crack in your consciousness. You’d close your eyes and wonder if it was there: outside, in the shadows, under your bed behind the skirting of the sheets, under the water in the basin of your bath, watching you from behind as you closed your eyes.

My Peculiars must have felt it. The trepidation. They coiled around my ankles; one climbed up to my lap. Every time I saw them, I remembered that noise they’d made. The shrieking. My last streak of luck must have been spent on the fact that they did not hate me right now. I felt like they should have. I’d been greedy. My ego was bruised, my ambitions were too large for my own abilities, and I’d let everyone down. I should have listened to my shadows.

How could I have guessed things would turn out so terribly?

Now I had to wonder what would happen when I had no more luck left. Would I be spent? Would I have a way to come back? The right way? No luck-harvesting tricks, no enchanted books, no rituals? Maybe the beast would eat me, which would be the only way to protect those around me. There was only one way to find out.

To tempt it once more.

This time I didn’t bother with any pleasantries. No perfume, no baths, no extra incantations.

Showing humility might be a bit too little, too late, but it was worth a gamble. I had nothing left, it was true. I had nothing to offer but purely myself, exactly as is. Whether or not the beast would show up again was a mystery, but I remained hopeful. This thing had a conscience, to some extent. It could communicate, so it could be reasoned with.

I stood in the middle of the chaos that was my library. I’d been too tired to clean it. The concoctions for my wet plates had already left a deep stain in the floors. The scarred wood was rough under my feet. Besides the books I had gathered by the desk, mountains remained by the walls.

I opened the window, the breeze fluttering between book pages and tattered curtains and making specters of the dust that had collected in my personal catacomb.

Sadness settled in my chest, burrowing deep inside. I was surrounded by knowledge, my life’s work, a collection that spanned nearly a decade, yet I found myself knowing nothing. For the first time, I was unsure of myself in ways that I’d never imagined. Perhaps that was the best mindset to start over with.

I picked up the grimoire. It was limp in my hand. Just any old book. Or perhaps it just refused to cooperate any longer. I had nearly expended every resource, every last drop of luck, of creativity, of will.

Now I just wanted it to be over.

“Absinthe,” I said, my voice wavering, “Tonic.” A vocal strain as I realized this was my last chance. One more try to fix this clog, to make my luck right before it got any worse.

Steady be my heart.

I looked to the wall. The portraits were crooked now. I recognized my smile through the shattered glass, and then Dorian’s.

If I’m consumed and taken into the void tonight, at least I may look forward to seeing you again.